Half the Day Is Night by Maureen F. McHugh Page B

MaTE.
    She glanced to her left just as David looked her way and their eyes met. Nothing in his face. Her face felt the same way, nothing. They were just here, not part of this place at all, two people for whom the game and the excitement meant nothing. And then he quirked a tiny smile and shrugged ever so slightly, just a little gallic twist of his shoulders. “What can you say?” his shoulders said. And she felt herself smile back a bit.
    â€œSecrets?” Saad said, catching her off guard.
    He was watching her, too.
    Tim looked down, puzzled, and in that moment something must have happened on the court because the crowd around them erupted. She stood up and cheered, too, sliding out from under Saad’s gaze. The player in black and green walked to the side to pick up a towel and wipe his face—stage business that athletes use when they are in the spotlight. Off to the side stood the player in red, streamers hanging motionless. He looked bemused.
    She knew how he felt.
    *   *   *
    Saad was back two days later to talk about the hospital and clinic loan. She had the loan of an office by then, and was started on the business of the MaTE deal.
    â€œHi,” he said from the door, “just who you wanted to see, right?” She rolled her eyes in mock disgust and he came in and sat down. “Ms. Ling,” he said, “my most favorite person in the whole world.”
    â€œNot because I’m going to give you a sizable chunk of money,” she said.
    â€œOf course not,” he said.
    His office had received quotes from construction firms and he had a change in some of the figures. She plugged the figures into the system. It wasn’t a complicated loan at all.
    Saad sat in a chair beside the desk, craning a bit to watch her. “Is that all?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s it,” she said.
    â€œThat’s slap,” he said. American slang, she knew it from the vid.
    â€œWhat can I say?” she said.
    â€œYou’re amazing,” he said, mock serious.
    â€œYour English is amazing.”
    He shrugged. Apparently he knew his English was good. It was casual and fast, and he always caught what she was saying. Bilingual. She wanted to know where he learned.
    â€œI studied it at home, in Pakistan, and I lived in the U.S. for awhile,” off hand, slightly embarrassed.
    â€œOh yeah?” she asked, “where did you live?”
    â€œCincinnati, Ohio,” he said, and she laughed at the unexpectedness of it.
    â€œThat’s funny?” he asked.
    â€œWhy Cincinnati, Ohio?”
    â€œActually,” he said, “I lived in Los Angeles for a year, and then the company I worked for transferred me to Cincinnati. I liked Cincinnati.” That sounded a little defensive. But he was smiling, he knew she had expected him to say someplace like New York or Miami.
    â€œI’m sure it’s a lovely town,” she said.
    â€œIt is,” he said, emphatic. “Believe it or not, I want to go back there. I want to go back to Cincinnati, Ohio, marry a blonde American girl, and have three perfect blonde daughters.”
    She shook her head. “Genetics are not on your side.”
    He sighed. “Biology is destiny, I know.”
    â€œSo why did you leave?” she asked. “Did you get transferred here?” Marincite could have a subsidiary in Cincinnati, Ohio.
    â€œNo,” he said, “the U.S. Immigration Department informed me that my presence in the U.S. was no longer an asset.”
    That surprised her, since he’d had a job.
    â€œThe U.S. says that you can’t take jobs from American citizens. You have to be an engineer or a scientist or something, then they let you stay because there are never enough of those people. But not an administrator, a manager of a finance department.” He looked down at his hands, now made pensive. She was sorry she had asked.
    â€œWell,” she said, “if those are