Exiles in America(6)

“Oh?” Elena looked more closely at Ross, as if seeing him for the first

time. “And you are sorry? Why sorry?”

Before Ross could explain that he was joking, Abbas jumped in and

snatched this subject, too. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said. “We hear there are many

super-Christians in this part of the country and life is hard for gay persons.”

“They leave us alone,” said Zack. “For the most part.”

Ross remained focused on Elena. “I gather neither you nor your husband

are religious?”

“Not a bit,” she replied. “Religion is for cowards.”

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1 3

“My wife was brought up a godless Communist,” said Abbas. “I was

brought up by a liberal father who thought the Koran and Khomeini would

save his country from the Shah. But they wanted to save the country from men

like my father, too, and they drove him away. So no, we have no great love of

religion.”

“Islam is for idiots,” declared Elena. “For people who do not like to think.

Who do not want complication.”

Abbas frowned. “I do not go so far. They are not all idiots. There are good

Muslims. But it does attract many fools.”

“And how do they treat the Muslims here?” asked Elena. “After Osama

bin Laden and the terrorists and the war?”

“But we are not Muslims,” said Abbas. “It does not concern us.”

“But strangers will not know,” Elena argued. “They will see your skin and

hear your voice and think what they think, true or not. And this is Virginia. It

is not Canada or New York.”

“The college community is fairly liberal,” said Zack when the Rohanis

paused long enough for someone else to speak. “Many students come from

D.C., which is an international city. The town itself is more Southern—”

“He means redneck,” said Ross.

“But it’s old South,” Zack continued. “There’s lots of born-again Chris-

tians. But people want to be nice. Virginia good manners tend to keep the

righteousness in check.”

“Zack grew up down here,” Daniel told the Rohanis.

“But I work with all kinds of people as patients and see their softer sides,”

Zack explained. “I’m not defending them. I’m just pointing out that people

will probably be very civil and even friendly in person. No matter what gets

said in the newspapers.”

4

They finished eating and Daniel led everyone downstairs to his studio.

His nervousness returned, a confusing, annoying giddiness, as if he

were a student and Abbas a teacher. It was ridiculous. Daniel liked the man’s

paintings and wanted the man to like his. That’s all.

Their house was burrowed in the hillside that sloped away from the street;

the basement level opened on the carport and yard out back. Everyone

trooped down into the rec room, with its knotty pine walls and fieldstone fire-

place, then turned a corner to a short hall that led past the laundry room into

Daniel’s work space.

“You have a washing machine!” exclaimed Elena, stopping to look. “You

lucky dogs.”

“There’s no washer and dryer at your place?” asked Zack.

“Oh no. The college says there is a laundrette in town and I can go there.

But with two children I will be going often.”

“If we’re home and you give us enough warning,” offered Daniel, “you can

always use our machines.”

Elena looked surprised. “I do not wish to impose.”

“Not at all,” said Zack. “You got two kids. They make tons of dirty clothes.”

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He must have been thinking the same thing but had been waiting for Daniel to

suggest it first. “Use us. Please.”

“Thank you. Yes. Maybe I will. That is very kind.”

Daniel entered the studio and turned on the light; the fluorescent tubes

fluttered and caught.

The whitewashed brick room glowed like a jail cell. The space had been

cleaned, but the workbench was still speckled like a palette, the concrete floor

stained with colored shadows. There was almost no smell—Daniel worked in

acrylic. A large wooden rack filled one corner, where Daniel stowed his more

recent, stretched canvases. His older, dead canvases were rolled up and

stacked in the storeroom behind the water heater.

“You are very tidy,” said Elena.

“Not really. I just finished putting everything away for the winter. You

should see this place when I’m working. I can’t paint while I teach. It only

makes me unhappy when I try, so I don’t try anymore. Besides, I paint prima-