Exiles in America(136)

to do so little. He couldn’t begin to guess what Abbas was feeling today.

Zack wanted to talk, of course, but Daniel preferred to be silent about yes-

terday. Real talk would only make him feel worse. So they said little to each

other and the weekend passed slowly. Daniel suggested they give the Rohanis

a breather for the next few days, and Zack agreed, but on Sunday, Daniel

called the house to ask if Abbas and the kids wanted to go to the pool. It was

Elena who answered. She thanked Daniel for the invitation but said Abbas

was staying in bed today. He hadn’t been sleeping well.

On Monday a special department meeting was called for one o’clock,

everybody’s lunch hour. Daniel arrived five minutes late, took a quick look

around the conference room, and understood what the meeting was about.

“Where’s Abbas?” he asked.

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“We decided,” Jane began, “or no, I decided, that this would be easier if

visiting faculty weren’t present.” She lowered her head, unable to look him in

the eye. “Have a seat, Daniel. I was just telling everyone that things are fine

now. The FBI learned what they needed to know, and we got a clean bill of

health. So let’s just forget last week ever happened.”

The others at the table blandly faced Jane but were stealing peeks at

Daniel—all except Samuel Clay Brooke, who only looked confused.

Oh shit, thought Daniel. The FBI had spoken not just to Zack and a few

students but to his colleagues, too, asking questions and unleashing suspi-

cions. Or rather, the questions must have confirmed suspicions, since there

was already talk among the students, and students were the last to notice any-

thing. Being the subject of gossip usually amused Daniel—he should be

proud that people knew he was engaged in a sexy little soap opera. But today

their interest felt different: cold, uneasy, judgmental. He could feel the eyes of

his occasional friends—Warren Bates, Ginny McMullen, Bob Potts—dart

around his face like flies.

“Excuse me, but am I misconstruing the topic?” Samuel blurted out. “Are

you implying the FBI was here to look for spies?” He rolled his words in his mouth like marbles, randomly emphasizing this one or that.

“Nobody said anything about spies,” Warren explained. “A member of a

foreign government came here to visit his brother, who’s on the faculty. The

FBI just needed to find out exactly who the man and his brother are.” They

were carefully avoiding names.

“They didn’t talk to you, Samuel?” said Jane.

“A man and woman came to my office. Never guessed they were G-men.

Couldn’t make head or tail of what they were saying. Something about Iran?

Iraq? Something about two painters in carnal relations?” He scornfully twisted

his mouth to one side. “People always talk rubbish like that about painters.

Diddling each other when they aren’t diddling each other’s wives? Ridiculous.

I told them nobody diddled anybody here. We’re a good, clean college town.”

As always with Samuel, it was hard to guess if this were sarcastic wisdom

or total nonsense.

“Uh-huh,” went Jane. “As I was saying? If the FBI is happy, I’m happy.

End of story. Okay? That’s all I needed to tell you today. Any other business

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

can wait until our regular meeting on Wednesday. All right? See you on

Wednesday.”

People grunted and nodded, and chairs began to scoot back.

“Wait a minute,” said Daniel. “Don’t I get to say anything?”

Jane didn’t turn to see who had spoken. “Not necessary, Daniel. There are

privacy issues here. We don’t need to open them.”

“But you’ve already opened them. Everybody’s going to walk out of here

thinking God-knows-what about Abbas. And me and Abbas together. Can we

quit being coy and say the rest of it?”

Ginny jumped in. “Your private life is none of our business. I don’t want

to hear about it.” Leave it to Ginny, who taught art theory, pure theory, to end

the discussion before it began.

“No, it isn’t your business,” Daniel said firmly. “But the FBI made it your

business by telling you about us. I just want to say— There was nothing

shameful or sinister about it. We were two good friends who had sex now and

then. That’s all. We had sex the same way other friends go bowling or fishing.

The sex is over and we’re still friends.”

There were blank looks around the table. Then Bob snorted. “Remind me

never to go fishing with you, Wexler.”