29

Sam was expected at the Husseins’. He’d accepted the invitation Sally sent him by way of an answer. Sally was happy that at last she would meet The Boy Next Door, the one who had captured her attention, her BlackBerry, and her heart.

Without even knowing him, Sally felt that she had loved this young man for months. She wanted to know everything about him, and most of all, why he was interested in a girl like her. The other question that intrigued her was whether he really was a Muslim. In his message he used the Islamic form of greeting, but was it simply out of respect, a way of getting closer to her, or was it out of conviction?

For Sally, everything was clear-cut. Either Sam was a Muslim and she was prepared to get to know him better and even to marry him, or he was an impostor, in which case she would have to forget the whole sorry episode and never speak of it again. One thing was certain: she would marry no one but a Muslim, and not just any Muslim but a real Muslim — one who prayed five times a day, went to the mosque, and wore a beard. At the thought of the beard, she hesitated. Sam did not have a beard. She made up her mind that once she had a good idea of his intentions and his convictions, she would ask him to grow one.

Sally’s parents were happy too. Above all, they wanted to ascertain the lad’s true intentions, to find out if he was a good boy, polite and well educated. For them the question of religious practice could come later. “The foundations have to be solid. All the rest is secondary…” Ali kept repeating as he turned over in his mind the idea that his daughter might soon be married.

Fawzia could think only of the festivities to come. For the occasion she would prepare a veritable feast: biryani, a dish made of chicken and rice, tiny bouquets of deep-fried breaded cauliflower flavoured with coriander, lentils in a spicy sauce with morsels of lamb, a green salad, and little semolina cakes in a light syrup flavoured with cinnamon and cardamom.

Sam arrived right on time, and Ali greeted him at the door. He was a tall, slender young man with sad eyes. He was simply dressed, with worn running shoes on his feet. The two men barely looked at one another. Sam dared only raise his eyes furtively to glance at Mr. Hussein. Sally’s father felt awkward as well. Smiling to mask his embarrassment, he invited the visitor to follow him to the living room.

The contrast between the two was stark, almost comical. Sam, skinny, frail-looking, and reserved, towered over Mr. Hussein, a short, stocky, jovial man who masked his nervousness with a series of jokes that only he laughed at, spoke of his birthplace, and made comments on politics mingled with the latest National Hockey League results. Despite Ali’s accent Sam did his best to follow. He managed to pick up the odd word, smiling occasionally but not daring to speak.

Mrs. Hussein entered the living room, followed by Sally. Fawzia was wearing a vibrantly coloured traditional dress, a muslin shawl barely concealing her hair, and her eyes sparkled. Sally was dressed as usual except that the veil covering her face was white — her mother had insisted so strongly that finally Sally had given in. She stood close to her mother, not even daring to look at Sam. Fawzia, with her exuberant personality and her relaxed and poised manner, helped lighten the atmosphere of the meeting. Everything seemed to have been waiting for her so that the real discussion could begin.

Fawzia placed a platter of fruit on the table and handed Sam a small saucer. He thanked her and immediately served himself. Then she passed saucers to her husband and daughter.

“Sally, would you please bring us the pineapple juice, the water, and the ice cubes? I left them on the kitchen counter.”

Sally left the room and Fawzia began. “Mr. Sam, we are very happy to see you. Sally told us that you wanted to meet her, and we are delighted. So, you are in the same class as Sally?”

“Thank you for your invitation. My mother is Canadian, my father from Saudi Arabia. My parents divorced when I was three years old, and I’ve lived here ever since with my mother. This is my last year at university. For a long time I didn’t consider myself a Muslim, but in the last few years I’ve begun to take an interest in my Arab heritage. I discovered the Muslim faith and accepted it. Sally and I attend the same lecture, and I have nothing but admiration for her fervour and her piety, and that’s why I wanted to meet her.”

Sally had returned to the room carrying a tray. She listened to Sam attentively, and his poems rushed back into her mind, touching her deeply. Fawzia was in seventh heaven — this lad had surprised her. Could he be the gift of heaven she’d implored for her daughter?

Then all at once, Mr. Ali stood up and broke his silence. “And why not continue this interesting discussion in the dining room?”

Off they went, as if they’d already formed a family. The savoury meal that Fawzia had prepared awaited them.