Hope & Other Dangerous Pursuits Read Online Free PDF Page B

drought year—the end of November and no rainfall at all. Looking at his desk calendar, Larbi noticed that the NYU application deadline was approaching. At least he had Noura’s future to look forward to, he thought, even if the present was difficult. Since she had taken on the hijab, he had stopped mentioning her at work. He felt it was beneath someone like him to have a daughter in a headscarf, and he provided only terse answers to anyone at the Ministry who asked him about his daughter.
    After work he found her in her room with her mother, busy hanging new curtains. He asked her if he could read her essay before she sent it out.
    â€œI’m not applying,” she replied. She slid the last curtain tab onto a mahogany pole.
    Larbi glared at her. “Why not?”
    â€œBecause I want to transfer out of university at the end of next year. I’m going to be a middle school teacher.”
    â€œWhat happened to your plans to study economics?” Salma asked, sitting down.
    â€œMorocco needs me. You two always talk about the shortage of teachers,” Noura said.
    â€œHave you lost your mind? You’re not going to solve the shortage problem—”
    â€œAm I crazy to want to help my country?” She turned away and climbed onto her desk to place the pole on the brackets.
    â€œLook, you’ll be of more help as an economist than as a schoolteacher,” Larbi said. “It’s that friend of hers,” he added, turning to his wife. “She’s filled her head with these ideas and now she can’t think for herself.”
    â€œNo one is filling my head,” Noura said, standing next to the window, the late afternoon light in her hair. “There’s too much corruption in the system now, and I want to bea part of the solution.” Larbi wondered if she was referring to him. No, that was impossible. He had always kept his deals secret from his wife and daughter. Still, he thought it best not to respond. Noura jumped down from the desk. “Besides, why go to school in the States when I can just as easily study here?”
    â€œFor the experience, child,” said Salma.
    â€œAnd you think people in America are going to want me?” Noura said, raising her voice. “Americans hate us.”
    â€œHow would you know if you’ve never been there?” Salma asked. “Your brother has never complained. Why don’t you talk to him?”
    â€œHe’s in Canada,” Noura spat, as though her mother couldn’t tell the difference.
    â€œDoesn’t your Islam tell you to listen to your father?” Larbi asked.
    â€œOnly if my father is on the right path.”
    â€œCongratulations, then. You alone are on the right path,” he said.
    â€œBaraka!” Salma said. She got up. “What about all those years you spent learning English? All the plans you had?”
    â€œI really want to be a teacher,” Noura said.
    â€œThink carefully about what you’re doing, ya Noura.People your age would do anything for an opportunity like this, and you squander it.”
    â€œI want to stay,” Noura said, and she pulled the new curtains shut.
    I T WAS SALMA’S idea to invite Faten to dinner. Larbi had agreed, reluctantly at first, then resignedly, thinking that perhaps he might be able to talk some sense into his daughter if he understood her friend a little better. It was a Saturday evening, and the table had been set with a new service Salma had bought. Larbi sat at the head of the table with Noura to his left. Salma sat to his right, under the framed silhouette of a younger version of herself. During their honeymoon in Paris some twenty-five years ago, they had gone to Montmartre, where an artist had talked them into getting their silhouettes done. Working with his scissors, the old man had made Salma’s bust more generous, and she’d laughed and left him a good tip.
    Faten sat across from Larbi, at the other