Exiles in America(126)

about Mr. Rohani. How some students thought he was too tough but others

thought he was great. How having him on campus was a real education, since

he made us see there were all kinds of Muslims. But we never talked about

politics in class, only art.”

“You didn’t say anything about your little adventure back in the fall with

him and Mrs. Rohani?”

“Oh no! Never.” She looked startled, as if she’d forgotten it. “They never

even asked about her.”

Daniel relaxed again. “So what do you think they wanted?”

“I don’t know. They said they only needed information. If there’s a war,

they said, we need to know who our friends are.”

“You haven’t told Mr. Rohani about this yet?”

“No. Should I? I don’t know what to say.”

Daniel thought a moment. “Maybe I should tell him. I won’t mention your

name. I’ll just say it’s a trustworthy source. But I don’t think it’s anything to

worry about. He just needs to be careful.”

Maureen looked relieved. “It is nothing to worry about, isn’t it? Good. I

wasn’t sure. But I needed to talk about it with someone I could trust, and

you’re the only one.”

Daniel didn’t know if there was or wasn’t cause for alarm, but he assured

Maureen things were fine and no harm had been done. “I should get back to

my class. And you have to cross campus, right?”

She thanked him and hurried off. Daniel returned to the classroom. He

was surprised at how calm he felt, as if he’d convinced himself as well as Mau-

reen they had no cause for panic. There was another ten minutes before the

hour ended and he could go find Abbas. He drifted among the students, pre-

tending to give his full attention to their exercises.

He and Abbas had seen little of each other since their Christmas night fi-

asco. They’d been keeping their distance, which seemed to work. They could

greet each other in the hall now without warmth or pain. What would Abbas

think when Daniel came to him with a wild-ass story about the feds nosing

around? Would he think Daniel was trying to fuck with his head? Or would

he think Daniel was a nervous Nellie who was upset about nothing? Maybe it

would be better if he kept mum. But Abbas might really be in trouble. Better

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

2 8 9

to do the wrong thing than nothing. Daniel ran both hands over his hair and

scalp, assuring himself his head was still firmly on his shoulders.

When the first student began to put away his work, Daniel looked at his

watch. “Right then. That’s all for today, gang. See you next week.” He went

straight down the hall to Abbas’s studio.

The door was closed. Nobody answered when Daniel knocked. He heard

nothing inside, no music or movement. He went around the corner to Abbas’s

office, which Abbas never used, but Abbas wasn’t there either. Finally he

went to the classroom for Advanced Painting. The door was wide open. There

was nobody in the turp-smelling room, only a dozen easels, each bearing a

small canvas with a different version of the same male nude in boots. For a

moment Daniel thought the figure was Abbas. Did he pose naked for his stu-

dents so he could point out anatomical details more easily? Then Daniel saw

a canvas in a more advanced stage and realized the model was Ted Dean, an

old student turned slacker who still lived in town.

Suddenly Abbas strolled in. “Oh?” he said when he saw Daniel. He was

wiping his hands on a paper towel. He looked neither pleased nor unhappy to

see him. “I thought you were a student. I told them I would be here Friday

mornings for anyone who needs help. Big waste of time. Nobody ever comes.

Only one person came today.”

“Well, they have other classes,” said Daniel.

“If they were serious about their art, they’d let their other classes go hang.

But they are just hobbyists.”

Daniel was tempted to defend them, just to postpone saying what he’d

come to say. His mouth was dry. He moistened his teeth.

“I don’t mean to worry you,” he began, “but I thought you should

know”—he sounded as flustered as Maureen. “There are federal agents on

campus asking after you.”

Abbas lowered his eyebrows. “What kind of agents? Immigration?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to them. A student talked to them and came to

me, so I could warn you.”

“Immigration visited me two months ago. And before that was someone

from the CIA.”

“So you’re used to this?”

2 9 0

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

Abbas shrugged. “Yes, no. Whatever country I go to, there is always some-