by E. A. West
Basir prayed Meghan would accept his offer as she studied them. “Are you guys sure you want to pull weeds when it’s that hot?”
“Yes.” Basir spoke without hesitation and without checking with Ryan. He would do the weeding himself if he had to. “I promised I would help, and I will. I just can’t do it immediately.”
“All right.” Meghan’s smile made the coming sacrifice worth every bit of effort it would require. “I’ll do a little more and then leave the rest for you guys.”
Basir covered his heart with his right hand and then followed Ryan to his car. Perhaps Meghan hadn’t been as angry as he’d feared. Or perhaps she was more understanding and forgiving than he had realized.
6
Basir stood beside Ryan in the church office and prayed he would have the strength to be honest with the pastor. He struggled with talking about his emotions, but thanks to his overreaction to Meghan’s clothing, he didn’t have much choice but to do it anyway. If he would have ignored his feelings for her and paid attention to what he knew of American ways, he would have been in the garden pulling weeds when Ryan found him.
His sigh brought Ryan’s gaze to him. “Relax. You have to admit waiting here is better than some of the places we’ve waited.”
Basir managed a faint smile. His friend made a valid point. At least they weren’t stuck on the side of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, the sun beating down on them while they waited for an ordnance disposal team to clear the way ahead.
A middle-aged man with brown hair just starting to show signs of gray stepped into the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s no problem,” Ryan said with a smile as they followed the pastor into his private office. As the pastor closed the door, Ryan clapped a hand to Basir’s shoulder. “Basir, here, could use some advice.”
“I’ll do my best to provide it.” The gentleman turned to Basir. “I saw you Sunday, but I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself. I’m Joel Harte, the pastor here.”
“I am Basir Hamidi, friend of Ryan and his sister.” At least, he hoped he was her friend. After this morning, he couldn’t be sure.
“He was an interpreter with my unit in Afghanistan,” Ryan added.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Joel shook Basir’s hand and then studied him. “So, what is it you need advice on?”
Embarrassment flooded Basir at the prospect of admitting his overreaction to something so simple, so commonplace. Yet he had come to speak with the minister in an attempt to prevent such an overreaction in the future. Swallowing what little pride he had left intact, he met the pastor’s gaze. “Clothing and American culture.”
“Not the usual things people come to me for, but I’ll do what I can.” Pastor Joel lifted his hand toward a cluster of upholstered furniture. “Why don’t we sit down and talk?”
Basir moved to the couch, but Ryan stayed by the door. “I’ll leave you to talk. Basir, whenever you’re finished, I’ll be in the library. It’s just down the hall and on the right.”
A moment of anxiety hit as Ryan left the room, but then Basir realized it was actually a blessing not to have him listen in on the conversation. Now he could be open with the pastor without having to worry about offending his friend.
Once he sat on the couch and Joel settled in a facing chair, the pastor spoke. “I can tell you’re nervous, Basir, but I don’t bite. Whatever you say in here will be held in the strictest confidence.”
“I appreciate that.” He drew in a fortifying breath and let it out with a sigh. “Ryan suggested I talk to you after I reacted badly to Meghan’s clothing choice this morning.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Basir briefly outlined the incident. “I know I am in America now and the rules from Afghanistan no longer apply, but that culture is a part of me. I don’t know that I can leave it behind as easily as some may wish I could.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. You haven’t been in the country long, have you?”
“I have been here for several months, but before I moved in with Ryan and his sister, I was mostly in hospitals. I was injured in an explosion, and the American government chose to bring me to the United States for treatment. They also gave me a green card for the service I did for them.”
“Congratulations.” Joel studied him again, and Basir had the uncanny feeling the man could read him as well as the local imam in the village where he had grown up. “So, this is really your first opportunity to experience normal American life.”
Basir considered the statement. Outside of a few excursions to a store or a restaurant while he was rehabilitating, his only exposure to American culture had been on a military base in Afghanistan and in a medical setting. He doubted either place had provided an accurate example of what life in the United States was truly like. “Yes, that is correct.”
“In that case, you need to go easy on yourself. It’s clear you have learned quite a bit through your work with the marines and since coming here, but you can’t reasonably expect to instantly adjust to life in a foreign country, especially one so different from your homeland.”
“Yes, but it is more than just a difficulty adjusting to a vastly different culture.” Basir looked down, praying for the strength to admit what he had yet to tell anyone else. “I don’t know how to interact with women. Women I am attracted to, I mean. How to approach them, what is acceptable, what is not... these are things I have never had to worry about.”
“Do you need to worry about them right now, or could you wait to think about dating until you’ve had time to adjust to your new life?”
“I must think about it now.”
Joel smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I take it someone has caught your eye?”
“Yes, and I would like to know her, be friends with her, but I don’t know how.” Basir shook his head, feeling like a complete idiot. Even the eighteen-year-old marines he’d spoken to had more experience with women than he did, and they had never been married. “In Afghanistan, these things were never an issue. My father and my wife’s father arranged our marriage. Dating was not allowed, and neither were casual friendships between single men and women. I never spent much time around the female marines, and even the hospital had male nurses and therapists.”
