Exiles in America(117)

schedule, but I am at the Barnes and Noble Superstore in Merchants Square

every afternoon between one and four. You will always find me upstairs,

drinking their good American coffee.”

The message was on Zack’s answering machine, the “Dr. Knowles” num-

ber used by patients. Zack checked it regularly in case someone called with an

emergency. Today was the day after the day after Christmas. Zack suspected

Hassan wanted more than a friendly chat; he knew he should ignore the invi-

tation. Both he and Daniel needed to keep away from the Rohanis. Yet he was

curious—very curious—and Daniel was out for the day, gone to Richmond to

look at wallpaper for the dining room, his home project for the winter. Zack

knew he was still angry with Daniel but decided that his anger had nothing to

do with his desire to see Hassan. He’d be very careful, and would tell Daniel

about the meeting later.

Zack walked over to Merchants Square that afternoon. The day was cold

and overcast. The bookstore was full of tourists. Upstairs, however, the café

along the balcony was nearly deserted. This was a hangout for students, and

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

they were all home for the holidays. Christmas music still played over the

sound system: “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

Hassan sat at a corner table with an open laptop and a loose heap of mag-

azines and newspapers. He wore his usual blue wool suit with a collarless

shirt. He looked very solemn, typing away with two fingers. He saw Zack over

the tops of his half-glasses. He broke into a grin and stood up.

“Doctor! So good to see you. I was afraid we would not get a chance to

talk before I left.” He closed his laptop and took off his glasses. “Sit, please.

The news is not good.” He gestured at the magazines, mostly business-

related, plus the Times and Wall Street Journal. “Your president does not trust the UN inspectors to do their job. We hate Saddam Hussein even more than

you do. But war is not a good idea.” He continued to smile in his silvery

beard. “War is vile. Which we learned for ourselves when we fought an eight-

year war with Iraq, back when they were your allies.”

Zack thanked Hassan for the offer of coffee but said he’d already had too

much caffeine today. “I assume you didn’t just want to drink coffee with me.

There was something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

“What? No small talk first?” Hassan laughed. “I am a bit that way myself.

Which is not a good way to do business in either Tehran or Paris. No prob-

lem. I already sense that one gets what one sees with you, Doctor. Your batin

and your zahir are the same. Your inside and outside.” Still smiling, he care-

fully placed his hands on the table, side by side. “So. I will cut to the chase. I

am concerned about my brother. I am trying hard to convince him and his

family to come home to Iran.”

“Really?” said Zack, feigning surprise. “Right away?”

“As soon as possible. In case a war closes your borders.”

“But Abbas wants to stay here?”

“No, he would like to come home. Part of him. But yes, part of him wants

to stay. And that part listens to his wife. They’ve made common cause against

the part that’s on my side.”

Zack pretended to think about it. “I’m sure they have perfectly good rea-

sons for wanting to stay out of Iran.”

Hassan nodded. “Some better than others. Which brings me to your

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

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mate. ” He lightly smacked his lips on the word: it made them sound like

Adam and Eve. “Who has a very special friendship with my brother.”

“Yes, well, yes.” Zack kept himself detached from his sudden nervousness.

“They have a lot in common. They’re both painters. They both teach. You saw

them the other night. All four of us have become very good friends over the

past few months.”

Hassan chuckled. “Doctor? You do not have to fib. I know my brother. I

know the nature of his friendships.”

Zack glanced at the other tables along the balcony, not because he thought

someone might hear this but to give himself time to think. The only other cof-

fee drinker was a thirty-something law student poring over a textbook. He

must be a married man who had come here this afternoon to get away from

his family.

“Do not misunderstand me,” said Hassan. “I do not care that this friend-

ship is sexual. I certainly do not care that my brother’s friend is an American

or even a Jew. No, what matters is that this friendship could be keeping him

from coming home.”

He knew more than Zack anticipated, yet he clearly knew nothing about