almeen bano
A beautiful flower
“But don’t worry much, Joe. You will be all right here. Sure, you are not in the place you imagined you would be, but trust me, for the career that awaits you, this will be a good experience for you. By the way, did you sleep on your flight?”
“I would not regard it as sleep. I just closed my eyes for an hour.”
“Well, then, what did you do for ten hours? Please don't tell me you stayed awake just because you found yourself sitting next to an attractive young woman,”
I felt a slight blush creeping into my cheeks. “Oh, no, not at all. Unfortunately, I was seated beside a tall, heavy man and a woman with a baby who cried nonstop.”
“I wonder, who cried more, the woman or the baby?”
His humor might not have been of the highest caliber, but it felt genuine and comforting after a long flight.
“Anyways, I’ll show you your room once we reach camp. You can take a shower and refresh a bit, and then I will take you to meet some doctors,”
“Can't that wait? I haven't slept in a while and feel quite worn out.”
Without hesitation, he dismissed my plea, stating, "No chance."
His swift refusal took me aback.
“Why? I’m exhausted. Surely, a few hours won’t make much difference. I intend to work hard, do everything you ask, and learn as much as possible.”
“I’m sorry for your discomfort, but I have already scheduled an introductory meeting with a group of doctors and nurses you will be working with. They are giving up their free time to meet with you. So, again, I'm sorry, but doctors who work with me are often more exhausted than you.”
“Understood.”
“We have ninety minutes left in our journey. How about you take a nap during the ride? I will wake you up when we arrive. Either that or, if you prefer some company, we could chat while listening to some classical Arabic music, with maybe a Taylor Swift song in there somewhere.”
“I think I’d better take a nap.” Even though I enjoyed conversing with him, nothing was more enticing for me then than a sound sleep with no dreams, pitch black with no thoughts at all. I needed some rest, and his rigid stance made me wonder if he thought I was some tireless mutant.
As the landscape of Jordan rolled past our car window, I reclined my car seat and prepared for much-needed rest. Although the seat was far from ideal for sleeping, it was the best option I had encountered in the past twenty-four hours. Fatigue washed over me, and soon, I surrendered to a nap.
***
I felt a hand on my shoulder and then a voice. “Wake up, Joe. We are outside the gate to Za’atari. I need your passport.”
I stretched momentarily, retrieved my passport, and gave it to Dr. J.
Dr. J stepped out of the car, his face tense, and handed over a document and my passport to the stern-faced Jordanian authorities. Their eyes scanned the pages with practiced efficiency. I held my breath, waiting for their verdict.
Finally, a nod—a silent permission to proceed. We were cleared to enter.
As we drove deeper into the camp, the landscape shifted. The road wound through a maze of tent homes, their canvas walls weathered by sun and wind.
Children played near the entrance, their laughter echoing off the makeshift soccer field nearby. The goalposts were crooked, the net frayed, but the players' passion was unwavering.
Women in colorful abayas carried water jugs on their heads, their footsteps leaving imprints in the dusty earth. Men in thobes walked purposefully, their sandals kicking up small dust clouds. Their conversations flowed in a melodic blend of Arabic, punctuated by laughter and occasional gestures.
Few cars passed us. Instead, the camp thrived on foot traffic—the pulse of life moving along the narrow paths.
Dr. J said, “You will be given a tour of the camp tomorrow. I suggest you take the time to acclimatize yourself to the camp's people and culture. Once a refugee enters, it’s not easy to leave. For your information, you may want to know that over twenty thousand babies have been born here since we opened in 2012. That means many children have never seen Syria.”
“Wow. I look forward to seeing the camp and hope I do some good while here.”
“That’s a good attitude to have. The people here have tried to establish some resemblance to a normal life, whatever that means to them. This refugee camp stands as a testament to the strength and endurance of those displaced by the conflict in Syria, and I’m sure you will learn a lot about the people and the culture.”
We drove for about five more minutes before arriving at our destination, the hospital. Dr. J arranged for an assistant to guide me to my assigned room in a separate building. It looked like it had been constructed similarly to an army barrack. I tried not to set my hopes too high but held out for one simple wish: that the room would be equipped with an air conditioner. Za’atari was known for its scorching heat,
Dr. J's assistant sighed as he showed me to my room. A single bed, one dresser, and a desk were all there was. There was no air conditioner. Damn
The assistant must have noticed the shock or disdain on my face. “Well, if you were expecting the Four Seasons Hotel, I’m sure this will be a shock for you. Make yourself at home.”
