Kapitoil_ A Novel Part 13

Mrs. Schrub didn't drink her portion yet, so I wasn't sure if it was rude merely to drink the wine without copying Mr. Schrub's routine. I made the circular motion with my winegla.s.s, but some of the wine spilled over the edge and stained my white tablecloth.

"I am very sorry," I said, because it's good to acknowledge your error in front of your employer before he does.

"That's all right-it's just cotton, we can throw it out," said Mrs. Schrub. "Andre, would you fetch Karim a new mat?"

Mr. Schrub later said the wine had "too many apple notes for a red," although I enjoyed it much more than beer and especially liquor, but I was careful not to have more than one gla.s.s. Mrs. Schrub had just one gla.s.s as well, but Mr. Schrub consumed the rest of the bottle. When we finished eating, Andre said the dessert would be ready soon, and Mr. Schrub asked him to bring up a dessert wine, then said he would retrieve it himself and invited me to see his wine cellar.

He led me through the door Andre went through and downstairs to a steel door. Mr. Schrub checked an instrument panel outside the door and said, "You want it at 55 degrees and 65% relative humidity."

He opened the steel door and we entered a room whose light powered on automatically to a low level so it looked like the production of many candles. Horizontal bottles of red wine occupied hundreds of slots on each wall. The different colors of their upper covers made a beautiful random pattern like a Jackson Pollock painting. Mr. Schrub went to a corner and selected a bottle immediately. He quickly told me about the different brands of wine and which ones he preferred (red wine more than white wine because it is more complex, and I predict I would agree with him for that reason).

Before we left he said, "Here, I'll show you my baby." He walked to a vault in a corner of the room I had not observed before. I looked away as he deciphered the combination and retrieved the bottle protected inside.

"1945 Bordeaux." He turned the bottle in his hands as if he enjoyed the feel of it as much as the potential taste. "Arguably the vintage of the century for Bordeaux." He held it out to me with both hands. "Want to see it?"

He handed it to me, but I was very nervous, like I was when my parents took Zahira home from the hospital for the first time and they let me hold her and I was afraid I would drop her because she was so small. I kept thinking that if I ever dropped her she would be ruined forever, like it would be if I dropped the wine, which is foolish because humans are mostly strong and repairable, but in some ways they aren't.

"When are you going to drink it?" I asked.

He shook his head and took the bottle back. "I'll never drink this." He observed it again for several seconds with a smile on his face as he held it near his chest, then replaced it in the vault.

I had baked baklava as a gift and brought it down for dessert, and we also had delicious sorbet and raspberries and wine, and Mr. Schrub consumed two gla.s.ses of dessert wine even though his wife and I only drank one gla.s.s each. Mr. Schrub yawned and said he was exhausted and he had planned a big day for us tomorrow, and asked if I minded if we all retired early for the night.

Mrs. Schrub said that she was very glad to have met me after she had heard so much about me, and I tried not to smile but I couldn't restrict myself, and I said I had heard a great amount about her as well, although of course Mr. Schrub hadn't told me anything, but I had read about her and the multiple charitable organizations she is on the board of.

My bedroom had a wooden bookshelf of a blond color with dozens of books. Many were about finance, and I initially selected one t.i.tled Emerging Asian Markets Emerging Asian Markets, as that is an area I have interest in. I was prepared to start, but then I saw that the bookshelf contained a few nonfinancial books.

This was an opportunity to broaden my worldview, as I don't typically read literature. Although it was very long, I picked the one that had the most intriguing t.i.tle because its arrangement of words was illogical: The Grapes of Wrath The Grapes of Wrath.

I read the first few pages, and the language was simple for me to access, and the story incorporated me, and then I noticed I had been reading for three hours without stopping, which is rare for me to do with anything nonfinancial.

It was slightly after midnight. I wondered what Rebecca was doing. She had said she was doing nothing special, but maybe she was lying as well. I hoped she was home alone and not with any of the men from her party. I continued thinking about this scenario, and I couldn't fall asleep, and I told myself to reroute my thoughts but that made me think about it more, and finally I called Rebecca's home telephone number that she had listed in the email for her party. It rang several times, and each time it rang I was more certain that she was out with someone else, but on the fifth ring Rebecca picked up.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said, and her voice sounded scratched.

I didn't say anything. "h.e.l.lo?" she said again. "David, is that you?" My chest shifted until I remembered that David was her brother.

When I still didn't respond, she said, "Whoever the f.u.c.k wakes me up in the middle of the night should at least have the courtesy to identify yourself," and disconnected.

I closed my cellular and exhaled.

I woke in the morning feeling fatigued, because although the bed was very soft, in fact the softest bed I had ever slept on, it was almost too too soft and I never felt comfortable, in the same way that some foods are too sweet to enjoy. soft and I never felt comfortable, in the same way that some foods are too sweet to enjoy.

