Exiles in America(137)

“Go ahead. Laugh. I know how silly I sound.” This was harder to discuss

than he’d expected. “But don’t laugh at Abbas. Because it’s not funny what

he’s been through. He was hauled in by the FBI. For no good reason except

that his Iranian brother came to town. And the FBI held him for most of the

day. He didn’t know what was going to happen. You met those people. They

were idiots. Would you feel safe in their hands?”

“How we might feel is irrelevant,” Warren solemnly declared. “National

security is at risk. Our government has to protect us.”

Daniel was startled that an art teacher could take the other side. Warren

had hardened over the years, raising teenagers, writing about Thomas Hart

Benton, but he had once been a long-haired painter.

“And how do you know there’s no cause for suspicion?” Warren contin-

ued. “They must know something, stuff they can’t tell us. His brother’s a big-

wig in the land of Islamic zombies. They think America is a cancer. Don’t you

remember the hostage crisis? Who knows what they’re up to? Just because

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

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you had the man’s dick down your throat doesn’t mean you know everything

about him.”

A couple of teachers winced. “Guys!” said Jane.

Daniel stared straight at Warren, more stunned than angry, confused that

Warren could think in such lame, xenophobic clichés.

He spoke slowly, carefully. “Yeah, I sucked his dick. And yeah, dicks lie.

But I spent hours with the man. And we talked. After sex. Before sex. We

talked about everything under the sun. Art. Life. Politics. Religion. Family.

You name it. He doesn’t give a damn about politics. He has very mixed feel-

ings about Iran. Plus I met his brother. Zack and I had them over for dinner.

I can’t say I liked him. He was full of himself, like most politicians. And

smug, like a Frenchman who’d found Jesus, even if his Jesus is Allah. But he’s

hardly a terrorist. Hardly a mastermind who came here to blow up Colonial

Williamsburg. They’re not the bad guys. Believe me.”

Everybody was silent. Daniel felt pleased. It was a good speech, wasn’t it?

“I believe you,” said Jane. “We all believe you, yes?” She nodded at the

others until they nodded with her. “The man is our guest for another semes-

ter. It’s no good for us to wonder and worry about him. He’s not one of the

bad guys. He’s a painter and a teacher. Thank you, Daniel. I’m glad we got

that out in the open. Enough said.” She stood up, signaling that the meeting

was over.

The others, even Warren, stood and began to move out the door.

“Can somebody explain to me that last part?” asked Samuel. “Was the

oral sex reference figurative or literal?”

It had ended much too quickly. Daniel understood that Jane just wanted

to finish with it. He stayed behind to explain himself a little better.

She appeared nervous seeing him standing by the door as the others filed

out, but she remained in the room.

“Sorry to put you through that,” Daniel began. “But I couldn’t let people

think the shit they were thinking. Abbas isn’t the enemy, despite what Warren

says. But they all surprised me today, not just Warren. The way they looked at

me, like I’d slept with Hitler. What’s going on? Are people so afraid nowadays

they’ll trust their shitty government more than they trust people they work

with?”

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

Jane nodded, moving her big butch head up and down, as if in full agree-

ment. Then she said, “I don’t know, Daniel. A man who can cheat on his wife,

not just with another woman but another man, is not somebody I can fully

trust.”

Daniel was stunned all over again. This was Jane Morrison, whom he’d

known since grad school, who was like a cousin.

“Come on, Jane. He’s hardly the first married man I’ve had an affair with.

Elena has known from the start. They have a very open marriage, you know.”

Jane made a face. “No, I didn’t know. You think I care about that? I don’t

care.” She continued to make faces, scowling, smirking, frowning, searching

for the right expression to capture what she felt. “I don’t give a damn who

sleeps with who around here. The messes you people get in are not my con-

cern. Until the FBI comes to town, and suddenly I have to be concerned, I

have to know?”

“You didn’t suspect anything until they told you?”

“No. Which made me feel stupid. I like to know what’s going on, even