bit.”
Julian leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Go on. This is fascinating.”
Marjan cleared her throat, surprised by the tingle of attraction in her belly. “It has something to do with our history, I think,” she began. “Something about being conquered so often.”
“You mean by the Arabs?”
“Them, and there was the Mongolian invasion. And later on the British and the Americans, in their own way.” She looked up, blushing. “Sorry.”
“Not at all. I'm only part British, so I'm only half-insulted,” he said, jokingly. “But you might have a point about the comparison. A complicated topic.”
Marjan nodded. “Yes, complicated. It's funny, I was thinking about this exact thing earlier this evening,” she said, as much to herself as to the man standing next to her. She turned to the stairs, still in deep thought.
Julian came up from behind. “Mind if I follow you up?”
Marjan shook her head and smiled softly back at him. She climbed the stairs, her hand gripping the banister. She wonderedif he was staring at her backside and found herself blushing at the thought.
At the top of the stairs, they both paused, dodging the jostle of the pub crowd. The band had finished with their butchering of Bono's solo and its members were taking a drinks break.
Julian turned his green eyes on her. “Can I get you a pint?”
Marjan stared at him, feeling the jolt in her stomach once again. “Umm …”
He flashed her a smile, nodding. “Go on. I have some great stories to tell. Spent an entire five weeks with the whirling dervishes of Kush once, if you can believe that.”
“Sounds wonderful. But…” She could see Fiona waving to her from the bar.
Julian followed her gaze. “But you have your pint waiting, I see.”
Marjan ducked her head shyly. “Thank you, all the same.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. He turned to go, then looked at her once again. “I'll take a rain check, as the Yanks say. Not bad odds, from where I'm standing.” He nodded at the misty darkness outside the pub window before disappearing into the crowd.
Marjan took a deep breath. The whirling dervishes of Kush— she had heard him right, hadn't she?
At that moment she couldn't be too sure: she felt as though she were whirling herself, her heart turning and turning as rapturously as those mystical dervish men.
“YOU'RE GOING TO LOSE your looks if you keep going the way you do. Besides, it is
illegal
, Layla.” Bahar's voice was as stern as her march across the kitchen tiles.
“Oh! How can you be such an old lady at twenty-five?”
“It's not about being an old lady. It's about being right!”
Marjan sifted through a bowl of walnuts and dried apricots as she observed her sisters from the corner of her eye. They had been at each other ever since the café had opened for Saturday breakfast.
“When I am right, I am right. That's all there is to it,” said Bahar, opening the refrigerator door.
“You mean
righteous
. God, who made you queen of Ireland all of a sudden?” Layla was preparing a roasted eggplant and hummus roll at the wooden island. She held the stuffing awkwardly down with the blade of a knife as she tried to roll the bread tight.
“I'm telling you, it's not right. And the guards there as well. Are there no laws in this country that people actually obey?” Bahar poured cherry water into two tall glasses and placed them on a small brass tray.
Marjan left the island and walked over to the swinging doors. Hungover faces, many familiar to her from the pub the night before, filled the cozy café.
Bahar paused to address her on the way out: “You see these?” She pointed to the glasses of cherry water. “Cures for those two in there. Drunk still, from that bar. That bar our little sister was in until all hours last night. Humph!”
She disappeared into the dining room and plunked the two glasses in front of the Donnelly twins, Peter and Michael. The young men gratefully
Julian leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Go on. This is fascinating.”
Marjan cleared her throat, surprised by the tingle of attraction in her belly. “It has something to do with our history, I think,” she began. “Something about being conquered so often.”
“You mean by the Arabs?”
“Them, and there was the Mongolian invasion. And later on the British and the Americans, in their own way.” She looked up, blushing. “Sorry.”
“Not at all. I'm only part British, so I'm only half-insulted,” he said, jokingly. “But you might have a point about the comparison. A complicated topic.”
Marjan nodded. “Yes, complicated. It's funny, I was thinking about this exact thing earlier this evening,” she said, as much to herself as to the man standing next to her. She turned to the stairs, still in deep thought.
Julian came up from behind. “Mind if I follow you up?”
Marjan shook her head and smiled softly back at him. She climbed the stairs, her hand gripping the banister. She wonderedif he was staring at her backside and found herself blushing at the thought.
At the top of the stairs, they both paused, dodging the jostle of the pub crowd. The band had finished with their butchering of Bono's solo and its members were taking a drinks break.
Julian turned his green eyes on her. “Can I get you a pint?”
Marjan stared at him, feeling the jolt in her stomach once again. “Umm …”
He flashed her a smile, nodding. “Go on. I have some great stories to tell. Spent an entire five weeks with the whirling dervishes of Kush once, if you can believe that.”
“Sounds wonderful. But…” She could see Fiona waving to her from the bar.
Julian followed her gaze. “But you have your pint waiting, I see.”
Marjan ducked her head shyly. “Thank you, all the same.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. He turned to go, then looked at her once again. “I'll take a rain check, as the Yanks say. Not bad odds, from where I'm standing.” He nodded at the misty darkness outside the pub window before disappearing into the crowd.
Marjan took a deep breath. The whirling dervishes of Kush— she had heard him right, hadn't she?
At that moment she couldn't be too sure: she felt as though she were whirling herself, her heart turning and turning as rapturously as those mystical dervish men.
“YOU'RE GOING TO LOSE your looks if you keep going the way you do. Besides, it is
illegal
, Layla.” Bahar's voice was as stern as her march across the kitchen tiles.
“Oh! How can you be such an old lady at twenty-five?”
“It's not about being an old lady. It's about being right!”
Marjan sifted through a bowl of walnuts and dried apricots as she observed her sisters from the corner of her eye. They had been at each other ever since the café had opened for Saturday breakfast.
“When I am right, I am right. That's all there is to it,” said Bahar, opening the refrigerator door.
“You mean
righteous
. God, who made you queen of Ireland all of a sudden?” Layla was preparing a roasted eggplant and hummus roll at the wooden island. She held the stuffing awkwardly down with the blade of a knife as she tried to roll the bread tight.
“I'm telling you, it's not right. And the guards there as well. Are there no laws in this country that people actually obey?” Bahar poured cherry water into two tall glasses and placed them on a small brass tray.
Marjan left the island and walked over to the swinging doors. Hungover faces, many familiar to her from the pub the night before, filled the cozy café.
Bahar paused to address her on the way out: “You see these?” She pointed to the glasses of cherry water. “Cures for those two in there. Drunk still, from that bar. That bar our little sister was in until all hours last night. Humph!”
She disappeared into the dining room and plunked the two glasses in front of the Donnelly twins, Peter and Michael. The young men gratefully
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