When I went downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Schrub were already eating breakfast. "We didn't want to wake you," Mrs. Schrub said. "Derek is up at 5:30 every morning to go for his walk, but the rest of us mortals need a little more sleep."

They were reading their own copies of The New York Times The New York Times and eating bacon and eggs, but Andre made me a flavorful vegetarian version of it with tofu and false eggs. Even though it was a subst.i.tute I believe it probably tasted superior to the authentic version. When we finished, we heard the front door open. Mrs. Schrub said it was the boys and that I should come and meet them. Mr. Schrub stayed to read an article. and eating bacon and eggs, but Andre made me a flavorful vegetarian version of it with tofu and false eggs. Even though it was a subst.i.tute I believe it probably tasted superior to the authentic version. When we finished, we heard the front door open. Mrs. Schrub said it was the boys and that I should come and meet them. Mr. Schrub stayed to read an article.

I knew their names were Wilson and Jeromy, and they were putting down their luggage by the front door. A black sport utility vehicle was parked outside on the semicircular driveway.

Mr. Schrub's sons were both tall, even taller than he is, although they were also slightly overweight, especially in their faces, as if someone had inflated them, Wilson's more than Jeromy's, and Jeromy's neck had red b.u.mps all over from shaving. Mrs. Schrub introduced me to them, and they both shook my hand and said they were glad to meet me. Then Wilson said he was starving and Mrs. Schrub told him Andre would fix them something, and we all returned to the kitchen.

Mr. Schrub and his sons said h.e.l.lo to each other. Jeromy ordered French toast from Andre and Wilson ordered steak with eggs. "b.l.o.o.d.y and runny, please," he said.

"I was thinking of taking a hike around the Audubon Center today. Who's up for it?" Mr. Schrub asked. I waited for his sons to answer, but when they didn't, I said I was.

"Good," he said. "Guys? It's a beautiful day."

His sons were reading the newspaper now. Wilson had the National section and Jeromy had the Sports section. "I'd love to, Dad, if I could find the time," Wilson said, and he smiled very slightly to himself while he continued reading.

"Me, too," said Jeromy. "I've been getting literally raped at school."

"Jeromy," Mrs. Schrub said. "First of all, getting 'literally raped' would mean you're actually getting raped. Second, it's not the most polite language."

"Sorry," he said. "Figuratively speaking, I've been getting s.e.xually hara.s.sed."

"Then it'll literally just be me and Karim," Mr. Schrub said. "Or is it 'Karim and I'?" he asked his wife, and pinched her waist. The proper grammar was in fact "Karim and I," and in addition to "me and Karim" being incorrect, it is considered impolite to state "me and [other person]" instead of "[other person] and me," but I remained quiet.

Irma provided me with hiking clothing and sneakers, and after I changed Mr. Schrub and I went outside to the driveway, where a dark green sport utility vehicle was already parked. Mr. Schrub drove and I sat next to him, and because we were so high off the ground in the car, it felt as if he were the pilot of a plane and I were his copilot.

The Audubon Center had multiple walking trails, and we took one that Mr. Schrub said was his preferred route. Of course I had been in Central Park many times, but there you are always seeing people and it doesn't feel like you are truly solitary in nature. We saw very few others, and the only sounds I heard were birds and the wind on the leaves colored like fire and the branches breaking under our feet. Mr. Schrub didn't talk frequently except to identify the names of the trees I didn't know, such as American sycamore, and plants with original names, such as honey-bells and eastern skunk cabbage.

We arrived at an open field, and Mr. Schrub handed me a pair of binoculars he had brought. "This is one of the best sites in the country to spot hawks," he said as he looked through his own pair. He pointed to a tree a few hundred meters away. "Look! That's a red-shouldered. They're rare, now." He exhaled loudly and said, "Moronic hunters."

It took me longer to find it, because I wasn't acclimated to searching for birds in trees. The hawk had red and brown horizontal stripes over its chest and shoulder and black and white on its wings and tail. Mr. Schrub told me facts about the bird, e.g., it locates prey from a tree branch, then dives quickly and retrieves its target and eats it on the branch again, and facts about hawks in general, e.g., their eyes are eight times more powerful than a human's. "Gorgeous creature, isn't he? You have to be a robot if that doesn't bowl you over," he said.

Maybe this was why Mr. Schrub gave his company the logo of a hawk, which was something I had always wondered and had never read about.

Then the hawk flew off its branch and zoomed down to the field. I couldn't track it with the binoculars because it was too fast, so I observed with my eyes. It plummeted to the ground and fluctuated its wings but without flying. "Use the binoculars again, and look at its talons," Mr. Schrub told me.

The hawk's talons contained a gray object. "What is that?" I asked.

"Lunch," Mr. Schrub said. "And dinner. Squirrel."

