Read Online The General and the Elephant Clock of Al-Jazari by Sarah Black - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Black
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the men’s department from the men’s department?”
“One of us has to stay with you at all times so you don’t bolt,” Kim explained. “Teal isn’t going to work with this suit. Wrong color gray.”
“As long as I can still wear my new Suede Hipster Chukkas.”
G ABRIEL was lying on the new couch, one foot propped up on the back, reading something on his Kindle. He sat up when John came in, watched the boys carry the bags in through to their bedroom, chattering like a flock of parrots. “God, you look exhausted! Awesome haircut! How did Kim talk you into that?”
“He didn’t,” John said, and sank down onto the sofa. He propped his feet up on the ottoman that looked like a giant leather polka dot. “He sabotaged me. There was a very good-looking guy who did the cut, said it was ‘edgy’. Not sure what that means other than the right side is a different length than the left, which I am assured is intentional. All I have to do is dry it with the towel per usual.”
“You look hot,” Gabriel said, and John shot him a look. “Uh oh. I think you need a blast radius!”
“Nearly three thousand dollars, Gabriel. For clothes! Can you believe it? And it fit into three bags. Explain that to me.”
“Three thousand? What did they buy?”
“Suit, two shirts, two ties, socks, two new pair of shoes, and a leisure outfit. Linen and silk trousers, and a shirt and tie the color of lemons that Billy picked out.”
“Lemons? Cool. You’re gonna knock ’em dead, tiger.”
John stood up. “Yeah, keep it up. It’s your turn next, my friend.”
“Forget about it.” Gabriel was back to reading on the Kindle. “I’ve got kids in Catholic school.”
Chapter 6
T HEIR plane was due to take off at eleven in the morning, so John had time for breakfast with the boys. Billy had started looking at Abdullah with something like hero worship, appropriate for his sheik-of-the-burning-sands beauty. But whenever John looked at Abdullah, all he saw was a dusty, exhausted eight-year-old boy with bleeding feet, reaching out a hand to him. He still had the beard. John wondered if he’d just not had time to shave it off or if he and Kim were planning further sociology on the streets of Albuquerque.
“So tell me about the filming,” he said, pulling the eggs out of the fridge. Abdullah and Kim exchanged looks. “And without editing it for my blood pressure.”
Abdullah shrugged, gave Kim a look. Kim looked steadily back at him. “Abdullah is still not happy with me because I didn’t tell you,” he said. “But what Abdullah doesn’t understand is how you go all neutron bomb on me if there is any perceived safety issue, as if I was still a child.”
“Not trying to cause a problem here,” John said, his voice mild.
“Okay, think of it this way,” Kim said. “You’ve got me, you’ve got Billy, you’ve got Juan, you’ve got Abdullah. Sitting on the street with a cup for change. I’m Korean and Abdullah is Arab. You would think we would get a different response than Juan, who looks Hispanic, or Billy, who looks like Miss America, right? Because they belong here, and we don’t.”
“Billy looks like Miss America?”
“Blond and blue. It’s short-cut slang, Uncle J. Okay, so is racism alive and well in America among people my age? That’s the question I was exploring. Is racism really an extension of tribal culture, tribal identity? And we had some interesting anomalies.”
“Wait a minute. You didn’t really use Juan in this, did you?”
Kim shook his head. “I was just illustrating the premise. So one of the strange things noted was what Abdullah told you about the Bach.”
“When you were playing, you got more hostile responses?” Abdullah nodded. “What were you doing when you weren’t playing?”
“Just sitting there, I guess, holding the cello.”
“Did you make eye contact? Smile?”
“Well, sure.” Abdullah thought about this a moment. “Sometimes. I didn’t always
“One of us has to stay with you at all times so you don’t bolt,” Kim explained. “Teal isn’t going to work with this suit. Wrong color gray.”
“As long as I can still wear my new Suede Hipster Chukkas.”
G ABRIEL was lying on the new couch, one foot propped up on the back, reading something on his Kindle. He sat up when John came in, watched the boys carry the bags in through to their bedroom, chattering like a flock of parrots. “God, you look exhausted! Awesome haircut! How did Kim talk you into that?”
“He didn’t,” John said, and sank down onto the sofa. He propped his feet up on the ottoman that looked like a giant leather polka dot. “He sabotaged me. There was a very good-looking guy who did the cut, said it was ‘edgy’. Not sure what that means other than the right side is a different length than the left, which I am assured is intentional. All I have to do is dry it with the towel per usual.”
“You look hot,” Gabriel said, and John shot him a look. “Uh oh. I think you need a blast radius!”
“Nearly three thousand dollars, Gabriel. For clothes! Can you believe it? And it fit into three bags. Explain that to me.”
“Three thousand? What did they buy?”
“Suit, two shirts, two ties, socks, two new pair of shoes, and a leisure outfit. Linen and silk trousers, and a shirt and tie the color of lemons that Billy picked out.”
“Lemons? Cool. You’re gonna knock ’em dead, tiger.”
John stood up. “Yeah, keep it up. It’s your turn next, my friend.”
“Forget about it.” Gabriel was back to reading on the Kindle. “I’ve got kids in Catholic school.”
Chapter 6
T HEIR plane was due to take off at eleven in the morning, so John had time for breakfast with the boys. Billy had started looking at Abdullah with something like hero worship, appropriate for his sheik-of-the-burning-sands beauty. But whenever John looked at Abdullah, all he saw was a dusty, exhausted eight-year-old boy with bleeding feet, reaching out a hand to him. He still had the beard. John wondered if he’d just not had time to shave it off or if he and Kim were planning further sociology on the streets of Albuquerque.
“So tell me about the filming,” he said, pulling the eggs out of the fridge. Abdullah and Kim exchanged looks. “And without editing it for my blood pressure.”
Abdullah shrugged, gave Kim a look. Kim looked steadily back at him. “Abdullah is still not happy with me because I didn’t tell you,” he said. “But what Abdullah doesn’t understand is how you go all neutron bomb on me if there is any perceived safety issue, as if I was still a child.”
“Not trying to cause a problem here,” John said, his voice mild.
“Okay, think of it this way,” Kim said. “You’ve got me, you’ve got Billy, you’ve got Juan, you’ve got Abdullah. Sitting on the street with a cup for change. I’m Korean and Abdullah is Arab. You would think we would get a different response than Juan, who looks Hispanic, or Billy, who looks like Miss America, right? Because they belong here, and we don’t.”
“Billy looks like Miss America?”
“Blond and blue. It’s short-cut slang, Uncle J. Okay, so is racism alive and well in America among people my age? That’s the question I was exploring. Is racism really an extension of tribal culture, tribal identity? And we had some interesting anomalies.”
“Wait a minute. You didn’t really use Juan in this, did you?”
Kim shook his head. “I was just illustrating the premise. So one of the strange things noted was what Abdullah told you about the Bach.”
“When you were playing, you got more hostile responses?” Abdullah nodded. “What were you doing when you weren’t playing?”
“Just sitting there, I guess, holding the cello.”
“Did you make eye contact? Smile?”
“Well, sure.” Abdullah thought about this a moment. “Sometimes. I didn’t always
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