by Jenifer Ruff
“No, I’ve got it. I can wrap it up for now.” Kareem quickly folded the letter and slid it under a pile of envelopes, all with the Yoga Institute of Paris in the return address.
“Okay,” Amin said under his breath. He massaged his biceps on one arm. “I’m sore. From working on the mosque every day.”
Kareem nodded, maintaining eye contact with his cousin. “So, how’s it going?”
“Better than expected. It’s good for me, the manual labor. There’s a first time for everything. And Mustafa is a good man. Imagine what life would be like if everyone was as happy as him all the time.”
Kareem nodded.
“So, have you heard anything more about when I start the financial work? I’m not complaining, but it has been a week already.”
Kareem picked up the letters and envelopes on the counter. “It turns out they may not need you for the finance work after all. Their needs change. We’ll find out soon. But no worries. They’ll need you for something else. Definitely.”
“Who is this they again?”
“Same people who own the yoga company. They’re investors. Mustafa’s father is one of them.”
“Investors in what?”
Kareem stared deep into his cousin’s eyes before answering. “In our future.”
Waiting inside Al-Bahil’s office to discuss the “future” of his project, Kareem rubbed his clammy hands on his pants. The guards were laughing and eating something just outside the door. He flinched at a loud SMACK, and turned to look over his shoulder. One of the guards made eye contact and winked, the other cracked his knuckles. They were trying to mess with him, and it was working. He turned back around and did his best to pretend they weren’t there, always watching.
A toilet flushed and not even a second later, Al-Bahil entered the room. No way had there been time for handwashing. In spite of his anxiety, the microbiologist in Kareem cringed with disgust, but it was nothing relative to what he had been summoned to discuss.
“Where were we?” Al-Bahil, scooped up a handful of nuts. “Ah, the recruits. We need more.”
Kareem swept the back of his hand across the film of sweat on his forehead. “What about the people designated for the subway attacks? Are any of them American citizens?”
“No.”
“They can’t leave the country and go back in?”
“No.”
Sometimes Al-Bahil acted as if Kareem should be honored he was given a private audience with him, and he should not show disrespect by asking questions. Kareem was not just anybody. He was an accomplished scientist who couldn’t be easily replaced. He was necessary.
“You were hardly successful finding recruits. It’s good you have that cousin.”
Kareem nodded.
“It’s time to consider the ultimate sacrifice. Considering your failure, it’s required.” Al-Bahil stared hard at Kareem.
Kareem paled, choking back his anguish, and nodded again. His body began to tremble. Apparently, he wasn’t necessary any longer.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. He’d accomplished more than most people do in a lifetime. Even if no one would ever learn of it.
Chapter Twenty
Los Angeles
October 25th
It was another beautiful day on the Southern California coast, until Holly merged onto the 110 Highway and inched along, stuck between two huge trucks. Gone was the breeze she’d enjoyed near the beach. Traffic had just begun moving, from ten miles an hour to forty-five, when her phone rang. She answered without looking to see who it was. She’d been more careful driving since the unfortunate accident with Reese.
“Hi, gorgeous. What are you doing?” said Christian.
“Driving.”
“Come out and visit me.”
“I can’t. I have a previous commitment.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m visiting my ex-stepmother for lunch.”
“Your ex-stepmother? Where does she live?”
“In a mental hospital.”
“Seriously?”
“Pretty much. That’s what the place would have been called a few decades ago. Now it’s called a rehab facility. Essentially, it’s a long-term spa for older people who can’t handle life. She’s lucky my father makes enough money to keep her there. Rehab-resorts are not the worst places to spend one’s time, and this one is more like a country club.”
“How long have they been divorced?”
“I don’t know. She lived with us when I was in middle school and part of high school. They got divorced after. She hasn’t been in rehab all that time though.”
“How come you’re going to see her? A special occasion?”
“I try to go once a month. She doesn’t have anyone else. She’s lonely.”
“She doesn’t have any other children?”
“No. Just me. Her ex-step-daughter.”
“That’s nice of you, then. No one wants to be alone when they’re older. Someone needs to be there for her. My grandmother lived with us for a few years before she died. She had Alzheimer’s.”
Holly’s mood suddenly changed. Christian’s story introduced some unpleasant questions. Who would take care of Holly when she was older? What if she got Alzheimer’s? Who would visit her in a rehab-resort if she ended up not being able to cope someday? Not Quinn. He’d probably never retire. And his job was dangerous. He could die and leave her even more alone than she already felt. Dying terrified her. Dying alone would be so much worse. She didn’t want to die alone from Alzheimer’s or any other way.
“I have to go.” Holly hung up before Christian could say goodbye.
At the rehab resort Holly noticed several of the “guests,” that’s what they called the people living there, visiting with younger people who were nicely dressed and mostly attractive. Presumably, their children. Babies grew up to be children, and children, grew up to be adults, hopefully good-looking ones, who might turn out to be enjoyable company someday.
Maybe having a baby wasn’t the worst idea after all.
