Tomorrow's Vengeance Read Free Page B

don’t mind my asking, but you look so, so …’ I paused, searching for the right word, not wanting to insult her.
    â€˜American as apple pie?’ she finished for me.
    I felt my face flush. ‘Yes.’
    â€˜So, you noticed!’ A laugh bubbled out of her. ‘Until I went to college, I lived in McKinney, just north of Dallas, Texas. I met Masud when I was in the Peace Corp teaching English at a lycée in Tunis.’
    I’d majored in French at Oberlin College, so I knew she meant a secondary school of some sort, most likely for girls, in Tunisia. ‘
Donc, vous parlez très bien le français, n’est-ce pas?’
    â€˜
Oui, et je parle aussi l’arabe
. And once the language barrier disappeared,’ she continued in English, ‘my eyes were opened and I became fascinated with the culture. It was ever so much richer than anything I had experienced before. I was totally sucked in. About halfway through my first year there, I was invited home to dinner by one of my students. Her family pretty much adopted me and treated me like a daughter.’
    â€˜Is that when you started wearing the hijab?’
    â€˜After a while, it seemed the natural thing to do.’
    â€˜Don’t you find it confining?’
    â€˜Not really. For me, it is a religious act. The hijab tells the world I am a Muslim woman.’ She smiled. ‘It saves a lot of time, actually. In social situations I usually don’t have to explain, “Sorry, I don’t drink,” or “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I am a Muslim woman so I don’t shake hands with men.”’
    â€˜I see your point,’ I said. ‘Like wearing a wedding ring says “hands off” to jerks at professional conferences.’
    â€˜Exactly. In Tunisia, Western women are fair game. You wouldn’t believe the cat calls I used to get while walking to work. Harmless, mostly, but still.’ She turned to me, beaming. ‘I can teach you a very useful phrase:
Rude bellick, Allah bish yhizz lsaanik!
’
    â€˜Is that the Arabic equivalent of “Your mother wears combat boots?”’
    She flashed me a charming, gap-toothed grin. ‘It means be careful or God will seize your tongue!’
    I laughed out loud. ‘I’ll have to remember that next time I’m in Tunis.’
    â€˜After I began wearing the hijab, Hannah, nobody bothered me. I was safer in the streets of Tunis than I would have been in downtown Dallas, that’s for sure. I actually felt liberated.’
    Safa’s hands suddenly flew to her throat, her fingers rapidly working to adjust the hijab where the fabric folded under her chin. ‘You must excuse me,’ she said, standing up. ‘Masud’s waiting. It’s time for me to go.’ Her eyes flicked sideways.
    Where the sidewalk curved around a miniature Japanese maple a man stood, smoking. Masud was not particularly tall but he was dark and handsome, with abundant salt-and-pepper hair combed straight back. He was dressed in black trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt, the collar open. The fabric of the shirt was so sheer that I could read the label on the pack of cigarettes tucked into his breast pocket: Camels. Unfiltered. The only brand with a picture of the factory on the label, my late mother, a lifelong smoker, had always joked.
    If Masud had been wearing a bow tie, I thought, as I watched him exhale a stream of smoke into the humid summer air, I might have mistaken him for a handsome waiter.
    â€˜Of course,’ I told Safa. ‘I’m meeting someone, too. But I’ve enjoyed our conversation and I hope we run into each other again.’
    Safa bowed slightly. ‘I hope so, too, Hannah.’
    After an awkward pause while I considered whether to extend my hand or not, Safa turned and glided down the steps to join her husband. As she reached the bottom step, Masud dropped his cigarette butt on the