o’clock. If you’re still here, I’d be happy to help you practice your English.”
I remember Maryam’s admonition:
Don’t talk to any men.
“Oh, thank you. But I couldn’t.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“I have an English class I must get to.” I glance at my watch to show him I must hurry. “But thank you just the same.”
“Anytime,” he says. “On the days that I work, I always get off at three, and I usually sit outside and have a cup of coffee before leaving. We could practice then sometime. If you want.”
“That’s very generous of you to make such an offer.”
“I mean it. It’d be fun.”
He gives one last little wave to me and goes back inside behind the counter. He busies himself by cleaning a coffee grinder and I slip away while his back is to me.
I smile the whole way to English class and my feet do not hurt one bit. I feel almost as if I am walking on air.
M y English class meets in the basement of the main public library in downtown Tucson. Someday I will arrive very early and linger in this library. I want to learn what is written about Iran. I want to see for myself that American writers are allowed to criticize their own government without fear of imprisonment. But today I arrive only five minutes early and find a man with a stringy-haired ponytail waiting for me outside the classroom.
“Are you Tamila?” I can tell by how his eyes crinkle when he smiles that he is very kind.
I nod and smile back, grateful to find that my heart experiences none of the flutters it did when I spoke to Ike.
“I’m Danny.” He bows his head slightly but does not offer his hand. I appreciate this. Shaking hands with men is still so strange for me. “I’m your instructor. I could tell from your name that you’re Persian, aren’t you?”
I nod.
“I lived in Turkey for two years, back in the late ’80s.” He looks proud of this fact, so I smile at him. “You’re the only new student we have this session. Why don’t you come on in and take a seat wherever you feel comfortable?”
I walk ahead of him into the classroom. There is a long table with chairs around it, and four other students are already seated and chat easily with one another. I select a chair next to an old woman who looks like she is from a Baltic state, somewhere very cold. She is tiny in her height but large in her bones. She leans over and pats my hand. “Good girl, good girl” is how she greets me.
“Thank you.” I smile at her, grateful for her friendliness.
“
Prosze bardzo.
You are a-velcome.” She smiles back. I like that she has a gold cap over her front tooth. It shows her character.
“You know good girl she is?” questions an old man sitting in front of the old woman. “Maybe she no good girl.” He is missing a tooth on one side of his mouth. He sucks air in through the space and then laughs at his own joke. Old men must be the same everywhere, I think. They laugh harder than anyone else in the room at their own jokes.
“I take this good girl on a trip to Lake Havasu City with me,” Josef announces with a wink to me. “
Only
this good girl.”
I draw back, unsure how to respond.
The old lady scolds him in a language I can’t determine. He argues back in yet another language, also Slavic but different from hers. I feel like I have somehow caused this rift but can’t possibly imagine what I could have done to prevent it.
“Don’t mind them,” says a man about ten years my senior who sits across from me. “This is how they tease each other.”
“What did he mean about taking me to another city?” I ask. I cannot go on a trip with this man!
“He was just trying to get a rise out of Agata. They’re smitten,” the man explains, extending his hand to me. “I am Edgard, and I am from Peru. We have all been together for two classes by now. At the end of each session, Josef takes the class on a trip. Last time, it was to Disneyland. The time before, the Grand Canyon. Next time, it
I remember Maryam’s admonition:
Don’t talk to any men.
“Oh, thank you. But I couldn’t.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“I have an English class I must get to.” I glance at my watch to show him I must hurry. “But thank you just the same.”
“Anytime,” he says. “On the days that I work, I always get off at three, and I usually sit outside and have a cup of coffee before leaving. We could practice then sometime. If you want.”
“That’s very generous of you to make such an offer.”
“I mean it. It’d be fun.”
He gives one last little wave to me and goes back inside behind the counter. He busies himself by cleaning a coffee grinder and I slip away while his back is to me.
I smile the whole way to English class and my feet do not hurt one bit. I feel almost as if I am walking on air.
M y English class meets in the basement of the main public library in downtown Tucson. Someday I will arrive very early and linger in this library. I want to learn what is written about Iran. I want to see for myself that American writers are allowed to criticize their own government without fear of imprisonment. But today I arrive only five minutes early and find a man with a stringy-haired ponytail waiting for me outside the classroom.
“Are you Tamila?” I can tell by how his eyes crinkle when he smiles that he is very kind.
I nod and smile back, grateful to find that my heart experiences none of the flutters it did when I spoke to Ike.
“I’m Danny.” He bows his head slightly but does not offer his hand. I appreciate this. Shaking hands with men is still so strange for me. “I’m your instructor. I could tell from your name that you’re Persian, aren’t you?”
I nod.
“I lived in Turkey for two years, back in the late ’80s.” He looks proud of this fact, so I smile at him. “You’re the only new student we have this session. Why don’t you come on in and take a seat wherever you feel comfortable?”
I walk ahead of him into the classroom. There is a long table with chairs around it, and four other students are already seated and chat easily with one another. I select a chair next to an old woman who looks like she is from a Baltic state, somewhere very cold. She is tiny in her height but large in her bones. She leans over and pats my hand. “Good girl, good girl” is how she greets me.
“Thank you.” I smile at her, grateful for her friendliness.
“
Prosze bardzo.
You are a-velcome.” She smiles back. I like that she has a gold cap over her front tooth. It shows her character.
“You know good girl she is?” questions an old man sitting in front of the old woman. “Maybe she no good girl.” He is missing a tooth on one side of his mouth. He sucks air in through the space and then laughs at his own joke. Old men must be the same everywhere, I think. They laugh harder than anyone else in the room at their own jokes.
“I take this good girl on a trip to Lake Havasu City with me,” Josef announces with a wink to me. “
Only
this good girl.”
I draw back, unsure how to respond.
The old lady scolds him in a language I can’t determine. He argues back in yet another language, also Slavic but different from hers. I feel like I have somehow caused this rift but can’t possibly imagine what I could have done to prevent it.
“Don’t mind them,” says a man about ten years my senior who sits across from me. “This is how they tease each other.”
“What did he mean about taking me to another city?” I ask. I cannot go on a trip with this man!
“He was just trying to get a rise out of Agata. They’re smitten,” the man explains, extending his hand to me. “I am Edgard, and I am from Peru. We have all been together for two classes by now. At the end of each session, Josef takes the class on a trip. Last time, it was to Disneyland. The time before, the Grand Canyon. Next time, it
Similar Books
