Last Tuesday night, Arash had a fever.
Not dangerous. A hundred and two. But his small body turned hot. He was murmuring in his sleep. I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Happy said, you sleep. I’ll watch him.
I lay down. Sleep didn’t come.
At two in the morning, I got up. Happy had fallen asleep in the chair. A wet cloth on Arash’s forehead. I moved the cloth and touched his skin. Still hot.
I woke Happy. Told her to go to bed. I’ll stay.
She got up. Stood at the door for a moment. Looked back once. Didn’t say anything.
The amber glow of the bedside lamp. Arash’s face flushed red. Sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead.
I watched his chest. Rising and falling. Slowly. Then it paused. Then rose again.
Every time it paused, mine paused too.
Three in the morning.
Darkness outside the window. A dog barking somewhere. Far away.
I thought about my mother.
When she was in the hospital, near the end, she couldn’t recognize me. Couldn’t speak. Just lay there. Eyes closed.
One day I sat holding her hand. The hand had become thin. I could feel the bones.
This hand had fed me. This hand had braided my hair. This hand had slapped me once, when I lied about breaking a glass.
I sat holding her hand. She didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t say anything.
Then one day she wasn’t there anymore.
Four in the morning.
I changed the cloth on Arash’s forehead. The water in the bowl had turned warm. I went to the kitchen to get fresh water.
The kitchen was dark. I didn’t turn on the light. Just stood there for a moment. The fridge hummed.
I filled the bowl with cold water. Went back.
Arash had turned on his side. His hand was hanging off the bed. Small fingers. Nails that Happy had trimmed two days ago.
I put his hand back on the bed. Pulled the blanket up.
My father never sat with me when I was sick.
He wasn’t a bad father. He just didn’t know how. He would stand at the door, ask my mother if I needed anything, then go back to his newspaper.
Once, when I was eight or nine, I had a high fever. I remember waking up in the middle of the night. He was sitting in the corner of the room. Reading something by the dim light. He didn’t know I was awake.
I watched him for a while. Then I closed my eyes. Fell back asleep.
I never told him I saw him that night.
Five in the morning.
The sky outside was starting to change. Not light yet. But not completely dark either. That in-between color.
Arash’s breathing had become more even. I touched his forehead. Cooler.
I sat back in the chair.
Happy came in at six.
She stood behind me. Put her hand on my shoulder. Her hand was warm from sleep.
“How is he?”
“Better. The fever broke.”
She didn’t move. Just stood there with her hand on my shoulder. We watched Arash sleep.
After a while, she asked, “Did you sleep at all?”
“No.”
She didn’t say anything else.
Arash woke up just after sunrise.
He opened his eyes. Looked at me. That look children have when they wake up. Not fully here yet.
Then he smiled.
“Baba,” he said. “You stayed up with me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked at him. His face still a little flushed. His eyes clear now.
“Because I love you.”
He nodded. Like this was an obvious answer to an obvious question. Then he rolled over. Closed his eyes. Fell back asleep.
Happy brought tea. We sat by the window while Arash slept.
The tea was too hot. I held the cup in my hands anyway.
“Your eyes are red,” Happy said.
“I know.”
Outside, a bird was sitting on the balcony railing. Small and brown. It stayed for a moment. Then flew away.
“What are you thinking?” Happy asked.
I watched the empty railing where the bird had been.
“Nothing,” I said. “I don’t know.”
She didn’t push. She never does. She just sipped her tea and looked out the window with me.
The sun was coming up. The light was hitting the buildings across the street. Yellow and warm.
Arash murmured something in his sleep. We both turned to look. He was smiling. Dreaming about something.
We went back to watching the light.