The garden was deserted now. A crane, very white in the afternoon sun, had perched next to the Nazarene’s lion’s-head fountain. It flew off when Hamsa walked down the path toward the guest house. Hamsa circled the house, came up to a window, and peered inside. He saw an owl perched on the back of a chair with a carpet of newspapers spread under it. The owl, which had a fallen wing, seemed to be asleep. Hamsa tapped the pane with his finger. The owl turned its head around and looked at him.
“Yuuk,” the owl said to Hamsa. “Yuuk.”
Everyone knew that owls don’t sleep at night and that they can see in the dark. This was why, when someone wanted to stay awake all night, it was a good idea to catch an owl and pull out its eyes. Some people boiled the eyes in water and ate them, or you could make an amulet with one of the eyes and wear it on your chest to keep off sleep.
Hamsa returned to the tool shed and smoked several pipes of kif, thinking of what he should do.
He came out of the tool shed and, making a wide circle, headed back toward the guest house. He carried a bundle of cord to tie up the owl with, and a two-handled basket full of firewood. The muezzin at the new mosque called out the evening prayer. Down among the many-colored trunks of the eucalypti, Hamsa saw his grandfather prostrate on his straw mat, concentrated in prayer. He headed down the flagstone path, glancing back once toward the main house, where there was no one in sight. But he couldn’t be sure: the windows of Mme. Choiseul’s room looked out on that part of the garden, and in the afternoon light they were large mirrors, reflecting the sky and the tops of the cypresses. The old Christian woman might be there. Hamsa hesitated a moment; then, saying “Bismil-láh,” he pushed open the door of the guest house and closed it quickly behind him.
The owl turned its head to look at Hamsa. It raised its good wing and opened its beak.
Hamsa advanced with the bundle of cord in one hand and the basket of kindling in the other. He lowered the basket to the floor, took out the kindling, and put it in a wicker container next to the fireplace. He approached the owl and saw its broken wing. He seized it by the neck, tied its feet—the owl did not resist—and put it in the two-handled basket. He looked around, approached the window, and opened it all the way. A cold wind entered the room.
Old Larbi, smoking kif under the fig tree, scarcely opened his eyes when Hamsa appeared from behind the hut with the owl hidden in a bundle of clothes.
“Salaam aleikum.”
“Aleikum salaam.”
Larbi stood up, went into the hut for his things, and prepared to leave. He was a bad-humored old man. Hamsa thought Larbi doubted he was sick.
“The animals didn’t give you any problem?”
“No.”
“Where’s Ismail?”
“I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t come by.”
“If you see him, please tell him to come. I’m going to need his help.”
The old man smiled mockingly. “Ouakha,” he said. He turned and started up the road.
Hamsa went into the hut and took the owl out of the bundle of clothes. He drove a Y-shaped stake in the earth in one corner. He tied the cord to the stake to secure the owl. The owl hopped onto the Y and opened its beak.
Hamsa lay down on the sheepskins and filled a pipe with kif, waiting for Ismail to come.
“I’m cured now,” he said when Ismail came in.
The little boy looked at the owl, perched on the Y, eyes closed, wing fallen.
“I’m going to kill it one of these days and eat one of its eyes,” explained Hamsa. “With the other eye, I’ll make an amulet.”
Ismail seemed impressed.
“Poor thing.”
“Come here,” said Hamsa, making a downward gesture with his hand.
When the little boy stepped within reach, Hamsa grabbed one of his arms and pulled him toward him. With his free hand he lifted up his gandura.