His mother (whom he called Madarjoon), was not yet satisfied with his answers. She wanted to know everything:

Where had they met;

how long had they known each other;

who were their parents;

why were their parents okay with them leaving home;

anyway, what were they doing here;

what on earth was a Surrender;

speaking of which, why was Laylee dying;

speaking of Laylee dying, when had he befriended the mordeshoor girl;

oh, and why was Alice so pale (at this, Alice blushed and Benyamin nearly fainted in embarrassment);

why was the tall boy carrying Laylee;

why hadn’t Benyamin purchased a new pair of boots yet (and oh, for heaven’s sake, if it was because he was spending all his money on her medicine again, she would just lie down and die, and how would he like that as a thank-you);

why had no one bothered to tell her that the mordeshoor was ill in the first place;

how long had the mordeshoor been ill;

how long had Benyamin known about this;

why had Benyamin been withholding information from her;

did he not know that she was a grown woman;

had he confused himself for her mother;

did he remember when she told him she was the mother in this relationship;

by the way, where had he left her cane;

and why on earth wouldn’t that tall boy put Laylee down?

Benyamin, who was clearly used to this manner of questioning, didn’t seem bothered. He patiently answered all of his mother’s questions while simultaneously making space for Alice and Oliver to settle in, and then clearing off their kitchen table. Once it was emptied, he covered the table with a fresh bedsheet and gestured to Oliver to finally lay Laylee down.

Alice, who was stunned by the loud, curious woman who was Benyamin’s mother, was too terrified to say a word. (She can’t remember even saying hello to the lady, though Benyamin claims she did.) Oliver, who was only mildly aware of what was happening, managed nothing more than a solemn hello before collapsing on the floor.

Only when her curiosity was finally sated did Madarjoon leave them be, but even then she would not be entirely silent, and, friends, I can’t really blame her. Madarjoon had been a jolly, vivacious woman before the fire injured her legs, and this was the most interesting thing to happen to her in nearly two years. She was a woman who worked hard, loved thoroughly, and had strong opinions about everything, and being bedridden did not suit her at all, not even a little bit. She liked to make it abundantly clear at several points throughout the day that if she’d had any choice in the matter—in fact if anyone had had the decency to ask her opinion on the subject—she’d have elected never to lie down, not ever. (And if this was Providence telling her to take a break from standing up—well, she didn’t know what to make of that, because upright was the only way to be.)

Alice, who could not think of a single thing to say to Benyamin or his mother (let us remember she was only thirteen, and not yet wise to the ways of charming a grown-up), decided to instead get back to work. Oliver had been shooting her anguished glances since they’d arrived, and though she tried to settle his nerves with a smile, the gesture seemed to cause him pain. So she quickly took her seat at the kitchen table and reached again for Laylee’s cold, gray hand. But just as she was about to start the exhausting work, she felt Benyamin sit down next to her. He and Oliver now flanked her on both sides, and their quiet strength gave her great comfort. So it went, the three of them huddled together, hoping for a miracle.

As the night dragged on, Alice grew ever more weary, and Oliver, though determined to stay awake all night, had begun to fade. There were still many hours to go, and Benyamin’s mother, who was watching quietly as these exciting events unfolded before her, was becoming increasingly agitated at her son’s lack of hospitality. She snapped at him to put on a pot of tea, and he swiftly obeyed. She then asked the boy to get Alice a cushion to sit on, and he procured one at once. Not a moment later, she snapped at him to throw a log on the fire, and he complied. Fully in her element, she took swift charge of both the boys under her roof, and soon Madarjoon procured a cure for Oliver’s mournful eyes by ordering him to scrub a stack of dishes. Benyamin, who’d begun watching over Alice’s shoulder, was again dispensed with, this time ordered to make a light supper. (“Nothing too salty, boy, or I’ll bloat like a balloon,” his mother said, rapping her cane against the floor.) And, unless strictly necessary, the two boys were forbidden from interrupting Alice while she worked her magic. Benyamin’s mother was soon spinning the night on her little finger, she alone thinking of all the little things they needed to comfort and distract in order to make these hard times more bearable. There would be many dark and disheartening moments on this long Yalda night, but it was the sharp, watchful eye of Benyamin’s mother that would keep them focused through it all.

Alice had been sitting with Laylee for nearly two hours when she saw the first real signs of change. The mordeshoor’s hand, once silver all over, had now begun to emanate warmth and change color at the tips. Laylee was being revived one knuckle at a time, and now that Alice saw the progress, she could estimate how long it would take—and how much of her it would drain—to bring Laylee back to life, and the approximation was dour.

Still, she was grateful for results. She made a quiet announcement about the changes she saw, and Benyamin clasped her shoulder, his weary eyes overcome with relief. Oliver was overjoyed.