I forget the names of towns without rivers.
A town needs a river to forgive the town.
Whatever river, whatever town—it is much the same.
The cruel things I did I took to the river.
I begged the current: make me better.
—“The Towns We Know and Leave Behind, The Rivers We Carry With Us,” by Richard Hugo
Hamoudi holds court with a circle of border taxi drivers. We have reached the last mile of Jordan.
“Forty-five kilometers,” he informs them coolly, holding up an imperial finger. “Forty-five kilometers in a single day.”
We gulp cups of water at a roadside kiosk. We chivvy the pack mules Selwa and Mana’ into the bed of a waiting ...