Free The Apostate by Jack Adler

threat presented itself with her men folk. Would they accept him? While increasingly guilty about using Abra as a springboard to ingratiate himself in the local Muslim community, he had to take advantage of the extraordinary opportunity she presented. It didn’t make it any easier that he truly liked her. Perkins, of course, just urged him to maximize– Ray hated that word, especially in this context–the opening he was getting.
    He knew enough about Arab culture to bring a little gift. Wine seemed inappropriate, so he brought a small, nicely wrapped box of candy.
    â€œDon’t worry so much,” Abra said, as they pulled into the driveway of a large ranch-style house with an expansive but well-tended lawn. “They won’t eat you.”
    But they might be less receptive to his charms than Abra. So far he had been doing well enough, but he was hardly a consummate actor. This role he was playing might blow up in his face. He felt a stab of guilt if Abra would be hurt. Submerging his feelings for her might become a problem, and he decided not to bring up this aspect to Perkins, though he was sure the PAS operative would ask.
    The imam, Radwan Malouse, was a tall thin man with a grey-streaked black beard who looked to be in his early to mid fifties. Close-cut, white hair covered much of his scalp. Thick-lensed glasses partially concealed alert black eyes. Abra’s other uncle, Tariq Esaaba, had a darker beard and appeared to be a few years younger. The imam’s wife, Sanah, also greeted them in the foyer of their house. She was a portly woman with an angular face marked by tired looking eyes. Still black hair, parted in the middle, didn’t reach her shoulders.
    After introductions they sat in a spacious living room. Abra decorously sat several feet away from Ray on one couch while the imam and his wife sat on a parallel couch. Tariq sat on a separate armchair.
    The scene was so formal, Ray thought. It was like he was there to ask their permission to marry Abra. It was just a dinner, but obviously she felt it incumbent to present him as if he were some sort of suitor. Probably, cognizant of who she was dating, they had put pressure on her to bring him home for a look-see. Hopefully, that’s all their scrutiny entailed.
    Conversation was polite and inconsequential until Abra, without any warning, said, “Ray wrote a letter to the Los Angeles Times , which they’re going to publish.” She gave Ray a proud glance at his accomplishment. “Can I show it to them?” she asked Ray.
    â€œIt’s just a simple letter,” Ray said, looking embarrassed without difficulty. He was pleased that Abra had brought the subject up. He knew she would.
    â€œNo, it’s not,” Abra said, crossing to the vestibule to get her purse. She came back to the living room with the copy of his letter he had given her, and gave it first to the imam. The imam read the letter carefully, and then passed it to Tariq. “Very impressive.”
    Ray dipped his head in apparent humility. After reading the letter, Tariq asked, “When will it run?”
    â€œIn a few days, but I didn’t get a specific date.”
    The imam’s wife read the letter and rewarded Ray with a smile. Then she glanced at Abra to show approval.
    â€œIt’s very encouraging to find a young man like you with such pro-Muslim sentiments,” the imam said.
    â€œThat’s how I feel,” Ray said, with a modest shrug.
    â€œRay studied Arabic and Islamic Studies at UCLA,” Abra said, showering Ray with another appreciative glance.
    â€œAlso impressive,” the imam said.
    â€œI’m not fluent,” Ray quickly said. “I speak very little. And not with the best accent either.”
    The imam and his wife smiled, but Tariq still regarded him with a noncommittal stare. The treasurer generated a dark presence, despite his light colored western clothes. Even the imam was dressed in