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The residents of Little Syria believed that Ahmad al-Hadid never saw Arbeely after the day he learned the tinsmith was dying. Instead, he shut himself inside the Amherst for years, until a shouted Yiddish taunt brought him blinking back into the light. He never spoke with his business partner again.
This was not entirely accurate.
The Jinni visited only once, weeks after the day of the burned letter and We regret we must inform you. He arrived at Arbeely’s building well past midnight, a cool breeze pulling at his hair as he walked down a deserted Washington Street.
He did not wish to be seen on this errand, not even by Arbeely.
He crept silently up the stairs to his friend's apartment, eased open the door, and perched on the edge of a chair by the bed. Arbeely was asleep, as expected, his cheeks flushed and breathing labored. He could not avoid the simple truth that Arbeely looked exponentially worse than he had only weeks earlier. Like a jinni abandoned in the mists, he thought distantly.
This, the Jinni thought, was why he had not come here. To see Arbeely so frail and lifeless, and to be reminded with each passing moment that he was quickly heading for death—it was too much to bear. And so the Jinni had simply not come, and instead focused on his metalworking with an intensity and focus designed to drive all other thoughts from his mind.
He was not sure how long he sat watching the man’s face—trying not to think of the overwhelming sense of loss and panic that had been growing in his chest for weeks—when he realized with a start that Arbeely had opened his eyes and was staring steadily at him.
The Jinni twitched in alarm and nearly bolted for the door. But Arbeely, who had learned to read his moods far too well over the years, quickly reached out a hand and grabbed his wrist to hold him in place. The Jinni froze and tried to force his muscles to relax.
When he was satisfied that the Jinni would stay put, at least for the moment, Arbeely drew his hand back onto the bed. There was a brief struggle as he rearranged his pillows and levered himself up into a sitting position, an effort that left him winded. Once he had recovered his breath, he looked over at the Jinni. A faint smile flickered across his face.
“Well, you look terrible,” Arbeely said.
The Jinni huffed an annoyed sigh, trying to look anywhere in the room except back at the bed. “Yes, well, some of us still have work to do while you lie around here all day. Besides, you’re hardly one to talk.”
Unfazed, Arbeely asked, “And you’ve still been bringing biscuits to the children? I know you can get caught up in your work, and I wouldn’t want them to be disappointed.”
“Six directions, Arbeely, I don’t care about the children!”
The room was silent for a moment. The Jinni took a shaky breath before saying stiffly, “Sorry. Yes, I have been giving them biscuits.” It was only half a lie: he had, indeed, given them all of the biscuits, the tins stacked one on top of the other and left in a pile on the roof.
Silence again, while Arbeely stared at the Jinni as though he was trying to see past his face and straight into his skull. The Jinni ground his teeth together and tried to remind himself that he didn’t actually need to breathe, so there was no reason for his chest to keep shuddering inconsistently like a flame in the wind—
“Ahmad,” Arbeely said softly. There was something in his voice that made the Jinni finally look over to meet his eyes. He was reminded, out of nowhere, that Arbeely had given him this name. He felt his face twitch but did not look away.
“I know that this, all of this,” Arbeely gestured weakly around the tiny room, “has been hard for you. Maryam thinks you’re a poor friend for not visiting recently, and if I’m honest I occasionally wondered the same myself. But seeing you here now . . . no.”
Arbeely paused to cough painfully into a handkerchief, and the sound put the Jinni’s already frayed nerves on edge. After a moment that felt closer to a century, Arbeely continued.
“I don’t have much time left, and I think we both know you won’t be back here again. So I just want you to know that I wouldn’t have changed anything since the day you came out of the flask.”
The Jinni snorted, skeptical. “Arbeely, I’ve done nothing but cause you undue stress and trouble over the years. I’ve kept you chained to the shop watching over me instead of returning home to find a wife and family.” He spoke the words without thinking, and immediately wished he could take them back.
Arbeely grinned. “My friend, as ever, you have an inflated sense of your own self-importance. If I had wanted to leave, I would have simply left. In truth . . . I don’t think I would have been happy returning to Zahleh to marry. Our shop, here in New York—that’s something we built and grew together, and I never would have been content to abandon it. It meant too much to me.”
The Jinni stared, and heard the words beneath the words. You mean too much to me. I would never be content to abandon you.
And yet I will abandon you, the Jinni thought, now when you are weaker than you have ever been. Because your human frailty terrifies me, and I cannot stand to stay in this room while your life trickles slowly away.
Not for the first time over the years, the Jinni wondered what he had ever done to deserve Arbeely’s friendship.
Arbeely was staring at him, having clearly watched each of the Jinni’s emotions dance across his face. He smiled softly and reached for the Jinni’s hands where they had twisted together on the edge of the bed. Despite himself, the Jinni found himself untangling his fingers and trapping Arbeely’s hand between his own. He closed his eyes, tried to steady his breathing.
They sat quietly for a time, the silence punctuated only by Arbeely’s labored breaths and the faint sounds of the city outside. The Jinni listened as an automobile sped noisily past the window below, and wondered idly where its passenger was going. In its wake, he murmured softly, “I’m sorry.” The words were nothing more than breath on an imaginary wind.
“I know,” Arbeely said.
The Jinni opened his eyes. Already he could feel the gaping sense of loss threaten to overwhelm him as he let his gaze drift over his friend’s face. Arbeely briefly tightened his grip on his hand. The Jinni wondered how he was supposed to navigate the world without this man who had found a terrified, chained creature in his shop and offered a simple hand in friendship.
Then he was out the door, down the street, and back to the building that would become his secret palace.