Kapitoil_ A Novel Part 16

I found a small brick house in a row of similar houses and rang the front door. A female with short black hair answered. She was j.a.panese.

I reviewed the number above the door. "I apologize," I said. "I think I have the incorrect home."

"For whom are you looking?" she asked.

"Is this the house of Barron Wright?"

"The house of Barron Wright and Cynthia Oharu, yes. Barron's my husband." She smiled, and I felt foolish for my original statement. "Karim, right? Please come in. And would you mind taking off your shoes?"

I said that was often the custom where I was from as well. She asked for the location, and I told her, and she made me guarantee to tell her more about Qatar later. Then she said my friend was waiting for me.

The living room had pictures on the walls of Barron and Cynthia and their daughter. Over a dozen adults and several children stood or sat on the two couches and multiple chairs. Everyone was black or Latin American, minus Cynthia, Rebecca, two white couples, and me.

Rebecca was eating and talking on one of the couches with another female. She told me to sit with them and introduced me. She introduced me to the people near us. She wasn't a networker in the office, but she was more skilled here, similar to how she was at her own party, although that was understandable because the guests there were her friends.

There was a table near the kitchen with food on top of it, like at the Yankees game, including the hareis, but all the guests served themselves, so I did the same. The food was not the Thanksgiving food I previously read about, which slightly disappointed me, but there were fish and vegetable pies and dishes I believe were Latin American.

Cynthia made everyone laugh and transferred between guests frequently. She reminded me slightly of my mother, who was also a robust host. I briefly considered asking Jefferson later if he wanted to meet her, but his interest in j.a.pan was not 100% positive, and for him to meet Cynthia merely because she was j.a.panese was parallel to when I thought it wasn't Barron's house also because she was j.a.panese.

Barron was more like my father. He talked to a few of the guests at the party but remained in his seat, except at one point when he tickled his daughter, Mich.e.l.le, which amused me, although of course I was not the target of the tickling. When I said h.e.l.lo to him, he shook my hand and thanked me for coming. This was more like my father when I was much younger. I don't remember the last time we had a party in our apartment.

I said, "I would like to thanks-give to you and your family for inviting me."

Barron's brother was next to him. "Thanks-give?" he asked as he laughed at me.

Barron turned to him with a look I had never seen on his face. "Shut the h.e.l.l up," he said quietly. Then he said to me, "That suit still looks sharp on you," and I thanked him, but he was incorrect, as it was in fact a different suit from the one I wore in the car, although he was correct in that it did look s.e.xy on me. I felt enhanced until I saw his gray sweater had a small hole under the shoulder.

Several people enjoyed the hareis, and although the other children drank soda instead, Mich.e.l.le repeatedly requested more of my juice.

I didn't talk with Rebecca because Cynthia asked me much about Qatar and I also talked to a female social worker named Ana, who was originally from the Dominican Republic and who sometimes partnered with Cynthia's law firm. She asked me, "Have you had any trouble a.s.simil-have you had any trouble adjusting to life here?"

I said, "I have had some difficulties a.s.similating and acclimating, but I am not having a very hard time dealing."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you didn't know that word," she said.

"No harm, no foul," I said. "I did know it, but I enjoy learning new words."

Right after I said that, Cynthia said we should all play a game called Taboo. She explained the rules, which require a person to provide clues for his teammates to guess a specific word or phrase, but the person cannot state five other words, e.g., if the word is "baseball," you cannot say: "sport," "game," "pastime," "hitter," or "pitcher."

I would be very poor at this game, because I didn't even know the word "pastime," and if I didn't know the censored words then I wouldn't know the non-censored words either, and I would humiliate myself in front of everyone and Rebecca. So when Cynthia said we had an odd number of adults, I said I would not play. Rebecca tried to make me partner on her team, but I said I preferred to play with the children.

As the adults set up the game, I asked the children, "Who wants to play a game?"

