That Other Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

ceiling light it looked like it’d been sprayed with salt. “I know what I’m talking about. You don’t realize what’s happening to everything in your body, all those parts you can’t see: bones, guts, blood. So maybe you ought to consider giving up whiskey and taking up wine instead.”
    â€œYou suggest that, huh?” I cuffed his neck just as he took a thirsty gulp of his third glass of whiskey, causing it to spatter out of his mouth. “Do I look weak? Do I look like a woman? You really fart from your mouth after a few!” Both men fell back, roaring with laughter.
    I would have liked a simple and straightforward answer for why I feel the way I do; and I thought about bringing up the vile dreams that have been sneaking up on me, leaving me with a numbing sense that some violent death awaits me. But worries like that would be perceivedas a sign of personal weakness. Being unable to manage our emotions, whining like women? For men like us, that wouldn’t do. So with cleverly disguised words we try to steer the conversation toward whatever is making us anxious, and hope someone will inadvertently come up with a solution. I got no answers. What I did get was the dreadful sense of growing old.
    Once the mirth abated, I declared, “Khaled decided to propose.”
    â€œWhat? Masha’Allah , God willed it!” Mattar exclaimed. “Khaloodi?”
    â€œYou can hardly call him that now,” Saeed said. “He’s a grown man. What is he, nearing thirty-one, thirty-two?”
    â€œSomething like that,” I said.
    â€œ Mabrook! Congratulations,” Mattar said.
    â€œAbout time,” added Saeed. “By the time I reached that age, I already had six children. I don’t know why you didn’t arrange a marriage for him early on, like you did with your other children, and like your father did for you.”
    â€œI tried. But he didn’t want to do it the traditional way—he said he wanted to choose his own wife.”
    â€œWell, anyway, he’ll put down roots now. Wonderful news, my brother.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought, too,” I said, reaching out for the sweating glass in front of me for my first sip of the night. “The problem is that the girl’s family refused.”
    My friends were baffled. “What? Why?” Mattar asked, cupping his whiskey with both hands.
    â€œWhose daughter is this?” Saeed flung his arms into the air in exasperation. “Don’t they know what a privilege it would be to hook your son?”
    I merely shrugged, but Saeed could tell I was boiling inside at the insult of this refusal. He bowed his head slightly to show me that he was a good friend and a compassionate listener who would like tohear more. I tapped his back and continued, “The womenfolk, my wife and daughters—even my sisters, who came all the way from Ras Al-Khaimah—did their duty and visited the women of the girl’s family to let them know of Khaled’s interest and intentions. My wife said it was an auspicious meeting. She came back with nothing but praise for the girl, who apparently had excellent manners. Aisha couldn’t wait to seal the arrangement. If it had been up to her, she would have called as soon as she got home to set up the next meeting, for my sons and me to visit and make a formal proposal to her father. But I told her, ‘Hold off for a few days. Don’t make it seem like we are desperate.’ ”
    â€œWise, wise,” said Mattar.
    â€œAisha agreed and waited a few more days before calling them. Do you know what they told her?” I picked up my glass and held it to the light, watching the amber liquid swallow up what slivers of ice remained. “Her father said, ‘The girl wants to continue her studies.’ ”
    My friends groaned at this infamous excuse: a polite yet definitive refusal.
    â€œBut who are these people? What family is