“I see.” The pastor appeared disconcerted, but he didn’t leave Basir wondering for long. “You mentioned your marriage was arranged. Where is your wife now?”
“She is dead.” A part of him shut down with the admission, numbing the pain of the memories and reminding him of one of the many reasons why he never talked about her.
“I’m sorry to hear that. It must be difficult to be such a young widower.”
The man had no idea. Basir nodded anyway, determined to bring the conversation back to his need for advice. “I want to become fully American, to have the same confidence I see in American men when they interact with women, but I don’t know how to do that and still respect the women.”
“Have you thought about asking Ryan to help you?”
“He just tells me to talk to women and let go of the cultural expectations that are holding me back. I know he means well, but it is not as easy for me as he thinks it should be.”
“What about Meghan? Since you live on her farm, you must interact with her regularly. Perhaps with enough practice with her, you will be more comfortable interacting with other women.”
Somehow, Basir doubted that would work any better than seeking Ryan’s assistance. “Pastor, you must understand something. The way American women dress...it is very different from the way respectable women in my homeland dress. That is why I overreacted to what Meghan chose to wear this morning. If a woman dressed like that in Afghanistan—” He couldn’t bring himself to bluntly speak the assumption about her morals that would be made. “Well, she might be approached by many men, but she would not be respected by them or anyone else.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand your difficulty.
When you see women dressed in such a manner, it’s hard for you to remember that they deserve to be treated with respect, isn’t it?”
Basir shook his head and fought down rising anger at what the man implied about his own morals. “No. I try to respect all women, but when I see them dressed in such a way, I have to wonder about their reputations. I don’t know which women have the same moral standards I do, and I don’t want anything to do with an immoral woman. With Meghan, when I saw her shorts and shirt this morning, I worried how other men would see her, because I know she is a good woman with strong morals and a good reputation. However, her clothing makes it appear as though she is the opposite.”
“Except that from what you have described, her clothing would convey the strong morals and good reputation to American men.”
“That is why Ryan brought me here. I want protect Meghan’s reputation and keep her safe from disreputable men, but the only way I know to do that would likely offend her.”
“Didn’t you say Ryan told you she is respected by the men in the community and therefore is safe?”
“Yes, but her clothing...” Basir shook his head, trying not to remember the desire that had flowed through him at the sight of her. “I have trouble believing God would approve.”
“Let me show you something that may help ease your concerns.” Joel stood and retrieved a leather-bound book from his desk. Instead of returning to his chair, he sat beside Basir on the couch and flipped through some pages. “The Bible doesn’t give specific guidelines for acceptable clothing. The references are rather ambiguous in terms of style, but here is one verse I think you can agree Meghan’s clothing followed. It’s Deuteronomy chapter twenty-two, verse five. ‘A woman must not wear men’s clothing, nor a man wear women’s clothing, for the Lord your God detests anyone who does this.’”
Basir turned the verse over in his mind and had to agree that Meghan had followed it. Her clothing had been undeniably feminine and designed for women.
“There are a pair of verses in First Timothy that may help as well.” Joel flipped to the back half of his Bible. A moment later, he read, “Chapter two, verses nine and ten say, ‘I also want the women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, adorning themselves, not with elaborate hairstyles or gold or pearls or expensive clothes, but with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God.’”
Basir could agree that Meghan followed most of the direction, but one part was too vague to help. “What is modest dress that shows decency and propriety? Where I come from, it apparently means something very different than what it means here.”
“And that, my friend, is where the cultural differences enter into it.” Joel closed his Bible and laid it beside him. “You have told me that in Afghanistan Meghan’s clothing would be considered immodest and revealing. But you’re not in Afghanistan anymore. Think about what you have seen on other American women. How does Meghan’s outfit compare to that?”
Considering how much skin he had seen since the weather warmed up, he could only give one answer. “Her clothing is modest compared to much of what I have seen.”
“Which means she’s following the biblical directive in First Timothy. Correct?” At Basir’s nod, Pastor Joel smiled. “Recognizing that is the first step to adjusting to the cultural differences you’re facing. Now you just have to remind yourself that because you are in a different country, the rules may be completely different than what you’re used to. I know it’s difficult, but you have to accept that the new rules are just as good and valid as the old. There’s no way around it if you want to become fully American.”
“I know.” Although the pastor was telling him essentially the same things Ryan had been telling him all along, hearing it from a second person—and a religious leader, at that—drove home the point. No matter how uncomfortable it made him, he had to let go of his reservations and start acting like an American man, especially if he ever wanted to have a chance with Meghan.
~*~
Meghan turned off the burner under the dye pot and shoved a strand of hair out of her face. The guys had been gone for nearly two hours, and she was starting to worry. Basir had seemed so subdued, almost ashamed when they left. She couldn’t figure out what could have happened to cause him to act so strangely, but now that he and her brother had been gone so long, she couldn’t help wondering if something was seriously wrong.