All seven children approached me, and I said I had a fun game called Sleep Handshake. I explained the rules: "All the players walk around and shake hands, and one person also scratches one other person's hand with his finger," I said. "After several seconds, that other person 'falls asleep.' The other players must observe and guess who is the 'sleeper.'" I used to play this game with Zahira and her friends to teach them a.n.a.lytical skills of observation.

"I know that game," one of the older children said. "It's not called Sleep Handshake. It's called Murderer. And you don't fall asleep. You die."

"No," I said. "That is a different game. In this game you merely fall asleep. Now I will choose a sleeper." I shook everyone's hand and scratched Mich.e.l.le's hand.

While we played, I listened to the adults play Taboo. They were all laughing and shouting with friendly compet.i.tion. Because I am an adept mult.i.tasker with low-level problems, I studied the various strategies they used. The weaker players tried to describe the clues in elongated ways, but the stronger players, like Rebecca and Cynthia, used outside-the-box thinking to innovate clues and were more efficient.

The children enjoyed themselves as well, and at one point I saw Rebecca looking at us. Soon one of the adults said he had to leave.

"Karim, we need a sub," Rebecca said.

Mich.e.l.le put another child to sleep. "The children require supervision."

"They'll be fine," Cynthia said. "Barron, move your fat a.s.s."

I was on the same team as Rebecca, which relieved me, as I didn't want my teammates to become upset if I failed, and Rebecca was not the cla.s.s of person to do that.

I studied more intensely as the other players provided clues, and because of that I didn't try to answer any clues. I was very nervous just before my turn, but then I became calm when I remembered I must think outside the box, which is easy for me.

My first phrase was "Holiday Inn." I could not say "hotel," "motel," "vacation," "room," "lodge." I said: "A place you reside in overnight; nonwork schedule plus non-out."

Immediately Rebecca said "Holiday Inn!"

I used a similar strategy for the next phrase, "World Series" (I said "global iterations," although I almost said "I attended this athletic event with Mr. Schrub"), and again Rebecca guessed it. When she correctly answered my third clue, Barron said, "You two married or something?" and I was slightly humiliated but remained focused.

My team guessed eight of my clues, which was the most of anyone, and Rebecca claimed responsibility for five of them. She was across from me, but she made her mouth move mutely so I could understand the words: "Nice job, Karim."

It was strange to hear this compliment outside of the office, but it felt as good as when a higher-up praised me at work.

And I didn't wish I was at Mr. Schrub's house anymore.

The one time that was false was a few minutes after the game, when my stomach became turbulent. Probably it was from the large quant.i.ties of different foods I had consumed. I perspired, and Rebecca even asked if I was all right, and I said I was and that I had to make a telephone call, but instead I went to the restroom and turned on the water loudly so no one would hear me. I finished the toilet paper before I was completed, which panicked me, but then I located more under the sink.

We stayed until the other guests started leaving, and then Rebecca again moved her mouth to ask "Should we go?" I moved my mouth to say, "This is a strategic juncture to depart," but she didn't understand, so I nodded.

Because it was a holiday there were almost zero commuters. Rebecca talked nonstop about how much she had enjoyed it and continued thanking me for inviting her.

We reached Rebecca's platform for the G train, which was empty. She again thanked me, and I said, "That is the sixth time you have thanked me."

"I guess I'm a little thrown off by a Thanksgiving that doesn't end in mutual recriminations fueled by gallons of cheap red wine," she said.

We stood there for a few seconds without saying anything, and I heard her train approaching, and I said, "It is unsafe for you to travel home tonight because there are very few pa.s.sengers. I will accompany you to your subway stop."

"I'm a big girl," she said. "Besides, it's out of your way."

I thought she was referring to her size, which was not thin but not big either, and then I understood, so I said, "That is true, but I would enjoy the company anyway." She again said it was out of my way, but I maintained my position, and we boarded the train.

