The Ruins of Us by Keija Parssinen Read Free Book Online Page A

and forth between countries, and he’d been trying to figure out a way to tell Rosalie about her new neighbor. Now it seemed someone had done the dirty work for him.
    “Listen, I don’t want to get involved, Rosie,” Dan said.
    “My God, this country is infuriating. No one wants to get in-fucking-volved!”
    Dan was scared for her now, her body shaking from the force of her anger.
    “That’s enough, Rosalie,” Abdullah said. “Go inside.”
    “You know what happens when no one gets involved?” she said. “When no one tells the truth? People wind up splattered on the wall, and then all the people who were so busy minding their own goddamn business get to act sorry while cleaning up the mess. I think it’s disgraceful. And Dan, if you knew about this, then by God, you ought to be ashamed. And you,” she pointed at Abdullah. “You’ve been hiding at your other house out of cowardice, too scared to face me.”
    Abdullah raised his hand in the air to silence her. He glowered. It was clear that whatever he had permitted by way of verbal abuse from her, whether out of guilt or sympathy, had just become impermissible. “If you ever speak to me like that again, you’ll be on the first plane back to Houston. Do you understand me?”
    Rosalie was quiet, but she held his gaze. She had pursed her lips into so thin a line that they almost disappeared from her face. Without them, she looked cruel.
    “Now, if you will just calm down and think about this like a rational person, I know that you will see that I’ve done nothing outside of my rights,” Abdullah continued. “When you chose to marry me and move here, you told me that you were ready to accept my culture. You said you loved my culture. Well, this is my culture.”
    It was early evening, and the neighborhood was silent save the ch-ch-ch of the sprinklers. It seemed Rosalie was barely breathing. Finally, she spoke.
    “No one takes a second wife nowadays. Not one of your brothers or friends has taken one. It’s what villagers do!” She paused. “What’s happened to you, Abdullah? What’s happened to my husband? My husband was an honest man. A loving man.” Her voice cracked.
    Dan should not have come. It wasn’t his business, this private sadness. It really wasn’t, no matter how many times Rosalie might accuse him of negligence. He knew better than anyone that once a marriage springs a leak, there’s not a soul in the world to put a patch to it except the two people involved.
    “Please, Habibti. I am still those things,” Abdullah said. “You must understand, Isra doesn’t change anything between us. I will give to you both equally. You will not want for anything, I swear to you.”
    “No. You’re wrong, Abdullah. That’s where you’re wrong. You’re not a cake. You can’t be divided up. Love has to be more whole than that.”
    He reached for her hand, but she turned away and walked toward the door.
    “It can never be what it was,” she continued. “It won’t ever be that pure again.”
    She seemed resigned now, small-shouldered in the shadow of the archway. She turned and went inside, the sound of the lock loud, as if punctuating her statement. Abdullah exhaled. They stood and listened to the sounds of the night: frangipani flowers opening up; sweet beans falling from the branches of carob trees; the chattering of larks, bluethroats, and wheatears. Nature had an infuriating indifference to human entanglements. Sometimes, a blue sky was enough to make Dan smash a glass.
    “I need a drink,” Abdullah said. “Let’s try to get to the causeway before the rush.”
    “Too late for that. Every sucker in the Eastern Province is heading to happy hour in Bahrain.”
    “It doesn’t matter. We’ll use my pass and take the VIP lane.”
    They drove in silence for several minutes. Dan waited for Abdullah to say something about Rosalie, to excuse himself, or her. Back in Texas, they had always fought loudly, as if by making it a show and inviting