With that, he handed me the room keys and started to leave without offering any further guidance or details. He suddenly turned around as he reached the door and said, “Oh, and meet us at the hospital lobby in thirty minutes. Dr. J will be waiting for you. Make sure you’re not late, as he doesn’t like it.”
Emotions churned within me—a storm of frustration and exhaustion. But instead of yielding to tears or tantrums, I took decisive action. My bags, heavy with the weight of my journey, were flung aside. Determination fueled my steps as I reached for the essentials: a shirt, a pair of boxers, and a towel. The bathroom beckoned—a compact haven where I could wash away the weariness.
I examined the shower. A glass partition separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom, creating an open and airy feel. A slip rainfall showerhead hung from the ceiling, providing a gentle cascade of water. I imagined standing there, eyes closed, as water enveloped me—a baptism of renewal.
There was one hook on the wall for a towel. But fortune smiled upon me: clean towels lay neatly folded on my bed, a soft promise of comfort.
Within those modest confines, I shed the dust of the road. Water embraced me, and for a fleeting moment, I was suspended—between weariness and hope, between the past and the unwritten future.
After my shower and a clean shave, I put on a crisp white formal shirt and black pants. Then, it was off to my meeting.
As I walked to the hospital, its three-story structure loomed before me. I could only speculate that it encompassed roughly fifty thousand square feet. Upon entering the lobby, I noticed the entrance also served as a patient's family waiting room. Dr. J waited for me as expected and led me down a corridor. We passed several operating and recovery rooms. At first glance, The equipment appeared to be very modern. I didn't see any patient rooms, so I was sure they were kept on the two floors above.
Dr. J led me into the conference room. The door creaked open, revealing a space that defied the polished elegance of NYU’s conference rooms. At its heart stood a round wooden table, its surface etched with decades of conversations. The chairs encircling it bore the weight of countless visitors. The room’s walls were unadorned, and their pale paint chipped in places. A clock hung near the entrance. Unlike NYU’s bustling corridors, where screens glowed, and fingers danced across keyboards, this room embraced simplicity. No computers hummed; no phones buzzed. Instead, the silence settled like dust on the window ledge.
I counted thirteen individuals around the table, including Dr. J. My gaze swept briefly over each attendee—six men and seven women. About half were dressed in doctor’s outfits and half in nurse’s outfits. Dr. J gestured, prompting me to take my place next to him.
He spoke softly to me so the other people in the room would probably not hear him. “I'm sorry if this gathering caught you off guard. We don’t waste money on elaborate furniture. This is our Shangri La conference room, as you can see.”
I nodded, waiting for Dr. J to speak further.
Dr. J looked at everyone in the room. Some were engaged in small talk. “May I have your attention, please?” Immediately, everyone quieted down.
“Everyone, this is Joe Gold from New York. Joe will be interning with us for one year. To be transparent, he is my best friend's son and mentor from many years ago. Having said that, please treat him as you would anyone else who works here. He will be a third-year medical student, so we will start him with easy tasks until he builds up his skills. Welcome, Joe.” They clapped and said, “Welcome, Joe. Or “Nice to have you with us, Joe.”
“Thank you, “I said.
Dr. J began speaking again. “I’m not going to bore you by introducing you to every single person in the room. You can meet them and learn their names while doing your rotations and work here. However, I do want you to meet two people. To my immediate left is Dr. Schmidt. He’s like the Vice President of this hospital. Dr. Schmidt, who is from Germany, and I work closely together. He is a well-respected trauma surgeon who performs many amputations and reconstructive surgeries. I glanced at Dr. Schmidt, who must have been around fifty years old.
Dr. Schmidt waved at me and said, “I look forward to working with you, Joe.”
“Same here.”
Dr. J gestured toward the woman seated to my right. “Meet Dr. Salama,” he said. “She’s a top surgeon from Egypt.” Her eyes held a quiet confidence, and I wondered about the countless lives she had touched with her skilled hands and if I would have the opportunity to work with her.