It was empty, minus a man and female at the other end. Their appearances and clothing were almost equal. The female rested her head on the man's shoulder and he had his arm around her, and their eyes were closed. Rebecca and I sat next to each other, and on the trip we discussed nonwork subjects, e.g., Barron and Cynthia and Thanksgiving, but the entire time I was thinking how I wanted us to be in the same position as the couple.

Although no one was looking, I was too afraid to do anything. As we approached Rebecca's stop, I said, "Rebecca," and she asked, "What?" but I responded, "I should consult the map," and I went to the middle of the train to investigate how to get back, even though I knew from the party at Rebecca's apartment how to return to Manhattan and also I had memorized most of the subway system before I left Doha.

Rebecca's stop at Fulton St. was next, and I had to stay on one more stop to transfer, and we didn't talk as we decelerated into the station. I walked with Rebecca to the doors and she again thanked me and said, "Sorry, number seven." This was the optimal time. Her fingers touched her hair and she looked through the windows of the doors at the station's columns that pa.s.sed by us like pictures in a slide projector.

I continued thinking I should kiss her, and commanded myself to do it, but the doors dinged and opened and she said good night and stepped out and the doors closed.

I watched her on the other side of the doors with her back to me, and I also saw myself in the window. I looked foolish standing there. And then the doors dinged again and reopened, as they sometimes do, and I thought this was a golden opportunity and not a random accident, and without thinking I said "Rebecca" as I did before, and she rotated and I leaned across the vertical plane of the train doors and kissed her, and she reciprocated, and I touched her hand, and we remained there for several seconds.

I could still taste the sugary milk from the Tres Leches cake she had eaten multiple pieces of, and the inside of her mouth was warm and the outside skin was cold, and my eyes remained open but hers were closed, and I wanted to remain in that position for much longer, but the doors dinged again and began closing and I pulled back so we would not get compressed.

Then the train moved and I watched her through the window as she looked down at her shoes, and I could not see if she was smiling or worried, and soon I was in the tunnel again. The entire trip back to my apartment I wondered if I should call her or not, and if I should, when I should do it and what to say. It wasn't like a mathematics problem with a definite solution, and I had difficulty deciphering an answer. I couldn't consult with my father and especially not Zahira. Possibly my mother would have been helpful for this situation, but I wasn't old enough when she died to know.

a big girl (boy) = an independent female (man)look sharp = clothing appears s.e.xymutual recriminations = reciprocal insultspastime = a leisure activity

JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: NOVEMBER 30.

Because I didn't know what to do in this situation, and because possibly Rebecca did, I waited for her to initiate a dialogue with me that weekend. But she didn't call.

I tried to reroute my brain by spending more time on my idea about Kapitoil and epidemiology. Typically I can force myself to concentrate, but whenever I looked at the text on the monitor, I thought of looking at Rebecca's closed eyes when we kissed, and whenever I moved my mouse I thought instead of touching her hand, and in my brain I smelled her watermelon shampoo and remembered the feel of her lips like two small pillows.

Then on Sunday I did something I have never previously done. I was using my computer's painting program to diagram an object-oriented cla.s.ses of viruses, but instead I tried to draw Rebecca's face. However, I'm not a skilled artist on paper, and I'm even inferior on the computer, so it didn't look like her. And then I was struck by lightning, although it was different from my typical cla.s.s of lightning.

I employed one of the algorithms in Kapitoil and programmed a macro for it to utilize the painting program. Of course it didn't draw a face, but a random piece of art like abstract expressionism that derived from a picture of a watermelon on the Internet. Except I knew it wasn't random, because it was based on an algorithm, and when I a.n.a.lyzed it closely I could see the causes behind its decisions. I thought Jackson Pollock would green-light my design, and I t.i.tled it R #1 R #1.

