That same August brought the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, and the winter that followed, with Operation Desert Storm, was the winter of Karim’s greatest discontent. It was not that he favored Iraq and Saddam Hussein, but he fervently believed that Egypt had been coerced into the war on the American side and that Americans had no understanding of or sympathy for the Arab world. It was strange to hear all this from a boy who still had a poster of former Red Sox third baseman Wade Boggs on his wall, and who spoke in a pure Bos- ton accent. But in fact, Jenna could agree with him up to a point. The problem was that she had seen Middle Eastern politics from backstage and was far less inclined than Karim to draw hard moral lines.

Unfortunately, any word of moderation from her led to torrential idealistic arguments from him. Part of the problem, she was certain, was Karim’s continued hero worship of Nasser Hamid. Under the influence of Jacqueline’s father, Karim had been reading voraciously about the Middle East in general and Egypt in particular. He had decided that the history and politics of the region would be his area of specialization in college. Perhaps he would become a diplomat—a career that would bring him a sense of connection with what he believed were his roots.

“Don’t diplomats have to learn to see both sides of issues?” she asked pointedly.

“Not all diplomats are cowards,” he answered.

Like his anger, Karim’s plans made Jenna feel guiltier than ever. Her son was building on something that never was. Well, his grandmother was Egyptian—at least that part was true, wasn’t it?

Not good enough, her conscience responded. You’ve cheated the boy. You’ve filled his head with fairy tales when he is, in fact, a royal prince.

But it couldn’t be helped. It just couldn’t be helped.

37. Evasion

Evasion

In al-Remal the weather rarely changed in any way except slowly and gradually. In Boston it could go from warm sunlight to icy storm in a matter of minutes. Living with Karim was a bit like living with the Boston weather. For example, there was the morning the car arrived.

It was a Saturday, and Jenna had made Karim an enormous brunch. They had eaten in relative peace, exchanging a few innocuous comments about the colleges he was considering:

Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth, and Brown.

A car horn broke the stillness of their quiet, sedate street. It didn’t sound like the usual angry signal that someone was double-parked, blocking the signaler. The honking was enthusiastic, exuberant. Jenna went to the window. A bright red Corvette sat at the curb. A young man in a sports coat and tie was looking for someone else—there were, after all, four other apartments in the building. Then her bell rang, three staccato bursts.