Exiles in America(107)

Court—but he tried to visit a mosque every Friday, even when abroad.

“Is there a mosque in Williamsburg?” asked Zack.

“In Newport News,” said Elena. “In an old car dealership on a highway,

between a Burger King and a filling station.” She took nasty pleasure in the lo-

cation.

“You should have gone there during Ramadan,” Hassan told his brother.

“If not for your sake, then for Arash. It is good for a boy to have such memo-

ries for later, when it is time for him to choose or not choose religion. It was

invaluable for me.”

“No,” said Abbas quietly. “We did not observe Ramadan. Nor did we ob-

serve Death to America Day.”

Hassan chuckled. “November fourth,” he explained to his hosts. “The day

the American embassy was seized after the fall of the Shah. We stopped cele-

brating it years ago. It was never very popular. We did not have Death to

America trees in the home”—he pointed at the Christmas tree—“or send

Death to America cards to each other.”

Daniel gazed at their tree. “It’s sometimes odd being a Jew at Christmas. It

must be hell to be a Muslim.”

Zack examined Daniel, wondering where this was going.

2 4 6

C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m

Hassan only smiled. “Not at all. Christmas is charming. Exotic. You must

feel something similar when you read Greek mythology or visit the ruined

temples of Rome.”

“All religion is like chemotherapy,” said Elena. “It does more harm than

good.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Daniel.

The others were instantly silent, as if two guns had just been fired in the

air. Zack was surprised to find Daniel and Elena on the same side—he won-

dered if he’d have to step in and keep the peace.

Hassan remained calm and confident. “Yet true religion, in the end, does

more good than ill. Like successful chemo.”

“And who is to say which religion is true?” said Elena.

“The one that does the most good. That gives solace and unity to the most

people.”

“Ah, majority rules?” Elena spoke lightly, playfully, as if this were a game

she and her brother-in-law often played together.

“Yes, majority rules. Democracy is good. It dilutes and smoothes away

personal error.” Hassan addressed Zack. “Iran was thrown too quickly into

the future. We became lost in modernity.” He made the word sound very for-

eign: mo-dare-nity. “We needed God. We needed Islam. Because people must

believe in something larger than themselves. We could believe in race and be

like the Nazis. Or in the State and be like the Communists. So Islam is better.

We are bringing back the good, old, moral Iran of our ancestors.”

“The old Iran was not so moral,” said Abbas, looking down at his coffee cup.

“It was about cruelty and riches, sensuous painting and freethinking poetry.”

He said something in Farsi, a lovely singsong of syllables, then translated. “ ‘We

go to the tavern to make up for all the time we have wasted in the mosque.’ ”

Hassan waved the quote aside and laughed. “That is the old Persian cyni-

cism. Omar Khayyam and the rest. Maudlin drunks. There are other Persian

poets.”

“Yes, there are erotic poets like Hafiz.” Abbas spoke again in Farsi, but

didn’t translate this quote.

Hassan hesitated, then frowned. For the first time tonight, he seemed at a

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

2 4 7

loss for words. He glanced over at Zack, then looked away, embarrassed.

Then he found his words.

“You misread him. That is divine love. He is a Sufi, and the Sufis are often

misread. Hafiz’s love of boys is only a metaphor, a dangerous yet beautiful

metaphor. Otherwise it is vicious pederasty.”

His harsh tone startled Zack. He looked at Daniel, who appeared similarly

startled. Abbas continued to face his brother, defiantly poker-faced, coolly

silent.

“Erotic love is divine in its own right. It doesn’t need to be a metaphor.”

Everyone turned. It was Elena who spoke.

“Hafiz writes so grandly about men loving boys,” she said, “that it is ab-

surd to pretend he means something else. Why not say that American movies

where men and women kiss are only metaphors and allow them in your the-

aters? Pornography, too, is a divine metaphor. Naked bodies are only similes

for hungry souls.” She spoke slowly, carefully, with the tiniest smile.

And Zack understood: she found her husband’s sexuality less of a threat to

her marriage than she found her brother-in-law’s religion. She was on her

husband’s side here. Would she come right out and spill his secret? What did