“Our surgeons and nurses are fluent in both Arabic and English and some in French. That is true for everyone except me. I’m not fluent in Arabic, although I can converse in it. When I meet with Arabic-speaking patients, I use an interpreter, which you will also use. Half of our doctors are from the Middle East. Some of our patients prefer to have someone like them as their doctor, and we try to grant that wish.”
Dr. Salama looked at me and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you, Joe.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Her skin complexion was dark brown, which I thought was probably indicative of someone from her country.
Dr. J then looked at the six people on the other side of the table facing him. All of them were dressed in traditional nurses' scrubs.
He pointed to them and said, “These are some of our nurses. We have twelve in the hospital, but some are working now as we speak. Please meet one particular nurse who sits closest to you. That is Mika, and she’s my wife. Mika and I met in the Philippines years ago.”
Mika and I made eye contact, and we shook hands. She said, “Nice to meet you, Joe. I know your dad well.”
“Really? Nice to meet you, too.”
Dr. J continued. “Some of our nurses come from Syria. They may be refugees, too, but they are well-trained and have the respect of the entire community, and we couldn’t do what we do without them. The last three in the row are from Syria.” I waved, and then it hit me. I was looking at a young woman with the most radiant smile I have ever seen. My heart skipped a beat, and my tired eyes snapped wide open.
In that fleeting moment, her beauty was a snapshot etched into my heart. My sole mission was to draw closer to her. Her hair, black as the darkest night, flowed like the silkiest charmeuse. Beauty radiated from her. However, regardless of how much I wanted to meet her, this was the wrong place to say anything. I waved at everyone and smiled. I definitely hoped she liked the way I smiled.
Dr. J went on. “This is primarily a surgical hospital. Although we can handle just about any emergency sent to us, Our examining, operating, and recovery rooms are all on the first floor. The second and third are used for patients who stay overnight. We don’t have a twenty-four-hour emergency room like they do in the States, but we are open twenty-four hours a day. We have a few more medical facilities where people with everyday maladies and needs can get excellent care. Please let me know if you would like to visit these places. Now, I’m going to dismiss everyone except Joe, who I need to talk to for a few minutes. Thank you for coming, everyone.”
All the doctors and nurses dispersed, probably returning to work with their patients.
I was sure to learn an awful lot from such a distinguished company. My stomach churned with a sense of queasiness. Perhaps I didn't belong with these heroes.
“If you keep staring at her like that, she'll call the cops,” Dr. J playfully interrupted me.
“What—what do you mean?” I stammered, my face burning.
“Oh, come on, kid. What do you take me for? I was your age once and was far smoother with the ladies than you are. You really are Robert Gold’s son. You can walk around the hospital for an hour, and then we can meet for dinner in the mess hall. I have a few things I need to take care of.” He stood up and left.
Seriously, he was relentless. I couldn’t tell if my dad had sent me here to learn something or just to be teased by Dr. J. Was it that obvious I was staring at her?
After an hour of looking around the hospital, I joined the dinner crowd. I noticed that Dr. Johnson had saved a seat beside him, and much to my surprise, it was meant for her— the girl who had captured my heart with a single smile.
“Elaina, meet Joseph Gold,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Joe, meet Elaina.” Dr. Johnson, you sly fox. Elaina, so that’s her name. It's a beautiful name, a match for that flawless face.
“I'm glad,” I awkwardly nodded. Seriously, Joe? That's the best response you could come up with? I continued smiling, and she reciprocated until the old, boring doctors started bombarding me with questions again.
“Joe Gold will be with us for a year.” Dr. J said.
Elaina smiled at me. “Nice to meet you, Joe. I look forward to working with you. We need all the help we can get.”
“Thanks.” Her smile was so contagious that I could barely breathe.
“Elaina, Joe will join us tomorrow; please give him a tour of the camp in the morning and explain how we do things. I don’t want him to fall behind, and I don’t want to go easy on him. I want to make sure he's up to speed.”
“I will, Doctor.”
I gave Dr. J a funny look. Was he trying to match me up with this woman? She was going to give me a tour of the camp. Was this a dream? Filled with anticipation for the day ahead, I went to bed, eager to start tomorrow's adventure. I could feel my palms sweating, and for some reason, I was nervous.