She checked the yarn one more time and shook her head. Never had she imagined she would be asked to create almost fluorescent blue yarn, but unusual requests were a hazard of taking the occasional custom order. She stepped away from the stove and untied her apron. As she hung it on the hook by the door to her workshop, the front door opened. She stepped into the hallway as Ryan and Basir came in and closed the door.
Both men appeared much more relaxed than they had when they left, but Basir couldn’t seem to look at her. She’d thought he was making progress in that area in the last few days, not counting the glances he regularly stole. But now he seemed to have regressed to looking everywhere but in her direction. She said a silent prayer for the strength to deal with whatever was going on.
“Sorry it took so long,” Ryan said. “We’ll head out to the garden now and deal with the weeds.”
“Thanks.” Meghan followed as they headed toward the back door. “I went ahead and finished half of it, since that’s what I’d planned on doing anyway.”
“OK.” Ryan stopped by the stove and peered into the cooling pot. “I assume that’s not lunch.”
Basir gave him a questioning look and joined him at the stove. Meghan laughed at their doubtful expressions as they took in the almost clear liquid with bright blue yarn floating in it.
“It would give you a lot of fiber, but no. That’s some yarn someone ordered.” She studied the yarn. “I wasn’t sure about the color at first, but I think it’s starting to grow on me.”
“It sure is bright.” Ryan shook his head and moved toward the back door. “Come on, Basir. Let’s finish the garden before it gets any hotter out there.”
Meghan watched them head outside, and then she went to her workshop. With Basir’s silence and the strange way the day had gone so far, her thoughts were a whirl of chaos. Spinning yarn always helped her focus and clear her mind. She had a feeling that calm and clear-headed would be essential to helping Basir adjust to life in America. Now if she could just find a way to help him get past his fear of talking to her or whatever it was that held him back. The little she had managed to learn about him only made her more curious, and she couldn’t deny finding him attractive.
Ryan drifted through her mind, and she wondered what he would think if he knew she was interested in his friend. Then again, Ryan had brought Basir into the house in the first place and encouraged Meghan to befriend the man. He would probably approve of a relationship between them, if their friendship ever made it past the fledgling stage.
By the time she heard the back door open and close, she had produced several yards of yarn and found the peace she’d hoped for. She adjusted the yarn so it wouldn’t untwist and went to the kitchen.
Ryan stood at the sink draining a glass of water. He swallowed the last of it and faced her. “Garden’s done. Basir insisted on checking the alpacas and making sure they have plenty of clean water before he comes in.”
“I’ll have to be sure to thank him for thinking of the herd.” Meghan moved to the cabinet and pulled out a pitcher. “Would you guys prefer iced tea or lemonade?”
“I could go either way, and Basir will accept anything you offer.” Ryan chuckled and set his glass in the sink. “It would be rude of him to refuse.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“Sure it would. At least it would be where he comes from.” He shook his head with a reminiscent expression. “I can’t believe the amount of tea I drank in the process of trying to gain the trust of the locals. There were times I thought I’d float if I had to look at another glass of tea.”
Meghan smiled,
thankful her brother had mentioned something about his time in Afghanistan. Usually he avoided all mention of it or walked off as soon as he said anything about it. Maybe having Basir stay with them was the catalyst he needed to finally heal.
“If you drank that much tea,” she said, “maybe Basir would prefer iced tea.”
“Go with whatever sounds good to you. I happen to know he likes lemonade as well as tea.”
Meghan considered for a moment then retrieved a second pitcher. “I’ll make both, and then people can drink whatever they want.”
“You and your diplomacy.” Ryan laughed and moved aside as she stepped to the sink. “Or are you just indecisive?”
She grinned and set the pitchers on the counter. “I think I’ll go with the diplomacy. It sounds so much better.”
Basir came into the kitchen as Meghan pulled sandwich ingredients out of the refrigerator. Lunch was quiet but comfortable, and Meghan lost some of her earlier concern. Although Basir was still a little more subdued than he had been the day before, he seemed more peaceful than when he and Ryan went into town. When he gave her a small smile as she refilled his glass with lemonade, hope rose that their fledgling friendship hadn’t crashed and burned after all.
After lunch, Ryan announced he would be back in time for dinner and went out the front door. Basir seemed uncomfortable at first, but he stayed in the kitchen while Meghan cleaned up from lunch, giving her the courage to speak what had been on her mind for the last few hours.
She set the last dish in the drainer on the counter and returned to her seat at the table. “Basir, can I ask you something?”
His expression grew guarded. “I suppose so.”
“What happened this morning? I mean, why did you walk off instead of coming to the garden?”
He remained silent long enough to make her wonder if she should have held her tongue. Then he spoke quietly, his gaze on the table top. “I guess you could say I forgot how to deal with American culture. I made a bad assumption, but I have since corrected my thinking.”