After so long with no word, I open my email and see a name that makes my heart flip. I click, hold my breath, and scan down the screen before returning to the top to read once more, slowly:
Dear Jeremy,
Forgive me for contacting you like this and please, accept my apology for not replying sooner. I read the emails and messages when you sent them but in your absence I did not know at first what to say, and still I do not entirely know how to think about what has happened between us, or what you did to me, and yes, I do think of it in that way, that you did this to me. Although I was a willing party, the balance of power, I think, means consent could not have been freely given, not absolutely, if you see?
I am making good progress on my DPhil. My parents are well, and my father talks of returning to Cairo, if a deal can be struck with those who are now in power.
I am writing because I think you should see your son, who has a few words, and sometime soon is certain to ask questions about his father. Whether next year or the year after, the day will come, and when he does ask I do not want to tell him that I have lost touch with you. If we came to New York, would you see us? Would we even, perhaps, be able to stay with you (most of my father’s accounts are still frozen, and the money you give me, for which I am grateful, would not stretch to this kind of travel)?
I need to make clear that I do not envision the recommencement of some kind of relationship between you and me, or at least only insofar as we
are
related, as the parents of Selim, but I also do not want to stand in the way of you having a relationship with our son. It seems unfair to both of you — to him especially — if I were to prevent that.
Please will you tell me what you think, and how it might work? I would like to come for New Year, if that is not too presumptuous. There are other issues to discuss, potentially, which would be better done in person, things to do with the longer term, and what I see as the necessity of Selim’s protection, and his multiple nationalities. I hope that is something we might sort out in America. Do you understand what I mean? I hope so.
Yours ever,
Fadia
I write back immediately, knowing as I do so that Fadia’s message has been read, and whatever I type, perhaps even in the moment I type it, will be collected, reviewed, and judged.
Dear Fadia,
Please, do come, as soon as you can. I have transferred additional monies into your account to pay for the flights and whatever else you may need. Say if you need more. Come for as long as you wish. You may stay here, on your terms. There are two unused rooms, a guest bathroom, and you would be free to come and go as you wish. I understand all that you imply, at least I think I do, and I can only say, for now, that I apologize for what I did and yet, if there is a hope of knowing my son, I cannot feel regret about what happened, except for the way it has affected you. It is my hope that my daughter will want to meet you and Selim, and my mother as well. If you give me your new number I will phone you.
With all good wishes and sincerity,
Jeremy
As I click SEND it occurs to me that in inviting Fadia and Selim here, I may unwittingly be putting them in as much peril as I believe myself to be in, that all three of us might disappear if suddenly collected together again in one place, on American soil. Who is to say they will even be allowed entry? Nonetheless, with a selfishness I recognize as habitual, I am consumed by joy. All the way to Columbus Circle my heart is humming, a song in my mouth as I walk up Broadway in the winter twilight and then pause as I did on Thanksgiving morning to see what is playing at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas. There is the face of that government whistle-blower, eyes downcast, advertising a documentary about his revelations, and while I stand looking at the green-hued poster I hear a voice behind me.
‘Excuse me, could I borrow your phone?’ says a man, and before I turn, I know it will be Michael Ramsey.
I pat my pockets and realize I have left the new phone at home. ‘No such luck.’
‘Smart man,’ he says, and nods at the movie poster. ‘We could see it together, ditch the party.’
‘A chance to talk?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You going to tell me what’s going on?’
He arches an eyebrow but says nothing, and then, as we walk to the Century Building, he draws closer to me. ‘There are some people in this world who just gather information. They don’t deal in consequences. But let’s imagine that one of the information gatherers — let’s call him the archivist — noticed a name he recognized in the course of his work, say it’s the name of one of the archivist’s former teachers, maybe someone who taught him in high school or college, and in seeing the teacher’s name, memories of the man begin to return and the archivist becomes interested, he wants to know why his old teacher’s name is being flagged, and so he starts looking more closely at the activity he can see.’
We arrive at the side door, announce ourselves, enter the elevator and ascend alone. ‘The more the archivist looks at what his teacher has been doing, the way he’s been living his life, and remember he can see just about everything, from spending patterns to travel to the kind of things his teacher has been buying with a credit or debit card, the more the archivist becomes convinced there is no real reason to be watching the teacher, but he knows, he can see, how other people might disagree and perhaps he even knows, this archivist, that other people, people who push the buttons that make the archivist do what he does every day, are in the process of disagreeing, very actively disagreeing, that the people around and above him are getting ready to act, assembling a case, drawing conclusions on the basis of association and little else. You understand what I’m saying?’
‘And if the teacher became aware of what might be happening, and, say, consulted lawyers, and the lawyers did not seem to think there was any great need for concern?’
‘Maybe the teacher has the wrong lawyers,’ he says, looking ahead at the elevator doors, his mouth scarcely moving.
‘So what should the teacher do in such a situation?’
‘Let’s say, for the sake of argument—’ he pushes the button for the top floor of the building, ‘—that the teacher has a family connection to one of the most powerful media figures in the country. Perhaps it’s a relative by marriage, a brother-in-law or son-in-law. And that relative could be persuaded to run a story, put the teacher on the cover, exposing all his warts for the world to see, turning over all the evidence that might be in his possession for the public themselves to peruse. When the public looks at this teacher, they’ll see a mirror of their own lives. The teacher is ordinary. Sure, maybe he lived outside the country for a period of time, and that puts him in a minority, but otherwise he is a completely ordinary American whose life is no longer private.’
‘It sounds too simple.’ We arrive at the highest floor, the doors open, and we stand for a moment looking out at the empty hallway before Michael presses the button to take us down to Meredith and Peter’s floor.
‘Simple is elegant. Simple is effective. To do it properly, you understand, the teacher would have to let strangers read absolutely everything that might have been revealed to him, no matter how embarrassing, and even then some: turn over every document in his possession, all of his papers, files, notes, publications, everything he has ever written, every photograph. He knows he’s done nothing illegal and obliterating his own privacy is a way to prove this to the authorities, but also to make a point to the whole country.’
‘It could make the teacher’s life impossible. He might be asked to resign his position.’
‘He has wealthy relatives. Money is no concern. He will be taken care of no matter what happens. How many people are in such a position? How many Americans can risk sacrificing their career and their privacy to make a point that people like the archivist believe has to be made but are too afraid, too precarious, to make themselves? The archivist is just a drone inside the system. It’s one thing for a guy like him to tell people what’s happening. It would be easy to call him a traitor and dismiss every allegation he makes.’