The first woman nodded to each of them and whispered her greetings. She wore a long black housecoat with large gold buttons that hung loosely almost to the floor. Her headscarf rounded her face to a gold clasp under her chin. The scarf was cream with a brown floral print around the bottom edge, which fell across her shoulders. Her skin was a light brown, like her melancholy, preoccupied eyes. Her black eyebrows were raised, as though she had taken a breath and was about to sigh. Her features were small, despite the thickening of age around the jaw. Omar Yussef thought she was in her mid-thirties. She carried a thin manila folder in front of her upper belly like a clutch bag, tapping it edgily with the finger which bore her simple gold wedding ring. She sat on the edge of the unoccupied couch, holding her neck erect and her back straight, with her palms flat on the folder she now placed in her lap. Her ring finger made tiny nervous circles on its surface.

The woman behind her was a few years older and dressed similarly, though her headscarf was plain, her gown was gray and her body beneath it was bulkier. Her mouth was wide and shapeless and pouting. When she moved, her fleshy cheeks quivered with each step. She smiled at the guests and sat on the same sofa as the first woman. Her plumpness reminded Omar Yussef of his neighbor Leila back in Bethlehem and, with a shiver of shame, he recalled the sexual attraction he had often felt for her. He experienced a similar physical curiosity about the thick-set woman on the couch. He caught himself holding his breath as he watched her stroke her friend’s shoulder blade reassuringly.

That comforting gesture gave Omar Yussef his clue. He spoke to the woman in black. “You’re the wife of Eyad?”

She nodded and lifted her head a little higher.

“I’m Abu Ramiz, Omar Yussef Sirhan, from Bethlehem. These are my colleagues from the UN.” Omar Yussef introduced Wallender and Cree, then addressed them quietly in English. “I’ll ask her what happened during the arrest?”