'In the first minute following her death, Tequila Leila's consciousness
began to ebb, slowly and steadily, like a tide receding from the
shore...'
For Leila, each minute after her death recalls a sensuous memory:
spiced goat stew, sacrificed by her father to celebrate the birth of a
yearned-for son; bubbling vats of lemon and sugar to wax women's legs
while men are at prayer; the cardamom coffee she shares with a handsome
student in the brothel where she works. Each fading memory brings back
the friends she made in her bittersweet life - friends who are now
desperately trying to find her . . .
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