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Qur’an and the 114 suras or chapters.
    Again he was impressed by how intrinsically American Abra was. But why, he wondered, did he expect otherwise? Why did he still think, like some foul thought seeping up into his mind from a poisoned well, that she was some fierce, wild-eyed, desert-driven tigress ready to slit his throat for any perceived transgression? His letter to The Times , which had been accepted, was a warning against the very thoughts that now soiled his mind. A strange irony, he thought, trying to balance his immediate and deeper impressions.
    Abra certainly dressed like a regular American woman with considerable sartorial taste. Her skirt came up just above her shapely knees, and Ray was sure this must be the current style. Jewelry hung from her ears and adorned her neck and wrist. And there was no problem seeing her trim figure and lovely face. But he feared making a misstep and sabotaging his campaign with a false move. Moreover, he was struggling with the growing conflict in himself: He was increasingly attracted to Abra, and yet he was being devious and dishonest.
    They had gone to the movies and watched a German film about a tragedy in a Turkish family in Hamburg where the conservative parents disowned a daughter who had a non-Turk, non-Muslim boyfriend. Subsequently, the daughter ran away with her lover, only to be found and slain in an honor killing. The connection to their relationship, though strained, was still palpable.
    Ray brought the subject up first as he drove to his apartment. “It’s hard to bridge the generations.”
    â€œYes,” Abra said, “but it needs to be done to avoid tragedies like this.”
    Encouraging and modern, Ray thought. “So the two worlds can compromise?”
    â€œOf course,” she said. “It’s normal for Islamic parents to want their children to marry other Muslims, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be exceptions. Obviously, you’re driving one around. Like I told you, I have no problem going out with you. I’m sorry your parents have passed, but would they approve of me if they were alive?”
    She was putting the situation to him aggressively whereas he was fearful of saying the wrong thing, something she probably realized. Her stance was admirable; his less so.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said. His parents had died when he was still a teenager and he had been raised by an aunt who was now dead herself. He didn’t have a clear idea of their views on any number of subjects. “But your point is well taken.”
    Abra nodded. “Parents have to accept that their children are likely to be more liberal than they are, and this is a natural progression. But their children should be tactful and honest and not sneak around.”
    â€œYou’re wise and beautiful at the same time,” he said, smiling as he parked his car.
    Abra smiled. “Neither, I’m afraid, but compliments are always welcome.”
    Inside his small one-bedroom apartment Abra cast a critical eye around and then said, “You have a nice place.”
    â€œThanks, but it’s a bit claustrophobic at times. Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, vodka?”
    Abra had a good sense of humor, and he felt more comfortable joking with her now. She sat on his single couch. A small kitchen area was separated from the living room by a counter with a Formica top.
    â€œTea will do,” she said, sitting on the couch. She smoothed her light brown skirt over her knees.
    Ray prepared tea while Abra got up to look at his selection of books, which had received their annual dusting earlier.
    â€œInteresting selection of books,” she noted, returning to the couch as he brought a tray of tea and put it on the rectangular wooden table.
    â€œIf I had more room, I’d have more books.”
    Abra nodded. “My apartment is small, too. There’s never enough