2 3 6
C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
“I don’t know. I’ll check our calendar.”
“Good. We will check ours.”
Both men spoke curtly, coldly, like two boys challenging each other to do
something dangerous.
“Wonderful!” cried Elena. “That would be lovely. You are such a fabulous
cook. Let us know what we can bring.”
“Do not go to any trouble on my account,” said Hassan. “It is honor
enough to be invited to your home.”
Zack wasn’t entirely surprised by Daniel’s change of mind. He was often
like this, sullen and resistant one moment, then abruptly generous. Zack just
hadn’t expected the change so soon.
“Hassan. Abbas. Elena.” Zack gave a little bow to each but shook hands
with Elena. “We’ll give you a call.”
“Yes,” said Daniel. “We’ll call you. Tonight or tomorrow. Goodbye. You
too, kids. Enjoy the snow.”
They headed out the gate with Jocko and back down Duke of Gloucester
Street. They did not speak for the first fifty yards. The only sounds were the
crunch and squeak of snow and a subdued canine panting.
“All right,” said Daniel. “You first.”
“Me? I’m primarily a spectator here. You’re in the thick of it. What was it
like for you?”
Daniel took a deep breath. “Painless. Weirdly painless. Almost painfully
painless. I was amazed at how little I felt. I kept looking at him, waiting to see
something. I saw nothing. I almost didn’t recognize him. Whatever was there
is gone. You’d think I hadn’t seen him in months instead of just a few weeks.”
“And that’s what was painful?”
“Plus he never looked at me. Which pissed me off. It was like he didn’t
want to see me, not even as a friend or colleague.”
“So why did you invite them to dinner?”
“Because I was sure he’d say no.”
“It was a dare?”
Daniel twisted his mouth into a smile. “He was acting so damn butch and
pious around his brother. Like he had nothing to fear from me. Nothing to
feel ashamed of.”
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
2 3 7
“You think he should feel ashamed?”
“You know what I mean. Do you want me to uninvite them?”
Zack hesitated. “Not really. Because I want them to come. I’m curious
about his brother.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” said Daniel. “Well, I’m curious too. I don’t
know who this brother is. I don’t know who Abbas is anymore. What do you
think Elena has up her sleeve?”
“Nothing. Why should she be up to something?”
“I don’t know. Except I would think she’d be overjoyed to have a mullah
in the house. If it kept her husband in her bed.”
“Elena is more enlightened than you give her credit for.”
“Well, she’s your friend, not mine.”
His tone of voice surprised Zack. Was Daniel jealous of his friendship with
Elena? “Look, if having them over for dinner is going to be too weird for us,
maybe we shouldn’t.”
“But I want to. Because it feels over. Really. It began with a dinner. Let’s let
it end with a dinner. Don’t worry. I’m not going to pull out the blow job paint-
ing this time.”
Zack turned and stared at him.
And Daniel laughed. “That was a joke, Zack. Can’t I make jokes about it?
Now that it’s over?”
“Yes. You’re right. Sorry. Of course we can make jokes.” Jokes proved that
they were still alert and open and fully aware of what was happening around
them.
They came out of the restored area into Merchants Square, where a chorus
of shovels harshly scraped the pavement. It was a noise Zack associated with
New York, not Virginia. A half dozen store owners were out clearing paths to
their doors.
Ross stood in front of his theater, bundled up in an old army coat and dig-
ging away with a pointy-bladed garden shovel. “Hey, dudes. Look at this shit.
So pretty when it comes down. But then you got to clean it up and you find
it’s nothing but mess. So what’s new?”
Nothing, they told him. Nothing at all.
32
The future cabinet minister of the Islamic Republic stood in their liv-
ing room on Wednesday night, gazing skeptically at the fire in the fire-
place, the simply dressed Christmas tree, the pictures by friends that hung on
the walls. Daniel had forgotten about the art and wondered if he should have
taken some of it down. Peggy Hoffman’s nude photo of her hypermuscular
husband, like an Edward Weston pepper, did not look so abstract or innocent
tonight. Fuck it, this is our home, he thought. It was too late to change any-