Exiles in America(135)

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