Exiles in America(149)

He turned away to get the ice and glasses. Zack noticed Jocko at his feet,

nervously waiting, swatting the floor with his tail, as if sending a signal in

Morse code.

Zack jumped up and hurried through the house to his office. He switched

on the computer without turning on the light. The machine was still booting

up when Daniel came in with two glasses of scotch.

“What’re you doing?”

Zack didn’t answer but took a swig of the scotch—he couldn’t even taste

it—and went online. The server took forever to connect.

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

3 4 1

He opened his mailbox. There was the usual queue of e-mails, from pa-

tients, pharmaceutical companies, and professional groups. Toward the top,

however, was a post from “poetmother,” sent this morning at 6:15. Zack

opened it. The message was shockingly short.

Dear Zack: We are going to Iran. All of us. There is no other way.

We leave for Toronto this morning. I know I am making a terrible

mistake but see no alternative. I cannot explain. Maybe later. I can-

not thank you for all you have done for us. Do not think badly of

me. Elena

“Thank God! Now we know.” Daniel stood beside Zack, reading with

him. Then he bent forward and read it again. “But Iran? They’re going to

Iran?”

Hearing the name of the country said out loud slapped Zack out of his

trance. “Is she crazy? Is she nuts?” He shook his head in disbelief. “That stu-

pid Russian bitch!” His temper took him by surprise. “She didn’t have to do

that! Why did she give in to him? We would’ve handled him! We could’ve

protected her!”

Daniel stared at him, not in sympathy but disbelief, as if he’d never seen

Zack so angry before.

“That idiot! That masochist! How could she give in to that bastard? What

did he say or do or threaten to make her go?”

His rage lifted him like a wave, a surge of anger that poured down his arms

into his fists. He opened his hands and tried to shake the anger out. “Damn

her! Damn him! How could they fuck themselves over like this?”

Then the wave passed and set him down again, only he kept going down.

The anger faded, and there was nothing to hold him up.

“Why did they do that? Why?”

He continued to sink, and a great weight fell over him, like grief. He

couldn’t remember experiencing such a heavy grief before, not even when his

mother died. He took deep breaths. He clenched his teeth to hold himself to-

gether, bulging his cheeks out. He felt like he was making a fist with his face.

3 4 2

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

He must look like a gargoyle in the light of the computer monitor. Then his

sorrow rushed out of his chest: a loud groan followed by raw gasps and burn-

ing sobs.

“Zack?” cried Daniel. He threw his arms around him.

But the embrace didn’t stop the shake and shudder of his body. Hot water

ran from his eyes into his cheeks and beard. He was crying, but why? Nobody

had died. They were only going to Iran. But it was as if Elena and the kids had

died. As if Abbas had killed them. Which was absurd—Iran wasn’t death. It

was only an impossible country on the other side of the world. But it felt as

final as death.

And here was Daniel, with his arms around Zack, holding him up, stand-

ing so close that Zack couldn’t see his face, couldn’t guess what he was feel-

ing.

Now we’re going to make up, he thought. Finally. Was this the right way

to make peace, a true way to resolve things? Surely not.

“Chill, Zack. Relax, baby. It’s not the end of the world.”

45

Daniel didn’t know what to think . He wasn’t even sure what he

was feeling. His emotions kept changing from minute to minute. First

he felt the loss of Abbas, harsh and sudden. Then he felt pity for Zack—he

couldn’t understand why Zack took this so hard. Then his anger with Zack re-

turned, which surprised Daniel. When he released him, Zack had stopped

sobbing, but his eyes wore dark, tragic, panda-bear slashes over his masculine

mask of beard. He did not look like someone who deserved anger.

“Relax, baby. It’s not the end of the world,” Daniel repeated.

“I know. I know.”

Daniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Zack cry like this. Zack

often cried during movies, but softly, gently, nothing like this openmouthed

orgasm of tears.

They went into the kitchen. They hadn’t eaten yet. They both admitted

that they weren’t hungry, but it was early, not even eight, and they needed to

do something, so they fixed dinner.

It still didn’t seem real. If Daniel hadn’t insisted they swing by the house