Another Generation

by Roberta Kagan

  However, by eleven that night, Warren had packed a backpack and quietly left the house. He was going to join a group of police officers and firefighters headed to Ground Zero, the site where the twin towers had once stood.

  Abby could hear her sister whimpering as the door closed.

  “I should go to her,” she said to Rashad.

  “You should. She needs you now.”

  Abby got out of bed and was on her way to Haley’s room when the phone rang. She knew that Warren had a cell phone. Perhaps he decided to call and make things right with Haley before he left for New York. Abby was sure he didn’t want to go on such a dangerous mission without telling Haley he was sorry and that he loved her. Abby picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Mark.”

  “Oh my God, Mark. Are you all right? Is John all right? We’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I know. I’ve been trying to call out since it happened but I haven’t been able to get a line. Yes. We’re both okay. Thank God.”

  “We were so worried. What is going on there?”

  “It’s chaos. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The city looks like a war zone. And the dust in the air is so thick that we’ve been coughing like crazy.”

  “Dust?”

  “Yeah, from the broken concrete of the buildings.”

  “Oh, Mark. I am so glad you guys are all right. Why don’t you try and come here?”

  “It’s a real pain in the ass to get a flight out. We tried to get to Chicago when it first happened. But right after the attack, they stopped all flights in and out, both national and international for a few days. I think they’re flying again but quite frankly, the idea of getting on a plane is pretty scary.”

  “Hold on for just one second. Don’t hang up. Let me get Mom and Haley. They’ll both want to hear your voice too.”

  “Mom . . . Haley . . . ” Abby called out. She didn’t want to put the phone down for a second, as she was afraid they would lose the line and she didn’t want to let go of Mark’s voice for even one instant.

  Haley came out of her room. Her face was red and puffy. Abby knew she’d been crying. “It’s Mark,” Abby said, handing Haley the phone.

  “Mark, are you and John all right?”

  “Yes . . . ”

  They talked for a minute before Eidel came out of her room. “What is it? Who is on the phone?”

  Abby saw the fear in her mother’s eyes. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s Mark. He’s fine. John is fine.”

  “Please, please, let me talk to him.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

  Rashad’s mother and sister called the following day to say that in light of all that had happened, they were on their way home to Egypt. They thought it would be best if they left early. The two women called using two phones in the house that were connected to the same line so they could both speak at once. After they talked to Rashad they asked to speak with Abby. They sent her blessings and told her that they hoped that someday soon she and Rashad could come and visit them in Egypt. Then they said goodbye.

  Rashad put on his suit and tie and asked Abby to take him to a store where he could make copies of his resume. She drove him to a shop where he made fifty copies and afterward he asked her to drop him off at the Howard Street L train station.

  “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

  “Yes, I know where I am going. I had planned to take the train each morning to work. I am going downtown to pass out my resume.”

  “Let me drive you, please,” Abby said. “Why can’t you come into the shop and send your resume through the computer?”

  “I plan to do that tomorrow. But I need to feel productive. I have to go and walk the streets and try to get work.”

  “I’ll drive you downtown. Then Haley and I are going to open the shop back up today. It’s time.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  Abby dropped Rashad off at the corner of State St. and Washington St. The traffic was horrendous and there was no time to say sweet goodbyes. The man in the car behind her was already honking and she’d only stopped for a second. Rashad got out of the car looking dignified and she suddenly felt terribly sorry for him. Her heart ached for what she knew he would face today. A thought raced through her mind, Dear God, please, keep my husband safe. And please make this terrible fear that has settled all over the country just go away so that we can live normal lives again. Rashad blew Abby a kiss and mouthed the words “I love you.” Then he disappeared into the crowds of people on the city streets.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

  Three weeks later, Warren returned. He did not come to dinner at the Levi’s house that Sunday night or the Sunday after that. When Abby asked Haley why they hadn’t come. Haley shrugged her shoulders and started crying.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

  Every weekday morning for a month, Rashad got up early, showered, and dressed. Then he took a bus to the L train stop and then rode the L into the city. Late every afternoon he returned, rejected. He’d been fortunate enough to receive a full scholarship to Stanford and he graduated with high honors so when he sent out resumes he was usually awarded interviews. However, as soon as the prospective employers saw him in person he was told, “We haven’t made a decision yet. We’ll call you.” But they never called.

  American flags were everywhere, flying high in front of businesses, on poles in front of houses, on the antennas of old cars. Everywhere. Patriotism was the highest it had been in years. Rashad helped Abby put a pole in the ground in front of the muffin shop and he hung an American flag on it. But even as he was raising the flag, people walking by were looking at him suspiciously.

  The customers who came into the muffin shop were constantly discussing the 9-11 attacks that stunned and terrified the country, leaving ordinary people filled with anger and hatred and wanting revenge.