Thoughts of making babies turned to thoughts of romantic dinners and fabulous wine in Barcelona. She couldn’t wait to have Quinn all to herself for a whole week. When was the last time they had been together for so long? Their honeymoon. They went to a couples’ only resort in the Caribbean. They both ended up with terrible sunburns the first day, and had to be so gentle with each other in bed. Quinn was tender, kissing her everywhere her skin wasn’t red, the best places. Pretty soon her body was on fire, and not from the sun burn, but feverish with desire. They couldn’t get enough of each other. It had been wonderful. Just remembering gave her a sensual longing for him. They were so happy in those days.
She sent Quinn a text.
It’s me. Just wanted to say I love you.
Chapter Twenty-One
Syria
October 25th
Amin woke in the second bedroom with aching muscles, appreciating the correlation between his soreness and his physical efforts. Due to all the manual labor, he’d slept well again.
He found Kareem eating at the kitchen counter again. “Morning. I waited up for you last night? Were you working?”
Kareem nodded, his mouth full.
“I wanted to tell you, I’m planning to go home on Tuesday.”
Kareem let his spoon drop to the counter. “Already?”
“I’ll have been here for three weeks. And the financial work…I don’t know what happened with that, but I need to earn a living. My skills are getting rusty.”
“But, you never…” Kareem stopped mid-sentence and shook his head.
Amin waited a few seconds before saying, “What were you going to say? I never what?”
“Nothing.” A heavy sigh escaped Kareem’s lips as he ran his hand roughly from his cheek to his chin.
“You know, I was thinking, I haven’t spoken to a woman or even seen one up close since I arrived. That’s weird. I think it’s why I can’t get Isa out of my mind.”
“The girl you told me about? The one who turned out to be engaged?”
“Yeah.”
“Forget her. She’s not worth the agony,” Kareem said in a soft voice. “Sorry, my friend, but I have to go back to the lab.”
Amin thought they were on the verge of a heartfelt conversation. But he was wrong.
“It’s not usually like this,” said Kareem. “I don’t usually work this much. There’s something important I need to finish as soon as possible. Deadlines. You know how it is.” He stood up, put his empty plate and glass in the sink, grabbed a set of keys, and left, leaving Amin wondering what was going on with his cousin.
Why did Kareem look disappointed about him leaving? What did he expect? They were hardly spending any time together anyway. Amin sighed, choosing not to waste any more time trying to figure out Kareem. He ate breakfast alone and headed to the mosque to help Mustafa, who was always thrilled to see him, although, he might have been thrilled to see anyone.
On his way to the mosque, Amin heard shouting from a loudspeaker in the distance. The sounds came from the mosque. A series of energetic proclamations. After each, the men nearby responded with a wholehearted-sounding “Ameen”. A different voice would take up the chant in the same stirring tone, and again the men answered together, passion ringing from their voices, “Ameen.”
“Hey, Mustafa,” Amin said with a smile. Mustafa hadn’t seen him coming and looked startled at first.
Mustafa’s most noticeable “difference” stemmed from his unwavering pleasant attitude. But not today. He greeted Amin with a look that was half-smile, half-grimacing apology.
“What’s wrong?” said Amin.
Mustafa shook his head. His grimace deepened when the voices resumed over the loudspeaker.
“What is being said?” Amin asked.
Mustafa patted him on the shoulder. “No worry.”
“Please tell me.”
“May Allah make their children orphans and make their wives widows. Send disease and epidemics to destroy them. Drench them in their own blood.”
“Holy shit.” Amin shook his head. “Who are they talking about?”
“Non-believers. Christians and Jews. Infidels.”
Now that he understood the meaning of the announcements booming loudly across the square, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and a shudder rolled over him. Anyone who managed to grab a loudspeaker and broadcast similar pleas across uptown Charlotte would have hell to pay for their hate speech. But Syria was not Charlotte. And all the men he could see were actively responding while continuing their business, as if they heard these chants on a regular basis. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for them. So why did Mustafa alone look so uncomfortable?
“At least they only want to kill the men. Not the women and children. That’s something.” Amin lifted an eyebrow to make sure Mustafa recognized his sarcasm. Mustafa still looked pained. Amin guessed why. “Are they talking about Americans too?”
Mustafa nodded. “But not you.”
“Why not me? How do you know?”
“Because, you know, you’re not a Christian or a Jew, and you’re helping.”
Amin assumed Mustafa meant helping repair the mosque. He wished he hadn’t asked about the chants. Too bad Mustafa hadn’t made up a different story. Told him they were singing “Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work we go.” Ignorance is bliss.
“The filthy French are worse than Americans,” Mustafa added, as if his comment would boost Amin’s confidence.
The prayer bells rang and Mustafa’s smile returned. “Time to pray.”
