“Shouldn’t the head of the university protect academic freedom?” Wallender asked.

Salwa and Umm Rateb shared a glance that suggested the Swede might as well have dropped in from Mars. “Professor Maki didn’t become head of the university because he’s a notable academic. Rather, it was because he’s involved in politics,” said Salwa. She turned once more to Umm Rateb, who nodded with grim approbation. “He’s a member of the Fatah Party’s Revolutionary Council and very senior in the PLO. So is Colonel al-Fara. No doubt many secret deals could be strained by a conflict between them. I warned my husband they would need a scapegoat to allow them to patch up their differences.”

“After he was suspended, what did your husband do?” Wallender asked.

“He should have waited until next year and the suspension would have been lifted, when everyone had forgotten about what he did. But he went to one of the human-rights organizations, which has campaigned against corruption. They decided to make this an issue of academic freedom. They wrote to Professor Maki about my husband’s case.”

Omar Yussef felt a darkness enveloping him. He thought of this woman’s impulsive husband, determined and arrogant. Those aloof eyes in the photo were too proud for Gaza, debased as it had become. To live here, you would have to accept the shadows, swelter in airless rooms, choke on your resentment.

“They also wrote to Colonel al-Fara,” Salwa said.

Omar Yussef knew where that letter must have led. The boy returned with a tray of small glasses filled with mint leaves and dark tea. Omar Yussef saw a flicker of fear on Salwa’s face and her lips tightened, as though the boy before her were in as much danger as her husband. Naji set a cup before Omar Yussef and glanced at the open file on the older man’s knees. Omar Yussef reached for the tea. His hand shook and he withdrew it. His pulse raced.