And then the design did did seem Rebecca-esque, as sometimes one object can mirror another one not because they look precisely equal, but because something more tangential feels similar, e.g., much of the painting utilized the visible spectrum near indigo, and if I think of a color to represent Rebecca, it would be indigo, because seem Rebecca-esque, as sometimes one object can mirror another one not because they look precisely equal, but because something more tangential feels similar, e.g., much of the painting utilized the visible spectrum near indigo, and if I think of a color to represent Rebecca, it would be indigo, because (1) (1) of her personality; of her personality; (2) (2) most people cannot identify indigo between blue and violet, parallel to how some people might not notice Rebecca; and most people cannot identify indigo between blue and violet, parallel to how some people might not notice Rebecca; and (3) (3) I once saw a CD of hers by a female band with the word "Indigo" in its name. I once saw a CD of hers by a female band with the word "Indigo" in its name.

On Monday morning I still had not heard from Rebecca, and I was afraid we were both acting like negotiating holdouts and not making an offer to increase our value. Although I knew I should wait longer, later that morning I emailed her: Rebecca,May I request a meeting at your earliest convenience in the coffee room to discuss certain subjects?Sincerely, Karim

She replied: Mr. Issar:Yes, but only if we can talk like that the whole time. See you in five minutes.Formally yours, Ms. Goldman

I didn't know if she was teasing me or not, but when I reached the coffee room she was already sitting at the small table and tapping her right foot on the ground repeatedly as if she were timing a song.

"Would you like to begin?" I asked.

"I'm not dying to," she said.

This was problematic, because I had hoped she would start and I could respond. I began talking without a clear plan, which is a tactic I would never use in business.

"I enjoyed spending Thanksgiving with you," I said. "And the subway ride."

"But?" she interrupted.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"You enjoyed it, but..." she said again.

I didn't know if she meant she had an objection to my enjoyment, or if she was predicting I had an objection planned. So I said, "This is not a 'but' statement. I merely enjoyed it."

She looked like she didn't know what else to say. The periodicity of her foot's taps was decreasing.

Another employee who always looks like he is asleep even when he is walking entered for coffee. Rebecca and I didn't say anything the entire time he was there. When he spent approximately 30 seconds deciding between real sugar and false sugar, I had to restrict myself from commanding him to take both packets and decide at his desk.

He finally left. "In my experience, it is beneficial to repeat events that are enjoyable. Do you agree?" I asked.

She said, "In my experience, that's also true."

"I am available to repeat events on Sat.u.r.day."

"So am I," she said. "Wait, am I supposed to say I'm not, to play hard to get?"

"I do not understand." At times like this I wish I had more mastery of English, but possibly these kinds of exchanges are challenging even for fluent speakers. "Are you available or unavailable?"

She said she was available. I said, "I will shoot you an email with further details," and she consented, and when she left I couldn't stop myself from smiling, and in my office I even slightly punched the air with stimulation, although I contacted my fist on my desk and it hurt because I'm not used to punching, but the pain didn't bother me, and in fact it felt good to be feeling sensations, even unpleasant sensations.

I spent Monday brainstorming for our date. Now that I had more money I could afford to take Rebecca someplace cla.s.sy. Jefferson probably knew of good places, but I couldn't ask him. So I researched places on the Internet that might impress Rebecca and made a list with pros and cons about different restaurants, e.g.: Bavarian Haus

PRO: CONReceived 3 stars: Most non-Germans evaluate German food as low quality

It was more difficult than programming in many ways, because in programming if you can't predict results, you can still test out new variables and use trial and error to arrive at a solution, but with people you typically have one opportunity and their motivations and reactions are more difficult to understand, especially with females.

By Tuesday afternoon I still didn't know what to do. So I forced myself to work on my new Kapitoil-esque project instead. I made some progress, and soon I forgot about my nervousness with Rebecca and reentered the world of programming where I have ultimate control, and I worked through the night in my office, and I remembered how enjoyable it is to concentrate on a project that stimulates me, and by the end of the night I had hurdled some obstacles and received encouraging results, and once I finalize my program and presentation I will propose the concept to Mr. Schrub. If he was impressed with me initially, then this will bowl him over.

not dying to = not stimulated to proceed with an actionplay hard to get = create the impression of limited supply to raise external demand

DECEMBER.