squirming children seated with us around a circular table in the corner, with all the serving dishes on a lazy Susan. We talked about our futures in the relaxed manner of old campaigners who believed that from then on their greatest worries would be cholesterol levels and colorectal exams. Then we swapped stories of our wild old days on the West Bank. As we polished off a second bottle of wine, Omar and I agreed that dangerous living was for young men, and our wives heartily seconded the motion.
“It seems that he’s started up an NGO in Amman. Something about health care in the Bakaa refugee camp. But they’re worried he’s really giving his money to all the wrong people, so they’re vetting his operation for security purposes. He’s got a job opening, and they want me to fill it. Apparently it’s all been arranged. I don’t even have to formally apply.”
“And you’d do that? Spy on a friend?”
“It’s the people around him they’re interested in most,” I said, fudging it. “Who knows, maybe Omar’s been duped. In which case I’ll be doing him a favor. Not that I have a choice. They made it clear that it’s pretty much mandatory.”
“How can they
make
you do it?”
“Oh, you know, the usual threats. Control over visas and passports. Mine and yours.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Not when they’re making the rules.”
“So we’ll move to the U.S., then. We don’t need visas for that.”
“You might.”
“We’re married. That makes me a citizen.”
“It’s not that simple anymore.”
After 9/11, I meant, but didn’t have to say. We knew enough couples of mixed national origin whose marriages had been called into question, or whose spousal visas had been denied, to realize that the easy ways of the past no longer prevailed.
“Besides,” I said, “this is our home now. And if I don’t go, they promised they’d be back.”
The statement about home echoed a bit loudly off the living room’s bare walls. We hadn’t done much decorating, and it still had the look of a place where the occupants were determining their style.
“How long did you say?” she asked, with a note of resignation.
“No more than three months, they said. Or as soon as I can find out what they need to know. Then I’ll be back.”
She sighed, as if she wanted to ask more but couldn’t bear it. Or maybe she was too tired, which was how I felt. We said nothing for a while, and then we curled into a tighter ball of silence and fell asleep right there on the couch. I suppose we were too weary to get up, but it was also true that neither of us wanted to face the bedroom just yet. For the moment, Black, White, and Gray had made it their own. For all I knew, the window was still open. Hard to believe that only a few hours ago we had been making love and laughing about old times.
Later we were up with the sun, groggy and stiff, barely saying a word over coffee until Mila asked, “When do you have to start?”
“Tuesday.”
She seemed taken aback, but why even mention the possibility of Thursday? I could bring it up later if I changed my mind. For now I only wanted to get everything over with as soon as possible.
“They already bought the ticket.”
“I wonder if they’re still here.”
“I don’t know. Why don’t we find out?”
The words came out on impulse, but surprisingly Mila was all for the idea. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Like me, she had always favored direct action, even when it wasn’t necessarily a wise idea. Risk, like urgency, has its own addictive properties, and it had always been a powerful attraction of our work.
So she threw on some jeans and a shirt, and we rode our scooters up to the DeKuyper place through a chill morning breeze. It made me feel better to answer their assault with our own minor incursion. I also wanted to check for any lingering evidence of their presence. Or maybe I just needed reassurance that they had left. Anything was preferable to sitting
“It seems that he’s started up an NGO in Amman. Something about health care in the Bakaa refugee camp. But they’re worried he’s really giving his money to all the wrong people, so they’re vetting his operation for security purposes. He’s got a job opening, and they want me to fill it. Apparently it’s all been arranged. I don’t even have to formally apply.”
“And you’d do that? Spy on a friend?”
“It’s the people around him they’re interested in most,” I said, fudging it. “Who knows, maybe Omar’s been duped. In which case I’ll be doing him a favor. Not that I have a choice. They made it clear that it’s pretty much mandatory.”
“How can they
make
you do it?”
“Oh, you know, the usual threats. Control over visas and passports. Mine and yours.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Not when they’re making the rules.”
“So we’ll move to the U.S., then. We don’t need visas for that.”
“You might.”
“We’re married. That makes me a citizen.”
“It’s not that simple anymore.”
After 9/11, I meant, but didn’t have to say. We knew enough couples of mixed national origin whose marriages had been called into question, or whose spousal visas had been denied, to realize that the easy ways of the past no longer prevailed.
“Besides,” I said, “this is our home now. And if I don’t go, they promised they’d be back.”
The statement about home echoed a bit loudly off the living room’s bare walls. We hadn’t done much decorating, and it still had the look of a place where the occupants were determining their style.
“How long did you say?” she asked, with a note of resignation.
“No more than three months, they said. Or as soon as I can find out what they need to know. Then I’ll be back.”
She sighed, as if she wanted to ask more but couldn’t bear it. Or maybe she was too tired, which was how I felt. We said nothing for a while, and then we curled into a tighter ball of silence and fell asleep right there on the couch. I suppose we were too weary to get up, but it was also true that neither of us wanted to face the bedroom just yet. For the moment, Black, White, and Gray had made it their own. For all I knew, the window was still open. Hard to believe that only a few hours ago we had been making love and laughing about old times.
Later we were up with the sun, groggy and stiff, barely saying a word over coffee until Mila asked, “When do you have to start?”
“Tuesday.”
She seemed taken aback, but why even mention the possibility of Thursday? I could bring it up later if I changed my mind. For now I only wanted to get everything over with as soon as possible.
“They already bought the ticket.”
“I wonder if they’re still here.”
“I don’t know. Why don’t we find out?”
The words came out on impulse, but surprisingly Mila was all for the idea. Or maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Like me, she had always favored direct action, even when it wasn’t necessarily a wise idea. Risk, like urgency, has its own addictive properties, and it had always been a powerful attraction of our work.
So she threw on some jeans and a shirt, and we rode our scooters up to the DeKuyper place through a chill morning breeze. It made me feel better to answer their assault with our own minor incursion. I also wanted to check for any lingering evidence of their presence. Or maybe I just needed reassurance that they had left. Anything was preferable to sitting
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