or take Osh and Mina to the library, and the place is like a tomb. That will
change when school starts?”
“Yes and no,” said Daniel. “The students usually stay in at night, studying
or visiting cyberspace.”
“They can’t talk to each other face-to-face anymore, only on computer,”
grumbled Ross. “They don’t go to bars. Or to the movies.” He blamed com-
puters for the fact his theater was always hanging by its financial thumbs.
“The whole town shuts down at six,” Daniel explained. “When we first
moved here from New York and I went out walking at night, it felt so quiet.
You could hear nothing on the street but the whisper of televisions. I was
afraid to fart.”
Elena stared at Daniel, narrowing her eyes. Then she burst out laughing.
She covered her mouth and tried to stop but only laughed harder. She saw
Abbas frowning and quickly regained control. She translated for him, not into
French but another language.
“Ah,” said Abbas and nodded. “Very amusing.”
The charcoal was ablaze now. Zack returned from the fire just as Ross wor-
riedly asked, “You mentioned Mina and—another name?”
“Osh. For Arash. Our son,” said Elena. “A son and a daughter. Mina is
ten, Osh six.”
“Our beautiful children,” Abbas proclaimed.
“We had a difficult time finding a child sitter,” said Elena. “But one of
Abbas’s future students said she would sit.”
Ross tilted his head to study Elena at a new angle, distressed to hear she
was a mother.
“I’m sorry we didn’t know,” said Zack. “You could’ve brought them. It’s
always fun to have kids around.”
Daniel exchanged a concerned look with Ross. Neither he nor Ross
wanted kids here. Daniel must have known that there were children, but it
had slipped his mind.
“Maybe next time,” Zack said cheerfully.
3
When the food was ready, they all went inside and sat at the din-
ing room table. The house was very bright after the darkness of the
terrace. Daniel served while Zack opened another bottle of wine.
“This is a real American cookout?” said Elena, taking a burger and a
swatch of grilled vegetables from the serving platter.
“With a few modifications,” said Daniel.
The two couples sat facing each other: Abbas and Elena on the window
side of the table, Daniel and Zack opposite. Ross sat at the end between Zack
and Elena.
“The art students here?” asked Abbas. “Are they any good?”
“Oh, they’re a nice bunch of kids,” said Daniel. “We’re chiefly a liberal
arts school. Now and then we get someone truly talented, but not often.
Mostly we just teach teachers how to teach.”
“Then I should have time to do my own work?”
“I would think so. You have only one workshop class, right?” Whereas
Daniel had three studio classes, a history of art technique class, and endless
departmental business. He barely had time to shit once the semester started.
Zack addressed Abbas. “I haven’t seen your work yet, but Daniel speaks
very highly of it. And he’s not an easy critic.”
1 0
C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m
Daniel was both pleased and embarrassed that Zack spilled the beans
about his admiration. He was ready to make a joke about it, but Elena
jumped in.
“He is a great painter!” she declared. “A brilliant painter. Which the
world does not yet appreciate. But they will.”
The “great painter” made a face and patted the air with his hand to signal
her to be quiet.
“But it is true! Do not hide your light. You may not be able to say so, but
I can.” She addressed the table. “He is great. He paints beautifully. Things I
have never seen. Things nobody has ever seen. A modern hieroglyph like a
new alphabet. With the most wonderful colors and textures. Critics compare
him to Picasso and Chagall and—” She snapped her fingers. “Who is the
clumsy Italian?”
“Clemente,” grumbled Abbas, now bent over his food.
“None of whom hold a candle to him! Or if they are great—and Picasso
can be great,” she admitted, “they are great in different ways. Abbas is origi-
nal. Abbas is new.” She noticed how the men were looking at her, all except
Abbas, who continued to eat. “You think I am not objective because I am the
wife?”
“Not at all,” said Zack in his kindest doctor voice. “But your love for him
might help you see things that are harder for the rest of the world to recog-
nize.”
She shook her head. “No. I love his paintings more than I love him. I put