At breakfast, Habib sat between his grandmother and grandfather at a round, white kitchen table. He was unusually silent and messing around with his pancakes, prompting his grandmother, Zakiya—a cheerful retired elementary school teacher, to ask him if there was something wrong.

"No, Grandma, nothing is wrong." Then he said, "Can I ask Grandpa a question?"

"Let me guess," said Fikri, smiling. "Is it about angels?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure."

"O.K., let's find out. What's the question?"

"Before you went to sleep last night, you shook your head and made strange signs with your hand. Were you speaking to the angels?"

Zakiya burst out laughing.

"No, no!" said Fikri, reproachfully. "Habib has a legitimate question in light of our conversation yesterday afternoon about the little bird and the angels. Didn't he tell you about that?"

"Oh yes, he did. He was so excited and wanted to know more. I'm sorry."

"All right then. Finish your breakfast and come up to my study. I'll explain those strange signs you saw me make last night."

He grabbed his coffee and stood from the table. He ruffled Habib's black hair and went upstairs.