think that means heâs gay?
Alan wasnât awake enough to follow that tributary, so he let it go.
The food arrived. Plates filled with chopped lettuce and cucumbers and tomatoes, brown rice, khobez â a bread like naan â and then the fish. Yousef lassoed the meal with his finger. â Syadya , he said. The fish had been deep-fried, but otherwise was the same fish theyâd seen under glass, eyes and bones and all. Alan ripped some bread and grabbed at the flesh of the fish. He took a bite.
âGood? Yousef asked.
âPerfect. Thanks.
âYou fry anything, it tastes right.
The cat reappeared. Yousef threw his foot toward the blind, ancient animal and it meowed, outraged. It scurried off.
âMeanwhile she sends me ten texts a day. Some of the texts are just bored, like, âWhat are you doing,â blah blah. And some are, like, really sexy. I wish I could show you some.
Yousef scrolled through the messages on his phone, and Alan foundhimself wanting to see the sexy texts from the bored Saudi housewife.
âBut I have to delete them the second I get them.
Jameelah could prove her whereabouts for more or less every minute of their marriage, and the husband had not read the texts themselves, but his suspicions were nonetheless unbridled.
âIf he had read them, Yousef said, Iâd be dead. Sheâd definitely be dead. She deleted them in time. He called the phone company trying to get them. It was ridiculous.
Alan was aghast. His understanding of the judicial system in Saudi might have been incomplete, but still, this seemed to be extraordinary risk for little possible gain.
âSheâs actually jeopardizing her life for these texts, right? Wouldnât she be stoned by the government or something?
Yousef gave him a look. âWe donât stone people here, Alan.
âSorry, Alan said.
âWe behead them, Yousef said, and then laughed, his mouth full of rice. But not so often. Anyway. She has a different phone now. She has two â one for regular calls, which he can monitor, and one she uses for me.
âAll the married women, Yousef explained, have a second phone. Itâs a big business in Saudi Arabia.
The whole country seemed to operate on two levels, the official and the actual.
âShe has a lot of free time. Sheâs got Indonesians to do the housework, so all she can do is shop and watch TV. Sheâs wasting herself. âYouâre the love of my life,â she wrote to me last week. I donât know where she got that expression. So the husband wants me dead, and I livewith that. I canât tell how serious it is, though. Some days I wake up in the night thinking heâll really kill me, you know, like any time. And other days I laugh about it. Not such a good situation.
And suddenly Alan felt paternal toward Yousef. He couldnât help it. This whole issue with the husband seemed simple enough. A simple problem with a simple solution.
âYou need to sit down with him.
âWhat? No. Yousef shook his head and stuffed another piece of fish into his mouth.
âSit down with him, Alan continued, and look him in the eye and tell him youâve never done anything with his wife. Because you havenât, right?
âNo. Nothing. Not even when we were dating.
âSo you tell him this, and thatâs how he knows youâre telling the truth. Because you look him in the eye. Otherwise you wouldnât be willing to meet him face to face, right? If you were actually screwing his wife, youâd never face him.
Now Yousef began nodding. âThatâs not bad. Thatâs⦠Thatâs an idea. I like the idea. But I donât know if heâs reasonable. He might have gone nuts by now. These messages heâs been leaving on my phone, theyâre not from a reasonable person.
âThis is the way to do it, Alan said. Iâve been around a while, and Iâve got some experience in these matters. This
Alan wasnât awake enough to follow that tributary, so he let it go.
The food arrived. Plates filled with chopped lettuce and cucumbers and tomatoes, brown rice, khobez â a bread like naan â and then the fish. Yousef lassoed the meal with his finger. â Syadya , he said. The fish had been deep-fried, but otherwise was the same fish theyâd seen under glass, eyes and bones and all. Alan ripped some bread and grabbed at the flesh of the fish. He took a bite.
âGood? Yousef asked.
âPerfect. Thanks.
âYou fry anything, it tastes right.
The cat reappeared. Yousef threw his foot toward the blind, ancient animal and it meowed, outraged. It scurried off.
âMeanwhile she sends me ten texts a day. Some of the texts are just bored, like, âWhat are you doing,â blah blah. And some are, like, really sexy. I wish I could show you some.
Yousef scrolled through the messages on his phone, and Alan foundhimself wanting to see the sexy texts from the bored Saudi housewife.
âBut I have to delete them the second I get them.
Jameelah could prove her whereabouts for more or less every minute of their marriage, and the husband had not read the texts themselves, but his suspicions were nonetheless unbridled.
âIf he had read them, Yousef said, Iâd be dead. Sheâd definitely be dead. She deleted them in time. He called the phone company trying to get them. It was ridiculous.
Alan was aghast. His understanding of the judicial system in Saudi might have been incomplete, but still, this seemed to be extraordinary risk for little possible gain.
âSheâs actually jeopardizing her life for these texts, right? Wouldnât she be stoned by the government or something?
Yousef gave him a look. âWe donât stone people here, Alan.
âSorry, Alan said.
âWe behead them, Yousef said, and then laughed, his mouth full of rice. But not so often. Anyway. She has a different phone now. She has two â one for regular calls, which he can monitor, and one she uses for me.
âAll the married women, Yousef explained, have a second phone. Itâs a big business in Saudi Arabia.
The whole country seemed to operate on two levels, the official and the actual.
âShe has a lot of free time. Sheâs got Indonesians to do the housework, so all she can do is shop and watch TV. Sheâs wasting herself. âYouâre the love of my life,â she wrote to me last week. I donât know where she got that expression. So the husband wants me dead, and I livewith that. I canât tell how serious it is, though. Some days I wake up in the night thinking heâll really kill me, you know, like any time. And other days I laugh about it. Not such a good situation.
And suddenly Alan felt paternal toward Yousef. He couldnât help it. This whole issue with the husband seemed simple enough. A simple problem with a simple solution.
âYou need to sit down with him.
âWhat? No. Yousef shook his head and stuffed another piece of fish into his mouth.
âSit down with him, Alan continued, and look him in the eye and tell him youâve never done anything with his wife. Because you havenât, right?
âNo. Nothing. Not even when we were dating.
âSo you tell him this, and thatâs how he knows youâre telling the truth. Because you look him in the eye. Otherwise you wouldnât be willing to meet him face to face, right? If you were actually screwing his wife, youâd never face him.
Now Yousef began nodding. âThatâs not bad. Thatâs⦠Thatâs an idea. I like the idea. But I donât know if heâs reasonable. He might have gone nuts by now. These messages heâs been leaving on my phone, theyâre not from a reasonable person.
âThis is the way to do it, Alan said. Iâve been around a while, and Iâve got some experience in these matters. This
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