mained low and steady throughout. He now sat very still.
“But it’s over?” said Daniel. “You’re free? They’re not going to bother you
anymore?”
Abbas shrugged, a contemptuous lift of one shoulder. “They say it’s over.
I don’t know if I believe them. I don’t know if they believe it. Because they
are idiots. Total idiots. They do not know what they are looking for. They
are little men pretending to be big men.” He turned to Zack. “You think
your country is different. That people are safe and secure here. But your
country is as bad as the others. Maybe worse because your police do not
know what they want.” He shook his head again. “Iran does not look so ter-
rible now.”
Elena pinched her mouth shut in a tight little frown.
“But you’re safe now,” said Daniel. “They’re finished with you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I do not know. But I distrust this country. I do not
feel safe here.”
Elena jumped in. “So we finish the semester and go to Canada. As we
planned.”
Abbas frowned. “How do I know I will be safe in Canada? There is noth-
ing for me in Canada.”
3 0 8
C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
“There is nothing for me in Iran!” cried Elena.
Abbas gave her a cool, steady look. He adjusted his glasses and sadly nod-
ded. “Yes. I know. You would be miserable there. I cannot do that to you.”
He looked heartbroken, only it was hard to guess which thing pained him, his
loyalty to his wife or his sudden homesickness for Iran. He wasn’t as tough as
he pretended.
“Look,” said Zack. “You’ve been through a terrible experience today.
Something that’s left you feeling badly unraveled. You can’t make any deci-
sions about anything right now. You need to wait. Think about it a few days.
You don’t have to decide right away, do you? You can afford to wait and think
and see where things stand.”
“He is right,” said Elena. “We should wait. We can talk about this tomor-
row. Maybe we won’t leave. But if we do, we do not have to go to Canada. We
could go back to France. Anywhere but Iran.”
“You don’t understand,” said Abbas. “Wherever we go we will not be
safe. What is happening here can happen anywhere.”
She was silent a moment. Then she said, “I do not want to fight. I want to
be glad you are home. Glad you are safe and sound.”
“Yes, I am home, aren’t I?” His eyes roamed the room, seeing first his
wife, then his American friends—only Zack feared Americans might not look
friendly tonight—then he gazed at the ceiling, toward the rooms where his
children were sleeping. He took a deep breath. “You are right. I cannot think
clearly tonight. What day is today? I cannot even remember what day it is.”
Zack suddenly couldn’t remember either.
“Friday,” said Daniel.
“Friday?” said Abbas. “Good. I do not have to face my students tomor-
row. It is not their fault. Still—”
“You need time,” said Zack. “Give yourself time. You’ve had a horrible
experience. If there’s anything we can do, you can call us.” He slowly stood
up, letting Daniel know they should go.
Daniel drew his legs together and got off the floor. “It’s good to have you
back, Abbas. We were worried.”
Abbas only nodded. He refused to look at Daniel, as if he blamed
Daniel—Zack was surprised to imagine such an emotion.
E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a
3 0 9
“Good night, Elena,” said Zack as they pulled on their coats. “Again, if
you need anything . . .”
She gave him a slight bow and looked back at Abbas, who remained sunk
in his chair, staring at the fire.
The two men walked out to the Toyota. Zack still had the keys, so he got
in on the driver’s side. When Daniel sat next to him, Zack reached over, took
hold of his hand, lifted it, and kissed the back of it.
“What’s that for?”
“I don’t know. Just to thank you for being you.”
Daniel frowned. “For all the good it does anybody.”
40
Life should have gone back to normal after that. Life should have felt
good again. But it is hard to believe in safety after your imagination has
lived with disaster for nine hours. Daniel’s sleep that night was full of bad
dreams. He could remember nothing about the dreams the next morning ex-
cept a general sense of panic, but he lay in bed feeling like a hole had been
punched in his world and all kinds of new catastrophes could pour in. He felt
helpless, useless, stupid. He felt guilty, too, as if it were his fault he’d been able