Chapter 2

Mufid Azazi donned a quilted vest over his dishdasha against the cool morning air. He hoped for a warm day in Seattle, in fact he prayed for a good weekend. A smile spread across his lips in anticipation of the fares he would have during the coming days.

Seattle was in the news for the last two months. The United States would host the World Trade Convention on Tuesday. The headlines screamed it in the newspapers his riders left behind in his cab. He didn't read the local papers or listen to their news stations, but once in a while he'd scan the newspapers his fare's left in the back seat.

He could tell the type of businessman or woman by the way they read their paper, how they folded it, if they left it or if it was tucked under their arm or in the brief case. Those riders that were pristine in their manner were usually good tippers and he had to read the person to see if they would be talkers or if they wanted the keep the wall between them up and well established.

“Are you warm enough?” Mari touched his hand as he zipped the quilted jacket. She ordered it for him from an online catalog that featured Arab clothing. He didn’t buy from the stores run by American companies. He supported only those who were of his own kind. A mental check flashed in his mind and he was ashamed of the passing thought. He didn’t want to think like that anymore.

“I am fine. Its supposed to warm up this afternoon.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. He felt her hands at his waist as she gave him a squeeze. There was a rush of emotion but it wasn’t the time to explore it.

He looked at the baby in his wife's arms and his son standing at her side. "I go too?"

"Not this time. I have to go to work."

Mufid bent to his son's level and held out his arms. Kalib came to him pressing kisses to his cheek. Mufid looked up at Mari, there was pride and extra moisture in her eyes. His heart pounded a little harder. This was his family. He didn't want his children growing up like he did. He would be the father they would be proud of and he would show them affection he never had.

He stood and patted Kalib's head as the boy hugged his leg. “I need to go. The Convention will start next week and there will be many dignitaries traveling to the airport. I may be late.” He continued to stroke the soft black hair of his son as he spoke to his mother.

“Do you think he will come?” Mari moved closer to Mufid bringing the family closer together.

Mufid knew she was asking about his father. His father had stepped in and derailed his life too many times to even want to think about him. He hadn’t known his father growing up. There were the conjugal visits to the wives he set up in a home and supplied for all their needs and wants. Muslim women were not vocal, whatever his father saw fit to provide his mother, as the first wife, she lived with. Often she had to give her portion to others with smaller children. Mufid resented his father for his lack of provision and his mother for her lack of a backbone.

Mufid, his younger siblings and half siblings, had tutors. They went to school at the local Mosque and lived in relative isolation from the outside world. Mufid clenched his teeth at the thought. There was no way he would take another wife, let alone treat his children like pawns in some selfish game.

“I don’t know and it really doesn't mean anything to me since he has not thought of me as a person, only what I represent to him. Let him play games with his other children and leave me alone.” He gently disengaged and touched Mari’s cheek.”I will see you when I get home.”

“I pray you will be safe.” She told him that every morning, but now it meant something more to him. She meant something more to him.

In the Crown Victoria cab, he fastened his seat belt, adjusted his body in the seat for comfort and looked in the rear view mirror. He paused, he looked like his father and grimaced at the thought. His mother and the other women in the house were always touching his thick, black hair, making comments about his long eyelashes and telling him how handsome he was. It was probably the reason he kept his hair short and wore aviator sunglasses as much as the cloudy Seattle weather would allow. The sun was still too low over the mountain to put them on.

He pulled into traffic and made his way to the freeway. It would take him to the Seattle/Tacoma Airport. Mari’s question about his father brought his past to mind. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to some ancient rhythm.

He had attended the university and then joined the military as required. He was indoctrinated about the infidel Christians. How they were a cancer on the face of the earth, eating away at what the great father wanted for his children. Mufid was an avid student and excelled, not just at military strategy, but hand to hand combat and weaponry. He grimaced as a twinge of regret crossed his mind. He was good at shooting and won awards. He was good at teaching it to others, but these last years he was stuck in a non-ending job. If it weren't for the rifle range practice and wrestling matches at the cell's gym he would be as fat and flabby as the others who were stagnating in the U.S.

His dark brown eyes narrowed under the thick lashes. He remembered that morning. In the midst of a strategy meeting, he was called to the headquarters office. When the guards opened the opened the door for him, his father and a couple of men were seated in complete dress robes. A fission of fear and cold disappointment tore through his body. He was told a wife had been chosen for him and he would be married in a few months. He never questioned his father aloud, it was his culture, but inward he seethed as once again his plans were disregarded. On the day he met Mari, he saw she was beautiful and educated. None of that mattered. All he saw in front of him was another roadblock in the plans he had.

After they were married, his father dropped another bomb in his life. He was being sent to the United States. His job was to help others who want to infiltrate to the U.S.A. find jobs, schools and assimilate into society. Mufid forced his fingers to relax their white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. He realized his whole body was tense. He took a deep breath and sent up a plea for help.

He'd confronted his father, but the deed was done and their passports and arrangements for a home in an area farthest from his homeland. He was coached, drilled and given English enunciation classes. He was to be an Arab-American. There were things he wanted to do with his life, but a cabdriver was not one of them. He had no choice then and no choices for the last five years he'd lived in the United States.

He included his father with his hatred for the people here. He eyed everyone with suspicion and refused to let Mari have anything to do with them. They lived a few miles from the Mosque and the stores run by their own people so he felt pretty safe letting her shop on her own after a while.

He waved to his wife holding the baby and son standing at the window. For some reason they found a way to be up a the crack of dawn to see him leave for work. He loved his children and had grown to love his wife.

He turned to drive down the street with the houses darkened in the early morning hours. His eye went to Daniel and Grace's house. They were different. For years he ignored and had nothing to do with his neighbors. He isolated himself from the western culture. All that changed three months ago.



Mufid merged his cab into the traffic and made his way to the airport. There was a ominous black cloud hovering over the airport as he drove along the thorough way to the entrance. He shivered, a feeling of foreboding pressed on his mind but he shook it off as he pulled behind the last cab in a line of cabs waiting for their fares.