“Will do.”
Every other day, after lunch, Quinn and Tarek got together for an Arabic lesson. They were makeshift and impromptu, and involved strolling around the house or the garden, pointing at objects and repeating names. Sometimes they went out into the streets of Zamalek and Quinn practiced ordering the small glasses of sweet, thick Arabic coffee, with Tarek standing by to correct him. Then they’d sit and sip, watching the passersby.
“How do you explain the divide between the rich and poor here?” Quinn asked one day. They were on the main drag down the center of the island, where every third car seemed to be a Mercedes or BMW, but that was also host to horse-drawn carts and rickety bicycles. Fantastically elegant women clicked by in heels and garments that might have come off the rack
