Exiles in America(156)

Roy shrugged. “Which is the case with my family, too. But just because

they are in India doesn’t mean they no longer matter.” He poured more tea

into his mug. “Your overextended family is trickier, true, but it sounds like

you grew quite close to this couple. So you are grieving, and grief is work.

How are you and Daniel getting on?”

“We’re very angry with each other.”

“Well, of course.”

“But I’m not always sure what we’re angry about.”

Roy weighed the statement. “Maybe because neither of you could help

and each blames the other for his helplessness?”

“Maybe,” said Zack hesitantly. “But it feels darker, more selfish. We’ve

been arguing like the Rohanis. As if we’re copying them.”

Roy nodded approvingly, until a new idea came to him. “Or maybe you’re

angry only because the excitement is over and now you are stuck with each

other?”

The idea sounded even nastier coming from Roy than when Zack had

thought it himself. “But this isn’t about explanations,” he argued, backing

away from the idea. “It’s not like I think I can find a magic key and everything

will be fine again.”

“I don’t believe in eurekas either. But they give you something to talk

about. Have you explored these explanations with Daniel?”

Zack made a face. “No. He doesn’t want to hear. He’s afraid of talking. He

wants us to be silent for a while. I can’t say I blame him.”

“Yes, it’s hard to live with a headshrinker,” Roy agreed. “You get tired of

talking, talking, always talking. You wonder if silence isn’t better. I wonder

myself now and then. But at a time like this, his silence must leave you feeling

very lonely.”

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

Zack was surprised to hear his emotion named. “Except I’ve always felt a

little lonely. It is part of the profession.” He disliked this topic even more than he disliked the topic of his sex drive. “I used to think a little loneliness would

protect me from feeling too lonely, too hurt. And it usually does. I know not to expect too much from anyone. Even from Daniel. But I’ve never felt as des-olately lonely as I do now.”

Roy looked very sad, very concerned. “You should talk to him.”

“I will. When the time is right.”

“Would you like me to say something?”

Zack winced. “No. Not necessary. But thank you.” He didn’t ask what Roy

might say.

Roy gently waved the thanks aside. “No problem. I know you can fight

your own battles. But I am here if you need me.” He took a big swallow of tea.

“You might put yourself on Paxil. Until the warm weather arrives. This win-

ter has drained the light from us all. And take a little exercise. Go to the gym

and look at the pretty men. Maybe plan a trip to someplace warm and sunny.

Alone.” His philosophical cat smile was back. “Your depression does not

sound medical, my friend. It sounds perfectly moral, perfectly human. Espe-

cially when we consider what else is going on in the world.”

f 2

A few days later Daniel brought Abbas’s old paintings home from school and

stored them in the basement, rolled up like carpets. Zack thought this was a

big mistake, like preserving sorrow, but he couldn’t tell Daniel that. They con-

tinued to avoid their serious issues. They ate dinner together, and watched

movies on DVD, although they never seemed to like the same things anymore.

But Zack was too tired to argue, his spirits too low. He kept postponing the

day when he’d dig up the garden out back to plant their vegetables.

Spring came slowly to Virginia. Tiny white dogwood blossoms appeared in

the gray woods behind the house, floating like suspended handfuls of con-

fetti. Then dotted green buds showed on the tips of branches. And one

night—March 19, 2003—the war arrived.

It opened with another speech by the president, followed by a long live TV

shot of Baghdad on the other side of the world, where it was almost dawn.

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

3 5 9

The skyline, with a deserted elevated highway in the foreground, resembled

Richmond, only with fewer tall buildings.

There was a missile attack that night on a nearby palace. Saddam was sup-

posed to be there, but he wasn’t home. The second night saw the launch of

what the Pentagon called “shock and awe,” with live footage of a government

complex in Baghdad being blown to pieces. Fay Dawson’s angel of death ar-

rived in Iraq with the disturbingly familiar noise of car alarms. Then Donald

Rumsfeld appeared, smiling and assuring the American public that modern