Chapter 3: A Tour of the Camp
Joe
After a restless night, my first night in a strange bed far from what I was accustomed to, I awoke to the sunlight pouring through my window. I dressed in casual clothes and sneakers. Walking to breakfast, I noticed a group of men speaking Arabic and stepping into the mosque near my location, no doubt heeding the call to prayer. I had always admired the intense devotion to prayer that Muslims showed. While I attended Sunday school and had had a bar mitzvah, I'd rarely attended services in the last few years. The High Holidays were basically it for me. Studying and sports always kept me busy.
With a sense of excitement for the day ahead with Elaina, I headed to the mess hall for breakfast. The hall accommodated fifty people across several tables. As I entered, approximately twenty individuals were already seated—some in groups, others alone. The cafeteria-style setup offered an enticing spread: a buffet featuring a mix of Arabic delicacies and traditional American breakfast fare.
My choice for the morning was Shakshuka, a delightful dish that beautifully blended cultures, with poached eggs nestled in a spiced tomato and bell pepper sauce. The rich flavors and warm spices made it a perfect start to the day. Alongside, I sampled a small dish of hummus, a staple in Middle Eastern cuisine, which I paired with fresh pita bread. To complete the meal, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the nearby machine and settled at a table, ready to savor my breakfast and enjoy the company of friends and fellow diners.
I was eager to explore the camp, but my primary interest was Elaina. There were hundreds of questions I would love to ask her. What was her story? How had she ended up in this camp? As I sat down to eat, a few doctors came over to shake my hand and introduce themselves. Two were from the United States, and one was from France. As I nibbled on my food and drank coffee, I eagerly waited for Elaina to appear.
Five minutes later, she entered the room and settled into the chair across from me. Her eyes, warm and expressive, met mine, and she bestowed upon me a smile that could melt glaciers. Yesterday, she had been clad in the starched white of a nurse’s uniform, But today, she wore something different—a casual ensemble that whispered of everyday life. The most striking change was the hijab that framed her face. It cocooned her hair, encircled her neck, and veiled her ears. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might be Muslim.
“Good morning, Dr. Gold. Sorry, I’m late. I was doing morning prayers.”
“Good morning. That’s all right. I didn’t know you were a Muslim.”
“Didn’t Dr. Johnson tell you I am a camp native?”
“No, but yesterday, you didn’t have a hijab. Plus, you speak English very well with a slight British accent.”
“I am fluent in English because I went to school in England for four years, but my first language is Arabic. So, what religion are you?”
Caught off guard by her question, I hesitated. Elaina’s unwavering gaze bore into me, awaiting my response. Back home, revealing my Jewish identity wouldn’t have posed any issue. But here, surrounded by thousands of Muslims and with the desire to impress Elaina, I grappled with uncertainty. Perhaps it was best to steer the conversation elsewhere. I shifted gears, choosing a different topic, hoping to maintain the delicate balance between openness and discretion.
I decided to change the subject. “I need to get something straight first. Please don’t call me Dr. Gold. Call me Joe when I’m not around patients. Technically, I haven’t finished medical school, so I’m not quite a doctor yet, which means you can even call me Mr. Gold when we are around patients.”
Elaina nodded her head. “OK, Joe or Mr. Gold. You can call me Elaina or Nurse Elaina in front of patients, but you still have not answered my question about your religion.” The way she looked at me told me she wanted an answer, and she wanted it now.
I sat there expressionless. I wanted to answer the religious question but couldn’t bring myself to. “Do you have a last name?”
“Nagi. It means ‘a close friend of Allah’ in Arabic. Does Gold have any specific meaning?”
“I never even thought about it. It has been my family name for generations. I suppose someone in my family had a lot of gold. Now that we have our names out of the way, shall we begin the tour?”
Elaina frowned. “Not yet. Again, you still haven’t told me your religion. It’s such a simple question.”
I clasped my hands in front of my body and shook my head. There was just no way around this. This looked like the beginning and end of my so-called relationship with Elaina. Although I was shocked a little by her being a Muslim, I was trying to accept it. Hopefully, she would do the same for me despite the history of fear and hatred between Muslims and Jews.
“Please try not to be upset. I’m Jewish, although not a very religious one.”
“So you are Jewish. So are half the doctors I have worked with here. They are all wonderful people. None of them are Israelis, though.”
“You don’t like Israelis?”
“I was never allowed to go to Israel due to the differences between our governments. Growing up, I only heard bad things about them. It’s hard to say whether I like or dislike them. I can only go by what my parents told me. Wait, I did meet a few in England, and they were all nice people, but I never associated with them. It was taboo in my family.”
