“Hey,” a man’s voice sounded from behind him, and it was not the “hey” of a person who was about to say, “I’m a big fan.” Cora’s expression flashed terror, and Kaveh shot to his feet before the man could get another word out.

“You’re her.” He was already almost on top of him, Mr. It’s-2008-and-I-Still-Use-a-Beeper.

“Hey, man, calm down,” said Kaveh.

“Calm down?” He clearly didn’t recognize Kaveh at all.

“Leave us alone,” said Kaveh, staying tempered, knowing the optics of a Middle Eastern man showing anger in a public space, even for the best of reasons, were not good. “Just back off.”

“They’re going to kill us all, and you let them in, you keep them from us, you protect them,” said the man, speaking around Kaveh so loud it bordered on shouting. Cora didn’t move.

“Sir!” The manager had arrived, a middle-aged Black woman who spoke with the tone of someone who’d had to do this a few times. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“What did they offer you?” asked the man. By now, the restaurant was silent except for the faint atmospheric music, every eye in the room on them. In a way, it was just like Pershing Square; everyone watched, but no one intervened. “What are you going to get for it? You think this is going to save you?”

“Sir!” The manager snapped her fingers, and a couple of waiters reluctantly joined the fray. “Sir, you need to leave.”

“You think being their slave is going to save you? They’re going to kill all of us. What are they going to give you for it? What do you know?”

“Sir!”

The manager and the two waiters finally forced the man out, his humiliated family following behind, refusing to make eye contact. The nuisance now ejected, the manager was headed back in their direction. “Are you all right?” she asked both of them. “I’m very sorry, sir.”

She looked at Cora, and an expression of recognition passed over her. Kaveh couldn’t quite read it—did she, perhaps, agree with Beeper Dad? Or was she overcome with compassion? Or, most likely, did she simply want the source of conflict gone from her establishment?

Cora, for her part, sat still and stared straight ahead, looking like her soul had been sucked out of her body. Kaveh placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she jumped slightly.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I think we’ll just take the check.”

43

43

When they got back to Kaveh’s house, Cora entered through the kitchen and kept walking like a preprogrammed automaton. She felt like she had to keep moving, because she was afraid of what would happen if she stopped. But she had to stop moving eventually; houses had walls.

“Honey? Talk to me?”