Zeitoun Read Online Free PDF Page B

Zeitoun.
    “Twenty-five-foot waves,” Kathy added.
    Zeitoun changed the subject. “Did you get the DeClercs to approve that paint sample?”
    “I did,” Kathy said. “Did you hear about this family of five?”
    He had not, so in a breathless rush Kathy told him what she knewabout the family lost at sea in their tiny boat, swept away in the hurricane, just as the Zeitouns might be swept away if they didn’t flee its path.
    “We’re not at sea, Kathy,” Zeitoun said.
    Zeitoun had spent the better part of ten years on ships, carrying everything from fruit to oil. He worked as a crewman, an engineer, a fisherman—he’d been everywhere from Japan to Cape Town. All along, his brother Ahmad had told him that “If a sailor finds the right port or the right woman, he’ll drop anchor.” In 1988 Zeitoun came to the United States on a tanker carrying oil from Saudi Arabia to Houston. He began working for a contractor in Baton Rouge, and it was there that he met Ahmaad, a Lebanese American who became one of his closest friends and the conduit through which he met his bride.
    Ahmaad was working at a gas station at the time, and Zeitoun was hanging drywall. They bonded over common ancestry, and one day Zeitoun asked Ahmaad if he knew any single women who might be appropriate for him. Ahmaad was married to a woman named Yuko, an American of Japanese ancestry who had converted to Islam. And Yuko, it turned out, had a friend. Ahmaad was conflicted, though, because while he liked and trusted Zeitoun and wanted to help, he was hoping this friend of Yuko’s might be a match for another friend of his. If it didn’t work out between his friend and Yuko’s, he said, he would surely introduce her to Zeitoun. Zeitoun was willing to respect that boundary, but at the same time his interest was piqued. Who was this woman who was so prized that Ahmaad would not even mention her name?
    That year Zeitoun became increasingly determined to find the right woman. He told friends and cousins he was looking for a down-to-earth Muslim woman who wanted a family. Knowing he was a serious andhardworking man, they provided many introductions. He was sent to New York to meet the daughter of an acquaintance. He went to Oklahoma to meet the cousin of a friend. He went to Alabama to meet the sister of a coworker’s roommate.
    Meanwhile, Yuko’s friend had been set up with Ahmaad’s friend, and though they courted for a few months, that relationship came to an end. Ahmaad, as promised, let Zeitoun know that Yuko’s friend was now single. It was only then that Zeitoun was told her name: Kathy.
    “Kathy?” Zeitoun asked. He hadn’t known too many Muslims named Kathy. “Kathy what?”
    “Kathy Delphine,” Ahmaad said.
    “She’s American?”
    “She’s from Baton Rouge. She converted.”
    Zeitoun was more intrigued than ever. It took a courageous and self-possessed woman to take such a step.
    “But listen,” Ahmaad said. “She’s been married. She has a two-year-old son.”
    This did nothing to dissuade Zeitoun.
    “When can I see her?” he asked.
    Ahmaad told him she worked at a furniture store, and gave Zeitoun the address. Zeitoun formulated a plan. He would park out front and observe her unnoticed. This was, he told Ahmaad, Jableh style. He didn’t want to make a move, or allow anyone representing him to mention his intentions, before he could see her. This was the way of doing things where he’d come from: observe from afar, make inquiries, gather information, then meet. He wanted no confusion, no hurt feelings.
    He pulled into the furniture store’s parking lot at about five o’clock one day, planning to wait and watch as she left at the end of her shift.He was just settling in for his stakeout when a young woman burst through the door, wearing jeans and a hijab. She was striking, and very young. She tucked a few strands of hair into her scarf and looked around the parking lot. And then she was walking again, striding with a