“I see. Well, I’m not Israeli and have only visited Israel once, when I was thirteen years old. I am also not always a fan of the Israeli government. You mentioned your parents. I don’t mean to pry, but are they still alive?”
As soon as I asked, the smile on her face disappeared utterly. Her lips tightened as she shook her head several times. She looked down at the ground. “No, my parents were killed in a van as we tried to avoid the bombs of the Syrian Army. They were killed instantly, but my brother and I survived since we were sitting in the back.”
I could see tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I have no idea what you feel, as I have never experienced anything like that. I’ve never been to war, and my parents are alive and well in New York. Again, I’m so sorry. Forgive me for asking. It must be tough to talk about it.”
“Yes, it is. I was in shock for a long time, but my brother needed me to take care of him. He became deaf from the bomb blast and now depends on sign language to communicate. Yet he is happy here.”
“How old is he, and does he live with you?”
“Fifteen. He was young when our parents died. No, he lives with Salah and two other teenagers. Salah is an older man who is like an uncle or father to me. When I need help with something, I often talk to him. I would love to have my brother live with me, but I am so busy working and visiting patients that I do not have enough time to care for him. Plus, there are not enough rooms in the hospital area for Ishmael. He needs his own space. However, we see each other frequently, and I try to cook him a meal at least a few times a week.”
“I assume that Salah communicates with him via gestures or signs?”
“Yes, Salah knows how to communicate with him. He is not as good as me, but he tries hard to teach Ishmael how to work in the bread factory and learn new vocabulary words in writing. It’s not easy being deaf in this refugee camp.”
“I imagine it’s not. Does he have any hope to get his hearing back?”
“At this time, no. Maybe if he was in the United States, the doctors there could do something for him.”
“That’s so sad.”
That seemed to piss Elaina off. She folded her arms in front of her chest and frowned at me. “Yes, he’s deaf, and yes, it would be great if he could hear, especially in a place like this, but he’s happy, so that is not sad. What is sad is the thousands of Syrians who were killed by the monster controlling the government and the rest of the world that ignores the actions of the government.”
I sat there, torn between the desire to comfort Elaina and the realization that such an intimate conversation had unfolded between us—a conversation that delved into our family histories, particularly hers. My arms remained at my sides, unable to offer the solace I longed to give. Elaina’s vulnerability hung in the air, and I waited, my silence echoing hers. How did she endure the unimaginable horrors she described? Her resilience astounded me. To carry on after witnessing such devastation required an indomitable will that defied the darkness that threatened to engulf her.
And yet, there she sat, recounting her past with a courage that humbled me. How did one find the strength to smile after enduring the unspeakable? Elaina’s spirit was unyielding, her determination unwavering.
As for myself, I wondered: had I witnessed my family torn apart, their lives shattered by violence, I might have crumbled. Perhaps I’d be confined to a mental institution, haunted by nightmares, or worse, swallowed by the very darkness that had consumed her homeland.
Elaina’s bravery was a beacon, illuminating the path forward. I glimpsed tragedy and triumph in her eyes—the indelible marks of survival etched upon her soul.
And yet, there she sat, recounting her past with a courage that humbled me. How did one find the strength to smile after enduring the unspeakable? Elaina’s spirit was unyielding, her determination unwavering.
After being silent momentarily, I said, “Your story is incredible. Most people in your shoes would have crumbled. Are you all right to give the tour?”
I looked down and shook my head. After a moment, I heard Elaina’s sweet voice. Somehow, her mood had changed. Indeed, I was not expecting that.
“I am OK now. Shall we begin our tour of the camp? Hopefully, you will find it interesting and enjoyable,” she said with a playful tone. “The people here have a lot to offer if you get to know them.”
I nodded, and Elaina and I got into a golf cart with her in the driver’s seat.
Our initial destination led us to a play area where a lively group of young children awaited. Elaina gracefully stepped out of the golf cart, immediately capturing their attention. She conversed with each child individually, her words flowing in Arabic—a language foreign to my ears. Yet, comprehension wasn’t necessary; the transformation on their faces spoke volumes. Elaina, an unspoken inspiration, illuminated their world.
