Jalal is a narrow, elegant man with the posture of someone who has spent his life refusing to be pushed aside. His skin is the deep brown of sun-warmed walnut, marked at the throat by pale, branching scars left by an old canal fire. His hands are beautifully manicured except for one permanently blackened thumbnail, stained by ink that no soap has removed. He moves with a slow, gliding precision, never quite appearing to hurry, even when everyone around him is running. His smile is generous enough to make strangers feel chosen, but his eyes remain still while it appears. The unexpected contradiction is that his immaculate clothing is always damp at the cuffs, as if he has recently waded through water.