The hawk made noises that sounded like "kee yar," and Mr. Schrub joked that it was trying to call my country's name.

Through my binoculars I saw the hawk rip into the squirrel's body with its claws and beak. "Watch him go. It'll devour the whole thing right now," Mr. Schrub said.

I turned my eyes to Mr. Schrub, who was smiling as he watched. I reviewed through the binoculars. The hawk was now eating the squirrel, whose fur was b.l.o.o.d.y. I shifted the binoculars slightly to the left so it would appear I was still observing it, but instead I focused on an area of gra.s.s.

"He's hardly going to be able to fly after this," said Mr. Schrub. "See how engorged his chest is?"

I said yes. After five minutes, Mr. Schrub said we should go back into the trail and watch more birds. They weren't hawks, and none of them hunted animals, so I was able to magnify them.

As Mr. Schrub watched a downy woodp.e.c.k.e.r through his binoculars, he said, "I could never seem to get Jeromy or Wilson too interested in birding."

"It can be difficult to make someone else interested in what you are interested in," I said. "They have to have some initial interest independent of you."

"Maybe so," he said, and he put down the binoculars. "But you'd like to think a father and his sons would have some intersection. As far as I can tell, the only thing that drives them is having a good time."

"If you drew a Venn diagram of my interests and my father's interests, the intersection would also be minimal," I said.

"Well, you don't choose your parents. And, despite your best efforts, you don't really choose your kids, either." The woodp.e.c.k.e.r began contacting the tree with his beak. "Take a closer look," he said, and he put his arm around my shoulders as I used the binoculars. I was glad the binoculars covered my face and Mr. Schrub was focused on the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, because my smile was possibly the broadest it has ever been.

When we returned to the house Mr. Schrub said he had to do some work in his study. Sounds ejected from the living room, where his sons were playing a video game and yelling. "I'm afraid that doesn't sound too enticing?" he asked.

I said, "No, I would like to try to get to know them more."

He looked pleased. "Thanks, Karim," he said.

Although I'm a skilled computer worker and have optimal hand-eye coordination from racquetball, I'm poor at video games, as we were never allowed to have them, and the solitary way to become adept at any system is by practice. In addition, certain personality types excel at video games, and mine isn't one of them.

It was a shooting game, and the television was bisected so Jeromy and Wilson could each see out of the eyes of his own character as they hunted each other. "My hunger for human flesh is insatiable," Wilson said as his character ran through a dark tunnel. "My thirst for blood, unquenchable."

"Bring it on, fat boy," Jeromy said. "How were the birds, Karim?"

"It was educational and interesting," I said. "I have not been in a true forest before, and I have never seen a hawk in person."

"He does love those f.u.c.king hawks," Wilson said, and I observed his eyes rapidly shift to Jeromy's side of the television and then return.

"Yeah," Jeromy said, and his face and voice looked and sounded like he was going to cry. "More than he loves his own family."

Wilson crashed Jeromy with his elbow, and they both laughed. "Come on, play, you ADD-riddled piece of s.h.i.t," he said.

Wilson soon shot Jeromy and his character exploded and fell and blood leaked out of his body. "Defeated," Wilson said. "Conquered, subjugated, dominated, enslaved, made my b.i.t.c.h."

"You cheat. You always look at my guy's POV."

"I'm trying to understand your point of view better-to empathize with you," Wilson said. "Karim, you want to try?"

I said yes. "I'll coach him," Jeromy said. "Let's beat this arrogant spoiled brat."

Jeromy instructed me on how to operate the controller, and soon I became efficient. Wilson's character and my character were both in the same maze, and because it was a newly created maze, Wilson didn't have a special advantage over me in finding weapons and power bonuses. In fact, because my spatial intelligence is robust, I quickly deciphered where these things were in the maze, and I could tell he was having difficulty because he was cursing to himself.

Then I saw Wilson's character far ahead with his back to me, but because I knew he cheated and would rotate if he saw that I was observing him on my side of the television, I rotated my my character 180 degrees and ran in reverse so that Wilson didn't know I was near him. character 180 degrees and ran in reverse so that Wilson didn't know I was near him.

Then, when I knew I was very close to him, I turned around again, and Wilson's character's back was directly in my targeting cross. Jeromy contacted my shoulder lightly with his hand to signal me to shoot.

But I didn't.

Wilson's character quickly rotated and shot me. My side of the television turned red like closed eyelids after looking at the sun.

"You had him," Jeromy said.

"No one ever has me, ha ha ha," Wilson said, and he put Jeromy's head inside his angled arm and depressed his fist over the top of his head.

"I am sorry," I said as I looked at the red half of the monitor and Jeromy pushed Wilson off and called him a motherf.u.c.ker. "I will go upstairs now and allow you two to play." They said good-bye to me and restarted the game.