I stood there, a silent observer, witnessing the magic unfold. Her bond with those kids transcended language barriers. She embraced them, one by one, and they responded in kind—a symphony of hugs, laughter, and shared warmth. In that moment, Elaina became more than a person; she embodied hope, resilience, and the power of human connection.
We got back into the golf cart and turned onto the street; Elaina said, “Za’atari has a busy market known as the Sham Elysees, which stretches almost three kilometers through the center of the camp.”
I looked down the road and saw what seemed like a thousand shops.
“This is unbelievable,” I said. “How do they do it?”
“The Jordanian government trains with us and helps us out. Many trucks bring goods here daily. We will see more of this later. Of course, you are free to explore some of these shops whenever you wish. They will love your money.”
“I’m sure they will. So, what’s next?”
“This refugee camp comprises all kinds of people from all over Syria. We have doctors, lawyers, engineers, teachers, and so forth. They all had to leave their previous lives at home and start over. Most of them are unable to work anymore in their chosen field.”
“So, what do they do all day long?”
“Some of them have part-time jobs. Some have become vegetable growers. Some work at improving the electricity grid so we can have internet. They do not wallow asking for pity.” She pointed toward a building adorned with Arabic writing on a blue background. “That’s where the bread is prepared. It is a grand kitchen. The bread is delivered to the people in the camp for free. Depending on their family size or caravan, which is like a mobile home, they get a certain number of loaves each day.”
I seized the opportunity to engage her in conversation.
“I can see that. Can we visit? I’d like to see.”
“Yes, you will have the opportunity to meet Salah and Ishmael.”
“Wow, bread for everyone. That must be some task.”
“Yes, it is. They make thousands of loaves a day. My brother works there. Salah is the boss of the bread factory. He has experienced great tragedy in Syria, as his whole family was killed. Yet, he always thinks optimistically. He has looked out for Ishmael and me since we arrived here and treats us like his children.”
As we approached the bread factory, a cheerful old man called, “Welcome, Elaina!” He rushed over and gave her a big, warm hug. His thick grey mustache, bald head, and aura of genuine warmth welcomed me. He pointed to me. “Who dis young man?”
“Salah, I want you to meet Joe Gold. He’s doing an internship with us for one year.”
I reached out my right hand to shake his firmly.
“Joe, this is Uncle Salah.”
“Please excuse English. It so good to meet you,” Salah said, greeting me with a warm smile. “Anyone a friend of Elaina, a friend of mine, too.”
“It’s good to meet you, too,” I replied. “Elaina told me a lot about you.”
“Joe, you can talk to Salah. Give me ten minutes, and I will get my brother. Uncle, please keep him company. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded as Elaina excused herself.
Salah turned to me. “She love her brother, do not like separate much. I tell her he’s old enough now to take care of himself. But she doesn’t listen.” He shrugged. “She is her brother’s voice. She speaks and listens for him.”
“Yes, I see. She must love her brother a great deal. Out of curiosity, how many loaves of bread do you make daily?” I asked as I glanced at all the piles of bread being made.
“I never count. Many, thousands, who knows. We deliver bread to hospitals, camps, houses, all over.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of work,” I said in amazement. “How long have you been working here?”
“I came here when I fifty-five. Now I’m old, I’m seventy, so fifteen years.” His face and hair looked its age, but he seemed in good shape and had a lot of energy. However, his expression darkened. “It feels like it’s been forty years already. My family all killed by government murderers.”
“I’m sorry you lost your family. That must be very tough. Yet you treat Elaina as your daughter or niece. That is special.”
“Thank you, Joe Gold. Yes, Elaina very special. Wonderful woman.”
Our conversation was interrupted by Elaina, who returned with a young man by her side. “This is Ishmael, my younger brother.” Ishmael was slightly shorter than Elaina. He had the beginning of a beard, short curly hair, and a face that exuded innocence. I reached out my hand, and he politely shook it. While holding it, I said, “Hello, Ishmael. How are you doing? I’ve heard a lot about you from your sister.”
Ishmael responded with a big question mark on his face. Then he looked at Elaina and moved his head sideways towards me as if to say, Who is this man, and what is he doing here?
Elaina said, “It’s nice you talk to him, but he is deaf, so he cannot hear you, and he knows almost no English.”
My embarrassment was palpable as I realized I had forgotten this crucial detail she had shared. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just—” I started to apologize but stumbled over my words.
