“I cannot live with the shame of what he did to you, without confronting him and seeing him punished,” Jean explained to his wife. “What kind of...man would I be if I did nothing?”“A living one!” Marguerite answered.“I would rather die than lose my honor,” Jean replied.“Would you have your son grow up without his father?” Marguerite asked, her hand rubbing on her abdomen. Jean hesitated, the import of his wife’s words sinking in.“You are with child?” Jean asked, sounding shocked.Marguerite. She set all the clocks three hours behind. After her packing, she took money from her husband’s wallet. She carried the baby Imam downstairs. They first stopped by the bank. She withdrew all of their funds from a joint account amounting to some five thousand dollars. She asked for cash, and the bank official presented her with a vinyl bag full of one-hundred dollar notes. The official lent her a telephone and the yellow pages. She found a room on the West Side. She arrived at the hotel tired. More

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