I resumed The Grapes of Wrath The Grapes of Wrath, which I enjoyed for two reasons: (1) (1) It taught me about U.S. history during the Great Depression through a stimulating story (e.g., there was no minimum wage in the time period of the novel, which causes problems for the workers on the free market), and It taught me about U.S. history during the Great Depression through a stimulating story (e.g., there was no minimum wage in the time period of the novel, which causes problems for the workers on the free market), and (2) (2) I liked partnering with the main character, Tom Joad. He attempts to provide for his family and has strong values, and he has an intriguing way of speaking to boot. I liked partnering with the main character, Tom Joad. He attempts to provide for his family and has strong values, and he has an intriguing way of speaking to boot.

Then Irma knocked quietly on my door and told me dinner was ready. In fact it wasn't dinner yet, but Andre carried a tray with a bottle of wine and crackers and several cheeses into the living room. Wilson and Jeromy wore higher-quality clothing now, and I felt foolish in my hiking clothing, but it was too late to change.

When Andre deposited the tray on a small table, Wilson reached for the knife and cut multiple large cubes of cheese for his plate and ate ASAP without crackers. Jeromy ate more slowly and with crackers.

"Save some room for dinner, boys," Mrs. Schrub said.

Mr. Schrub watched them mutely and looked as if he were truly watching something in his brain. "Maybe we'll have the '94 Burgundy tonight," he finally said.

"We had that last night," Mrs. Schrub said.

"We had the '93."

"Dear," she said as she put her hand on his leg, "I think you may be having a senior moment."

"Do you want me to go down and bring up the inventory?"

Mrs. Schrub smiled and petted his head. "I don't think that's necessary."

"You think I'm wrong, don't you?" Mr. Schrub said. "That's it, I'm getting it."

"Derek!" she said. "Do you always always have to be right?" have to be right?"

I remembered also that it was the '93 and that he was right, and I also dislike it when someone thinks my memory has a glitch, so I said, "I think I can prove that Mr. Schrub is correct."

Everyone looked at me. "I use a voice recorder to learn English." I showed it to them. "If you give me a few minutes, I will locate the part when Mr. Schrub asked for the wine."

They all observed me as I set the voice recorder on rewind and listened at different points on low volume so only I could hear. It was high pressure with everyone watching me, but I felt confident that I remembered. Then I put it on the table and played it for everyone to hear Mr. Schrub's voice: "Andre, would you bring up the '93 Burgundy?"

"Much appreciated, Karim," Mr. Schrub said, and he picked up the voice recorder and inspected it before returning it to the table. He turned to his wife. "Do you have anything you would like to add?"

"I think it's very admirable that Karim is so industrious about improving his English." She kissed Mr. Schrub on the cheek. "We could all learn from his example of trying to better himself."

Mr. Schrub looked at his sons. "Indeed," he said.

I turned my face away from them all, especially Wilson and Jeromy, but a corner of my mouth curved up despite my attempts at restriction.

Then Andre told us dinner was ready, and Mrs. Schrub said they had a special treat for me. The dinner table had two lines of silver trays like expensive b.u.t.tons on a coat, and when Andre opened them I saw kebabs, hummus and baba ghanoush, tabouleh, a lentil salad, and other Middle Eastern dishes.

It reminded me of when Rebecca invited me to see Three Kings Three Kings. However, I was a guest, and once I saw it I did desire authentic Middle Eastern food, and I briefly felt my eyes hydrate like they did in the car with Barron, so I thanked them and quickly estimated the cost of all the food to reroute my thoughts.

The food was delicious. During the meal Wilson and Jeromy ate mostly the meat and didn't try the lentil salad or the baba ghanoush. Mrs. Schrub asked them questions about their progress at Princeton. I didn't ask anything, even though I wanted to know what a cream of the cream U.S. university was like, e.g., how the research facilities were and what cla.s.s of visiting lecturers they host and if they could access the professors easily. That last subject is the area I especially wish I had in Doha.

Mr. Schrub asked about infrastructural development in Qatar, and I talked as intelligently as possible without appearing to be boastful, as I deciphered that Jeromy and Wilson weren't interested and Mrs. Schrub was interested only to be polite.

As we finished the main course, Wilson and Jeromy argued over the last kebab. Jeromy said he had "called dibs" on it first, and Wilson said he had. When Jeromy pulled the kebab away from his brother, he crashed his elbow into mine, and it made me spill my spoon of cuc.u.mber soup. It landed on my shirt, which was my second eating accident with the Schrubs, although this time it wasn't my fault and it stained my own material.

Mr. Schrub yelled at his sons for fighting, and when Jeromy saw my shirt, he said, "s.h.i.t, I'm sorry, man." Wilson didn't say anything.

Mrs. Schrub directed me to the nearest restroom to clean my shirt. "Actually, that one's having plumbing trouble. You can use the one in Derek's office."