>>9992287(6/?)
As if in concert with this consternation, cast-iron simurghs silently screeched at him from the balustrade—though with noticeably louder background noise—when he peered behind his bed toward the upstairs quarters, with their contents separated from Gházil’s perception by a patterned Moroccan screen; the latter had served during his stay as his sutrah between the patio’s tranquility and those whirling tendrils thriving away from supervision in perspiring shade on the ground floor, the fruit of youth exultant. Some unknown arm opposite the vista’s bannister had opened the villa’s quasi-Georgian windows to check on him while he was lost in contemplation, which rendered realer the reception party in full swing downstairs. Every one of the guests were friends and acquaintances of their two hosts and were summoned several weeks beforehand for the occasion inside; to no avail could any opposition try to spoil this spectacle from without, as the regime had retreated from direct raids on parties thrown by the diplomatic corp’s families as of late, and the property’s perimeters were guarded from passersby behind brick walls and volunteer lookouts. The rave after this reception would be the pinnacle of the summer, a most audacious fete… Per his custom, Gházil paced a counterclockwise circuit around his seeking-place, between openness and secrecy, waiting for sunset.