  That year, the Halloween rush was not nearly as busy as it had been. But then the holidays came and business picked up a little. However, one night a heavy storm of icy, blowing winds vomited mountains of snow all over the streets. By morning, the schools were closed and the city was paralyzed. Still, Rashad insisted on going out to look for work. He trudged through the snow to the bus stop. Abby couldn’t drive him because the car was buried too deeply in the snow. However, he would not have allowed her to drive him anyway, not in the condition the streets were in that day. Rashad stood on the corner and waited in the icy chill for the bus, which was over an hour late. By the time it came, his hands were almost numb with cold. Still, he went downtown and walked the streets until his toes felt like they might fall off.

  The sun began to set, making it even more bitter cold outside. Rashad climbed the stairs down to the underground train station and shivered as he waited for the train. No one was there. Most people had either left work early or not come in at all. Three young men in their late teens came bounding down the stairs. They were loud and something in their voices made Rashad afraid. And rightfully so. When they saw him with his brown skin they began harassing him. First with words, “Terrorist. We ought to kill you.”

  “Yeah, let’s throw him down onto the tracks.”

  “You deserve it, you son of a bitch. You’re a follower of bin Laden.”

  Rashad looked at the train tracks. If they pushed him in he would never be able to climb out, it was too deep. He would be killed when the train came, smashed like an insect under the weight of the fast-moving L train.

  Rashad’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t decide whether to run toward the stairs and try to get away or to stand there and try to ignore them. If I run, they’ll know how scared I am and then they’ll chase me. It will be like sport for them. He tried to stand his ground and ignore them, but they began coming at him like a pack of hyenas hungry for blood, the blood of a man whom they believed represented their enemy. Rashad ran toward the stairs but one of the boys pulled him back. He fell against the stair rail and hit the side of his body. They
were kicking him and punching him. Blood oozed down his face. One of them began to pull at him but Rashad gripped the railing with all of his strength. He knew if he let go they would throw him onto the tracks. His heart felt like it would burst. It was pounding in his neck. He was no longer cold. In fact, he was hot. Now two of them were tearing at him, pulling hard. His fingers could no longer grip the railing. Allah, help me. These men are going to take my life. My poor Abby. She will be torn to shreds inside when she finds out what happened to me. She will blame herself for letting me come downtown. I know how Abby thinks. Please Allah, if they kill me, let her know that it is not her fault. Give her peace.

  The boys were yelling obscenities at Rashad as they pulled him closer to the tracks. Just then, a man in his mid-thirties with dressed professionally came down the stairs.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Are you kids nuts? You’re going to kill this man. Stop it. Stop it right now.”

  “Who the hell are you to tell us what to do?”

  “The voice of reason?” he replied.

  “He’s a terrorist,” one of the boys said.

  “And you know this for sure?”

  “Look at him? He’s part of Al-Qaeda.”

  “You’ve made this decision? The decision to kill a man based solely on how he looks?”

  The boys were suddenly struck with reason. They let go of Rashad’s arms and legs. Rashad immediately stood up and began to run up the stairs. He heard the man with the dark coat arguing his point with the boys, but he didn’t stay around long enough to hear what was said. Rashad ran into the street and flagged the first taxi he saw. It was warm inside the car but his whole body was shaking and he felt like he might cry.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked looking at him with concern. “You sure are bleeding pretty badly.”

  Rashad gave the cab driver the address. It cost him forty dollars to get to Skokie, but at least he got there safely.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN

  Abby was already home when Rashad arrived. When she saw him she let out a scream.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged, embarrassed by his weakness. Ashamed to say he’d been beaten up in the train station.

  “Rashad? Tell me . . . who did this to you?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Tell me . . . I have to know.” She put her hands on his shoulders and made him face her.

  His head slumped down. He couldn’t look her in the eye. Abby lifted his chin and gazed directly at her husband. “Tell me what happened. Tell me, Rashad,” she repeated.

  His shoulders dropped in defeat and he told her what happened.

  Her hand went to her throat as she listened. Once he finished she said, “This is sickening. I am going to call the police.”

  He shook his head. “No. Please. Just let me go and take a shower. I need to lie down.”

  “Can I come and lie with you?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. I want to be alone.”

  Abby adhered to Rashad’s wishes but she felt lost and distanced from him. Something terrible had happened to him today, and she knew that it was going to change their lives. She just didn’t know how bad it would be.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

  Rashad never came out of the bedroom that night. Abby went to sleep in Mark’s old room but she couldn’t rest. She lay in the darkness, her heart aching for Rashad. His pride is hurt. I saw it in his eyes. They hurt his body but not only that; they damaged his soul. It was like the light that always shone from him was gone. My poor gentle, sweet, husband. He is not only worried about what he is going to do for work but he is also ashamed of what happened to him. I wonder if I had not been home when he arrived if he would have ever told me about the incident. Knowing Rashad, I doubt he would have.

