The sun made the field of white look pink like the clouds at sunset, and the sylvan trees without branches were like the hands of elderly people. I told Rebecca it would be nice to take a picture.
“I don’t own a camera,” she said. “I don’t really think visually.”
So I looked around at everything and at Rebecca and removed my left glove and put my hand inside her glove next to hers and inhaled the air and listened to the sounds of the children, and closed my eyes and saved all the different sensations to my nonvisual memory.
But then I wanted to save the emotions I was feeling, and it was more difficult to classify and categorize them, so I concentrated exclusively on the feeling I received from the cold air that removed all odor except for a minimal amount of Rebecca’s watermelon shampoo, and it was still complex to classify it, but I tried anyway.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was almost 100 % down and it was time for the Salatu-l-Maghrib prayer. Rebecca asked if she could watch. I consented, and afterward I taught her about the different prayer positions and the translations of what I was saying. Then, because she seemed interested, I discussed a few other subjects, e.g., the Five Pillars. “I’m pretty ignorant about this stuff,” she said.
“As a parallel, I now see I did not truly know much about the U.S. before I came here,” I said. “And I am ignorant about movies and music and books.”
We were quiet for a few minutes until she received a telephone call from her brother. She gave him advice on where to search for an airplane ticket and how much to spend. When she disconnected, I asked if he was visiting her.
She shook her head and picked up some snow and compressed it with both hands. “He always flies the day after Christmas to see our father.”
“I did not realize he still spoke with him,” I said.
“They have a little more in common than I do. Though not much. But David tries, and when my father isn’t caught up with his family, he deigns to let him visit a couple times a year,” she said. “He’s got a lot of lingering anger at our father. I mean, I do, too, but I’m aware of it, thanks to several hundred hours of therapy. I’m not sure he’s really conscious of how upset he is.”
She continued compressing the snow into a sphere. “I think I understand what you mean,” I said.
Her body vibrated from the wind, and she said it was getting late and that we should return. She was about to throw the sphere, but contained it in her glove, and it remained there as we walked home in silence until she dropped it outside her apartment where it blended with all the other snow.
decent = possessing positive values
deign = lower yourself to do something
ditch an event = do not attend an event
mise-en-scène = visual arrangement within a movie
Other = term for people who are not the majority
patriarchy = a society controlled by men, or a family controlled by the father
PC = Politically Correct; fearful of offending the Other
phallologocentric = I still do not understand what this means
JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: DECEMBER 23
After burning the midnight oil for several days, I completed a draft of the epidemiology paper at the office on Wednesday. The writing was Karim-esque, but it stated the central ideas clearly and the math and programming examples were elegant. It could be a strong launch pad from which connoisseurs in the field might refine Kapitoil.
That night, as I put on the rented tuxedo Mrs. Schrub had delivered to me at my apartment, I debated ditching the party. I was not 100 % certain that Mr. Schrub was being dishonest with me, and I was also not 100 % certain my epidemiology idea would function. At significant crisis moments some people feel confident about themselves and some people lack confidence, and although I ultimately trust my skills, I do not think I will ever be the class of person who is infinitely certain of himself.
The fund-raising event was at a hotel near the Schrubs’ apartment. It was in the ballroom, and when the young female guard asked for my name, I identified myself, and she said, “Issar…I don’t see you here.” I became nervous and I spelled my name in case she didn’t see it. Then she said, “My mistake — you’re on the special guest list of Helena Schrub. Go on in, sir.” The people behind me on line paid more attention to me as she allowed me to enter.
The ballroom was littered with men in tuxedos and females in black dresses but no fur coats like there were at Mr. Schrub’s luxury box in Yankee Stadium. There were also many waiters carrying food, and since I didn’t see Mr. or Mrs. Schrub, I ate some stuffed vegetarian grape leaves.
Then I saw Mrs. Schrub in the middle of a cluster. She waved for me to come over. “Karim, I’m so glad you could make it,” she said. She introduced me to the five people with her, who were all her age or older. “Karim is from Qatar, and he’s worked his way up to a top position at Schrub Equities in just a few months. Derek says he’s one of his most gifted employees.”
Even though Mr. Schrub made a similar statement at the Yankees game, I didn’t know he had said this, which sounded much more impressive because he said it to his wife and not to his associate. The only thing that bothered me is that she pronounced it “Ka-tar” instead of “cutter,” which most Americans do, so I am typically careless, but I had used the correct pronunciation with her several times in Greenwich.
Two of the men in the circle also worked in finance at other firms, and soon we launched our own conversation. I was surprised that they wanted my opinion, especially on the 1,000-mile view of e-commerce.
“There are golden opportunities now,” I said, “but I believe investors are overestimating the value of the Internet. At the end of the day, consumers still sometimes prefer the human interaction that machines cannot deliver.”
Two other men joined us, and they continued asking for my theories, and soon I forgot why I was at the fund-raiser. When a waiter brought us a tray of small pastries containing cream, I took one without thinking, and it was so delicious that I remembered it was haraam but I couldn’t restrict myself and I consumed two more.
I was talking so much about my ideas that I was unprepared when one of the men, who was the senior member of our cluster and ran a rival hedge fund which was less powerful than Schrub, said, “Your boy Karim is giving away all your secrets,” and Mr. Schrub placed his hand on the back of my neck and said, “Not all, I hope,” and winked at me and compressed his hand slightly harder than necessary.
I didn’t know how to approach asking to speak to him privately, so I didn’t say anything as he greeted the other men. They all moved back a few inches to let him center himself.
“I take it Karim’s been tutoring all you dinosaurs on millennial advancements?” he asked. “This kid is the future. He’s got brains and vision.” I had to bite the inside of my lip so that I wouldn’t smile.
Then he said, “Just goes to show, being smart and hardworking still counts for something in America. You don’t need to come from a wealthy family or go to an Ivy, or even have a business degree.” Even though he was overall complimenting me, I quickly felt less like a VIP again, and I wondered if all the men now thought my previous ideas lacked value because of my poor qualifications.
Soon a female started speaking on a microphone. She thanked everyone for coming and spoke about her organization’s goals. One of Mr. Schrub’s friends, who was the youngest and whose name was Mr. Slagle, motioned for a waiter. The waiter was a Mexican man who waited as Mr. Slagle selected three dates contained inside bacon. After he consumed them he had a remainder of three toothpicks, and since we weren’t near a trash bin or a table and the waiter had left, he dropped them on the floor.