Each time the men were called to prayer, Amin and Mustafa went inside and cleansed. It became a ritual, a break, a chance to recharge physically and emotionally five times a day. Amin didn’t understand the spoken messages ringing through the mosque, and now, he didn’t ask, preferring not to know. Instead, he prayed for confidence, goodness, and compassion. He prayed for his family. He prayed for starving dogs and people he saw who looked like they could use prayers. He prayed to counteract the prayers from the loudspeaker. The more he prayed, the more natural the process became and the more fulfillment he received. To be good at anything—piano, soccer, spreadsheets—took practice. Day after day of practice. Perhaps praying was the same. It seemed to be the case. He’d logged in more consecutive practice days than ever before.
A few hours later, when Amin returned from the building site, coated with a layer of sweat and dirt, Kareem greeted him inside the apartment door.
“Welcome back. I have some big news. Guess what I’m going to do?”
“No idea. Tell me.”
“I’m going to visit you in North Carolina. I’m going to the States.”
“Oh.” Amin paused to process the news and conceal his concern. To add to his confusion, Kareem’s unsmiling, serious expression was more suited for announcing his own funeral than a trip overseas. “You don’t look very excited,” said Amin.
“Oh. I am. It’s just, I have a lot to do to get ready. You know?”
“Well, it will be great to have company if I have to go back the same way I came. That’s for sure.”
“I can’t go with you. I’m still not finished with something in the lab. I can’t leave until I’m done. I won’t be far behind.” He looked around his apartment as if surveying all his possessions.
“So, you’re leaving a few days after me?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I just wait, then?”
“No. Just in case something comes up. I don’t want to hold you up any longer. Unless something completely unforeseen happens, I’ll be there by the sixth of November, you can count on that. Oh, one thing. Before we go back, we both have to get a vaccination.”
“Huh?”
“A vaccination. You know, a shot.”
“I don’t need any vaccinations,” Amin said.
“We both have to get this before we can leave.”
“Who says? I didn’t hear anything about this before.”
“The European and Asian countries don’t require it. But the U.S. is paranoid about people bringing sicknesses into their country. It’s not a big deal, just come with me.”
“I’m not letting someone stick a needle in me without finding out what it’s for.”
“It’s like a flu vaccine.”
“I had one two months ago. I don’t need another.” Amin was starting to get annoyed. He felt a knot tighten inside his stomach.
“They paid for your trip. Get the shot. Please.”
“You just said the U.S. Government required the vaccination. So, who is this they? Your employer? The investors? The yoga people? Why do they need me to get a vaccination?”
“Please trust it’s the right thing to do and come with me.”
Amin narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to google it.”
“Good luck getting internet service.”
Not for the first time, Amin felt a chill of apprehension in his cousin’s presence. “I don’t need a vaccination. I’m not getting one.”
“All right. Don’t get all upset about it.” Kareem frowned
“All right? So now I don’t need one anymore? Just like that? Because now I’m really confused. What the hell is going on?”
“I’ll see what I can do to get you out of it, okay?” Kareem said in a quiet voice. “There are other ways…” All at once he looked exhausted and sad.
“What did you say?” Amin stepped closer to hear even though he experienced a strong urge to put distance between them.
“Don’t worry.”
A shiver ran down Amin’s spine. For once, he hadn’t gone along blindly with whatever his cousin said. The realization didn’t leave him feeling any less unnerved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Syria
October 29th
Amin sat on the remaining section of a toppled wall outside the mosque opposite graffiti spray-painted on a fence. He’d asked Mustafa what the words meant. The answer—Remainin
g and Expanding. Amin mistakenly thought the slogan referred to the work at the mosque.
He watched the villagers, intending to leave Syria with a solid understanding of the deeply religious but alarmingly hostile society. At first, he was wary of the men because he didn’t understand most of what they said. Now, he was more worried because of what he did understand.
The women wore burkas and scarves, some colorful and printed, some dull and plain. They stepped carefully through the streets carrying baskets, groceries, and children. They didn’t have to wear the head to toe ghost wraps he had seen on the way through Syria. But there were no tight yoga pants in the mix. And no power suits. How would Melissa feel about wearing a burka? How would Isa feel?
“I’m finished. Let’s go back,” Mustafa said, interrupting Amin’s thoughts, which was just as well. Almost a month had passed since he learned Isa was engaged and he was still feeling the sting and letting her sneak into his thoughts. He had to move on.
“Kareem is giving me his television. Now I’ll have two.” Mustafa flashed his grin and his perfectly straightened teeth, not the norm in Syria.
“Why is he giving you his television?”
“He is leaving. Going to America.”
“Oh. To visit me. But he’s coming back.”
“He said he’s leaving and I could have it.” Mustafa’s smile was so genuine, Amin didn’t want to set him straight by telling him the television might not be a permanent gift.
In Kareem’s apartment, Amin helped disconnect the wires behind the TV. Mustafa wrapped it in a blanket he had brought with him, and carried it away like a cherished child.
Kareem returned shortly after. “Hey. I’m glad you’re back. Before I forget, I need your mailing address in Charlotte.”
“Why?”
“I need to have something mailed to you.”
“Why not give it to me now?”
“Cuz I don’t have it yet. It’s something good. Consider it a gift for hosting me next week.”
Amin raised an eyebrow with concern. “Hey, you know Mustafa took your TV, right? That’s okay?”
