Free Grains of Truth by Lydia Crichton

emotions.
    Julia’s eyes remained fixed on the dark water. “You took me by surprise.”
    “Did you enjoy it?” The quiet question sounded both like a tease and a challenge.
    “Yes. It was a wonderful dance. I was only surprised because I thought your faith didn’t allow you to dance with women other than your wife.” She summoned the courage to tilt her head to study his somber profile.
    “Julia, you are the first and only woman I have danced with since my marriage, seven years ago.”
    She had to swallow and wet her lips before she could speak. “Well, you must think of me as an ‘immoral infidel,’ but you’re wrong about that.”
    “Oh, no, Julia, no, no. I would never think of you in this way.” Finally, he turned to face her. “You are a fine and gracious lady, like a goddess. Tonight you are so beautiful, I simply could not resist.”
    What does one say to something like that? She breathed deeply of the mystical night as she turned away. “And you, Mohamed, are a charming and handsome man. But you realize, of course, that we can be no more than friends. I admit that I’m attracted to you—very attracted. But surely this kind of thing happens to you all the time. Women must fall in love with you on every tour.”
    She shook her head. “Even if we wanted to go further it would be a mistake. What good could come of it? You’re married and we’re here together for a short time; then we go back to our different lives on opposite sides of the world. I’m not interested in a casual romance. I like and respect you too much to allow the physical attraction between us to spoil our friendship. And we are friends, Mohamed. I hope we always will be. I know you feel that, too.” Again, she shook her head. “No, it would only make us unhappy. Let’s leave it with a dance.”
    The words came spilling out. She had no control over them and was taken aback at her own bluntness. Poor man, she thought. He probably thinks I’m insane.
    “I don’t know what to say, Julia.”  He looked down at his hands, wrapped around the rail. “You’re right, of course. I cannot go further. It is haram: forbidden.” He raised earnest eyes to hers, declaring fiercely, “But I, too, hope that we will always be friends.”
    “I know we will,” she said, her relief tinged with more than a little disappointment. 
    They then spoke of other things. She asked about his work and about his family. He confided how he lived in two completely different worlds, moving from his job where he spent much time with people from Western cultures to his other life, deeply rooted in Islam. Sometimes it troubled him that he managed this with such apparent ease. But it was not easy. After touring with a group, enjoying the freedoms and luxuries, he often experienced conflict in returning to the strict structure of his religion and the financial constraints of his everyday life. And life had changed dramatically for the worse since the terrorists had begun their global Jihad, with many tours cancelled.
    This Julia understood. She saw how hard life was for the people here. Societal norms dictated that the man worked, usually either for the government in the monstrous bureaucracy that shackled progress, or in the massive field of tourism, which comprised the largest sector of the economy. The wife stayed home, raised the children and cooked the labor-intensive meals expected each day. 
    There were, of course, exceptions to these norms, but mainly within the minute minority of the wealthy class. They generally took their religion less seriously and lived much more lavishly, embracing Western ways. The fellahin, Egypt’s poorest class, made up the vast majority of the population and lived the most basic, primitive existence, much like their ancient ancestors. 
    Mohamed, coming from an educated, hard-working family, but not one of marked privilege, fell within the middle-class. His intelligence and charm, along with fluency in several languages,