When Hajji has exhausted himself, he often retires to the living room, where he watches murder mysteries or foreign coverage of conflicts in Islamic countries. He spends hours at a time wandering around his house or his yard, searching for things to repair-rotted planks of wood, missing shingles, burned-out bulbs, broken mowers, shattered windows, unhinged doors-until his old injuries act up, and he is forced to lie down wherever he is working, and if he happens to be in the attic or the basement, or in some other secluded area of the house, away from his wife and his mother and his four children, sometimes he will allow himself to quietly mutter verses from the Quran, invocations to Allah, until his ache seems to ebb and he returns to work. In fact, Hajji hardly leaves home at all. Nonetheless, after a few days, you begin to speculate that the suspect at the heart of your assignment is the father, code-named Hajji, even though you have no reason to believe that he has ever actually completed the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca. You don’t know why, exactly, you’ve been assigned to this particular family, in this particular home, in West Sacramento, California.
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