Allah's Spacious Earth by Omar Sayfo

Author:Omar Sayfo
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780815655862
Publisher: Syracuse University Press
Published: 2023-05-22T00:00:00+00:00

11

After Husam bought a car, he took me to work every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Not that it was any faster than the subway, but at least we talked along the way.

That day I could sense the tension radiating from him the moment I opened the car door.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He nodded his head anxiously.

“Will you tell me?”

A half-minute of silence ensued.

“But you can’t tell a soul,” he said.

“Latifa is in love.”

I felt the world turn over with me in it as my stomach shrank to almost nothing.

“She told only me,” he went on. “She didn’t dare tell our folks.”

“Who’s the guy?” I asked, meanwhile hoping that my voice was not shaking. “Do I know him?”

He shook his head. “Someone in her class. But there’s a big problem.”

“What?”

“He’s not Muslim. My mother will kill her.”

“He’s Christian?”

Husam shook his head.

“Jewish?”

“Atheist,” he answered in a tone of voice even more mournful than before. I gave an understanding nod. In the depths of my soul rage was doing battle with relief. On the one hand it infuriated me that Latifa had hooked up with an atheist, and even more that she had so effortlessly admitted it to her big brother, as if she didn’t care what he would feel. On the other hand, it filled me with relief that that son of a bitch was an atheist, for her parents would never approve of their relationship. And surely Latifa wouldn’t give up her family for a sudden flame.

But by the time I thought it over, I wasn’t so sure of this. What would happen, after all, if Latifa simply up and moved away from home? She could. She wouldn’t be the first. Moreover, it was invariably those like Latifa who jumped ship—the most beautiful college-educated girls. And their families couldn’t do a thing about it. The guys—including me—were ever annoyed that pretty, shapely gals were apt to be hooking up with lame white losers who were beneath them. Guys who obviously had never had a good fuck and who didn’t even stand a chance of picking up even a halfway homely gal among their own kind. Of course, if I don’t want to be unfair, I must admit that this was often true in reverse too. Handsome Arab and African men often picked up blubbery European women not even dogs would have needed. A big ass, blond hair, or, say, the hope of citizenship often saw the deficiencies overlooked.

“What’s the guy’s name?”

“Peter.”

I didn’t want to ask for his family name. That would have made it all too obvious that I was spying. I could hardly wait to say good-bye. The moment Husam pressed the pedal after I got out of the car, I pulled out my phone. I’d earlier figured out what name Latifa used on the profile on which she kept in contact with her college friends. By the process of exclusion I quickly found Peter among those friends. He was blond, tall, and athletic. It hurt, but I had to admit that he was handsome.

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