  When the sun rose, Abby got out of bed. She hadn’t slept at all. It was chilly in the house. She went into the bathroom. The tiles felt like ice cubes on her feet. Abby turned the hot water on in the shower. At first it came out cold but she let it run until the bathroom steamed up with heat. She walked in and let the hot water spill like a warm rain, caressing her body. It was strange; she had not suffered any physical harm, yet her body ached as if she had been beaten up. I am feeling his pain. His pain is my pain. We are that close. I have never been so close to another human being. Not in my entire life. Rashad. Please, come out of the bedroom and let’s talk, she thought as she dried herself off.

  But when she went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, she saw that her bedroom door was still closed. Rashad had not come out. Abby began to worry. Her mind started to race. What if he committed suicide? Oh God, no. He might be dead. He could have tried to kill himself. Maybe he is still alive and he’s dying right now and I am just standing here doing nothing. I have to go in. I can’t bear this any longer.

  Abby left the coffee pot filled with water but not ready to brew and walked to her bedroom. Her hands were trembling as she stood in front of the door. He told me to leave him alone but I can’t. She turned the doorknob and walked in. The light was off. The room was dark but Rashad was sitting up on the edge of the bed. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. He didn’t look up when she entered.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice a soft comforting whisper.

  “Hi.”

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No . . . thank you,” he said. Then a few moments of uncomfortable silence fell upon the dark room. Not a single ray of sunlight came through the drapes. Rashad began to speak again. His voice sounded cold and far away and was filled with anger and bitterness. “The Americans hate bin Laden. Well, I hate him even more than they could ever hate him. I am not a violent man. I have never hurt a single living thing. But, if I could, I would kill him with my bare hands. He has stolen my life and the lives of every other righteous Muslim in America.” His rage was so great that he was trembling.

  “Rashad . . . ” Abby said, rushing over to where he was sitting and putting her arm around him. He raised his hand in a motion that told her to stop.

  “I’m going home, Abby. I am going back to Egypt. The dream I had of living a perfect life here in the U.S. with you is over. We can’t have children together. Our children would never be safe. Look what happened to me yesterday. How could we send our child to school? And what about you? How do you think people will treat you when they find out that you’re married to an Arab? You will be treated with contempt. Abby, you don’t deserve that.”

  “But Rashad, you’re being unreasonable. I don’t care about what people say or think.”

  “I do. I don’t want your life to be harder because of me.”

  “I don’t care how hard it is.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. I would love to take you back to Egypt with me, but I wouldn’t be so selfish as to ask you to leave your family and your business. Our lives in Egypt would be hard. You are Jewish, I am a Muslim. There is always unrest between Israel and the Arabic countries. It would not be safe for you.”

  “Rashad?”

  “I will file for a divorce. This is what is best for both of us.”

  “I can’t believe this . . . ”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE

  Rashad left that day and Abby was devastated. She threw herself into her business, spending long hours creating new programs for the restaurant. A month later, the tiny thrift store that was right adjacent to the muffin shop went out of business. Abby rented the space for a very low cost and spent hours making decorations for the second location. She kept very busy. She planned to use the area for extra seating on Saturday and Sunday mornings and for afternoon birthday parties for children. The shop would provide cupcakes for each child and all kinds of candy and frostings to decorate them. Each party would be an hour and a half long. She made up flyers and sent them out to schools, preschools, after-school programs, synagogues, and churches. Bookings started to come in right away.

  “This was a great i
dea, Ab,” Haley said. She was straightening things behind the counter. “I think it’s going to be very successful.”

  “Yeah, I agree. We’ve had a lot of calls.” Then Abby added, “Haley, I have something to tell you. My period is late.”

  Haley stopped what she was doing and looked up at Abby. “You think you’re pregnant?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  “How long has it been since you got your last period?”

  “Two months.”

  “Since Rashad left?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s take a test. I’ll go to the drug store around the corner and get one,” Haley said.

  Abby knew even before she urinated on the small stick that the results were going to be positive, and she was right. “I’m pregnant,” she told Haley.

  “Are you going to tell Rashad?”

  “No.”

  “I think he should know,” Haley said. “It’s only fair to him. Besides, he would come back if he knew.”

  “Yeah, he would but for the wrong reasons. He’d come because he’d feel like it was his responsibility, not because of his love for me and for his own desire to try and make things work here. It would be forced, Hale. I won’t do that.”

  As her belly grew larger, Abby thought about the baby and how he would never know his father. She did not try to contact Rashad and he made no effort to contact her either.

  A week after her divorce papers were finalized, Abby gave birth to a handsome baby boy. She named him Donavon Levi in honor of her father. Eidel, Haley, and Warren were at her side. Mark and John had boarded a plane to Chicago that morning and were expected to arrive late that afternoon.

  After Donavon was born, a nurse took him off to the nursery to clean him up. Abby and her mother and sister were in the hospital room waiting for the nurse to bring little Donavon back.