LITMIR.BIZ

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the Yom Kippur War. Only when Sadat demonstrated Egypt’s strength was Israel willing to deal with him. Otherwise what was their incentive? My conclusion, gloomy but realistic, as long as such inequities persist, from time to time violence will occur.”

      “What about the students in our embassy?” I asked.

      “Hamid may be better informed. I’m tempted to say students will be students...”

      I shook my head. “Not any longer. However it started, it’s now the Iranian government acting.”

      “...you didn’t let me finish. Of course it is, but it’s trivial compared with western actions in the region, in Iran itself, for that matter. You’ll recall 1953. Shall I mention the Israeli Army massacres in southern Gaza in fifty-six? Largely forgotten by the world, such evils sow seeds of hatred that flower many years later.”

      We talked spiritedly over dinner, then about eight Ed had to get back and finish a lecture. Walking toward the subway station Hamid asked, “What do you think, Professor? Has Paul made enough progress to qualify as an honorary Arab?”

      Said smiled. “I see hopeful signs. For a western journalist he may be, as they say, a keeper. So few in the media take the time to understand us. He at least is trying. Where will his positions settle when they are fully formed? That remains to be seen.”

      Hamid said, “I look forward to offering him my work in Arabic.”

      “If you ever finish.”

      Hamid laughed. “I should know better than to give you a compliment.”

      “Thank you for a most stimulating evening.” Said took Hamid’s hand then reached for mine. “One thing, Paul – your work will lead you to take positions on these issues. If you support the Arab point of view, be warned – even if you simply give it fair treatment you will come in for criticism, much of it uncalled for. Often you will not even know who is behind it. There is physical danger as well. The stakes here are extremely high, as are the passions.”

      I stuck my leg out. “Not much they can do to me hasn’t already been done.”

      “I hear what you say. That attitude will take you far. Good night.”

      “Good night. As-salaamu alaikum.”

      Said smiled. “As-salaamu alaikum, indeed.”

      3. Do You Believe In Magic?

      WE GOT THE WORD – our Motion to Dismiss is denied. Not to worry, Cahill says, he only gave it a twenty percent chance anyway.

      “That means I pay twenty percent of your bill, right?”

      He sighs. “Gus, what’s your availability? They want to schedule your deposition.”

      “For that I have no availability.”

      “Figure it out and get back to me.”

      Paul mentioned Truman. In my view, a man of limited scope but he had the guts to buck the generals on Korea. Imagine if we had used the bomb against China! Every half-bit country that got one later would have felt free, in fact felt obliged to use it. If there’s such a thing as a moral government act, that was it. Too bad he didn’t figure that out in ’forty-five, though I have to admit I didn’t complain about the war being over.

      That Ed Said is impressive. His remark about the Declaration of Independence was right on. That two-hundredth birthday bathos totally missed the point. What makes us work is the founders’ willingness to compromise, find common ground. Dealing with your adversary was no easier then than now, but they did it better. Washington could have been emperor, for God’s sake – our current King George would have the title to go with the pretense.

      Carter tried but in the end he lost heart. Of course Latimer and his business buddies blocked him at every turn, then right on schedule along comes Reagan. It fits together, doesn’t it? The Latimers thrive because they back the big guns. These days it’s all about the money – money and not giving an inch.

      Last night I finally got around to Jonathan’s draft, the CD, that is. I’m surprised – it flows quite nicely. I spent a couple of hours getting Paul through college and on to Berkeley. I can’t wait to see what Jonathan says about us – not that I care, of course. What if he lucks out and actually finds something in Iraq? I wonder how he’d work that in?

      * * * * * * *

      THE PRIMARY SEASON was in full swing. Rebounding, Jimmy Carter handily won Iowa and New Hampshire, dominating the primaries until Kennedy took New York and Connecticut, then swept the last set. Going into the convention the race was hotly contested, unsettling for the party and the incumbent. Ronald Reagan, the odds-on GOP favorite, beat back George H.W. Bush and locked up the nomination early.

      Which brings me to our neighbors (don’t worry, I’ll hook it up). So far I haven’t told you much about them which isn’t an oversight, it’s just that in seven years I hadn’t made any really close friends there. My fault as much as anything else. I was away so much and when I was home the family tended to monopolize my attention.

      The lots in our part of town were spacious, with houses set back – some palatial, some modest like ours. One side of us in a House Beautiful spread lived an elderly couple, the Robinsons. Martin (nobody called him Marty) was a retired insurance executive and one of my least favorite people, Dorie a former sixth-grade teacher everyone liked, even her former students, people said. Each spring was marked by Martin’s assault on the line of shrubs separating our two lots. As he flailed, I half-expected to see a flash of light as his electric shears bit into the long orange cord. Most Saturdays Martin fired up his riding mower at eight sharp, an attention-getter if you’d been up late the night before. A crew of Hispanic guys did everything else with a leaf blower powered by some variant of the J-79 I knew from Vietnam. Martin belonged to an exclusive golf club the next town over and was always complaining about his game, though even I knew a seven handicap was damned good. Years ago I quit talking politics with Martin. He was the most rigid, unbending individual I’d ever known – even made Gus look reasonable by comparison. That REAGAN FOR PRESIDENT eyesore on his front lawn was the first in our neighborhood.

      Across the street from us lived the Salvatores, six children seven to nineteen. Peter was tight with their youngest, Noah, always playing catch or kicking the ball around. Tom was a lawyer in a big New York firm, trusts and estates. His calm courtliness made it easy to visualize his influence on elderly folks. “Just a mom,” as far as I could tell Sally had never held a “real” job, though raising six kids counts as far as I’m concerned. She was a big reader, in a book club with Diane and always pressing me to join. But I wasn’t interested. Philip Roth, William Styron, Joyce Carol Oates. My loss, I’m sure.

      The guy at the end of the cul-de-sac was the most interesting of the bunch. Art Koeppel was a TWA captain senior enough to work only ten days or so per month. With all that spare time he held down a second job, as many pilots did, he told me, doing tax work for other pilots. His wife, Tammy, a former TWA stew, was bright and pretty. They had no children. Art’s travels put mine to shame, and he had great stories, but the most fascinating thing about him was happening in his garage. He was building an airplane.

      It had been a long time since we’d thrown a party and Diane suggested the final night of the Republican convention, but I said I had to remain above the fray. Our solution – two cookouts. The GOP was up first. Along with neighbors, we’d have an assortment of parents from the Montessori and church, plus Diane’s parents and Penny. Some of Diane’s Salomon colleagues also, and a few from the paper, though none of my peers lived out our way. Tom O’Connor and Frank Astell were on the North Shore but traveled in a different circle.

      We originally planned to use just the patio in back, but numbers forced us to spill over into the front yard. We rolled the big-screen television to the patio so people could follow the events in Detroit. Just the day before Reagan had neutralized his only opposition by inviting Bush to join the ticket, so it was all over but the shouting, but somebody might still

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