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which made them look more interesting. Liyana liked their weather-beaten brown faces immediately. Rafik was tugging at her elbow. He whispered, “Does that mean his name is Daoud Abboud?”
    Liyana said, “I think he’s married to one of our aunts. He must have a different last name. But let’s not find out what it is right now, okay? My head is spinning!”
    Poppy translated what Aunt Amal said, about how scary it had been for them to pass the Israeli checkpoint when they entered Jerusalem. Her face looked alarmed. All four taxis filled with family members had been stopped. They’d been asked to show special permits they had secured two days ago. The Israeli soldier shouted at them and they got scared. He had a gun. He threw Uncle Daoud’s pass on the ground because it was slightly bent and made him get out of the car to pick it up. When he was done looking at the passes, Sitti thought he said, “Go away,” but he meant, “Go on.”
    Liyana noticed her mother’s face turning worried as Poppy translated. Her mother fingered the edge of Sitti’s sleeve. “What?” Liyana asked her. “What are you thinking of?”
    “I thought things were supposed to be much better now.”
    “That’s not what they’re telling me,” Poppy said. “They say the rules change every two days. And they almost never come into the city anymore.”
    Rafik said, “I think the same person just kissed me for the tenth time.”
    Poppy rubbed his hands together. “We should go downstairs to get some tea or coffee.” Liyana knew he was trying to lighten the atmosphere, but a huge babble broke loose. “They aren’t used to hotels,” he explained.
    In fact, today was the first time
in her life
Sitti had ever ridden in an elevator. Always before, in any building with more than one floor, she insisted on taking the stairs. Sitti said little boxes were for dead people. She didn’t want to enter the elevator today, either, and they had to push her.
    Liyana noticed the women of the family eyeing her mother closely. She was an inch taller than Poppy, and her skin two shades lighter. Liyana and Rafik had inherited Poppy’s olive skin.
Did they think her mother was pretty?
They seemed to like her mother’s long hair. They all had long hair, too, braided, or knotted in buns. Liyana guessed the ones with scarves had long, hidden hair. Everyone must have wondered about a woman who could have kept a man from living in his own country till now. They must have had mixed feelings.
    Liyana’s mother kept smiling widely at them, placing her hands on top of theirs like in that game for babies where the bottom hand keeps getting pulled out. Beyond the window, cars and trucks of Jerusalem swerved and honked, screeching their brakes and wailing up to the curb. Rafik,peeking out the window at her side, said, “Have you noticed how many old Mercedes Benzes there are here?” Her brain swirled with names,
Lena, Saba, Leila,
ending in
a,
like her own. Would she ever get them straight?
    Suddenly, just as everyone headed out the door for a tea party, Rafik vomited on the floor.
    Mrs. Abboud rushed toward the bathroom for tissues, which were so small and thin that she threw them up in the air when she returned. What about bath towels? Awful. “Liyana,” she hissed. “Move! Help!” Poppy broke the momentary frozen spell by waving his hands to urge everyone out into the hall. Whenever he saw anyone vomit, he felt nauseated himself.
    Rafik stumbled toward the bathroom. Liyana followed, saying, “Are you sick?”
    He said, “No, dope-dope, that’s how we say hello in my language. What do you think?”
    Their mother buzzed the hotel desk to ask for a mop, but the clerk brought a broom instead. Then he ran for wet rags. Liyana sat with Rafik on the edge of the bathtub, considering aloud details of the last three meals they had eaten, to his horror. “Could it have been the cucumber on the plane? The little scrap of tomato in your sandwich?”
    “Could you