When he arrived at the apartment, there were only six people there: Michael T., Keisha, Tracy, Rachel, Michelle, a woman named Isabel, and the hosts, Raphael and Allison. Everyone acted as if they were at a funeral, and Gholam quickly learned why. The rally had only brought out six people beyond this core group. Not even the other students in Michael T.’s class had shown up.
Gholam was relieved: now they had to face reality. But he had forgotten how the human mind works.
He would have expected Tracy to make the proposal, but no, it was Keisha. She believed the drop in their numbers meant more radical action was required to rouse the people. She related anecdotes from her work distributing flyers at Eastmont Mall, Bayfair, and the 12th Street BART. Everywhere, people had been sympathetic, and when warned about what would happen on December 31, they were incensed.
“Just to save a few bucks, they toy with the lives of millions. We can’t let them get away with it.”
The conversation turned to action ideas. A debate broke out: symbolism vs. substance. There would be no rising of the masses, so they could only prepare for the coming chaos on their own. Should they do something spectacular to make people notice, or should they do something to help others prepare? Take over a TV station? Hijack a food delivery truck and distribute the food to the poor?
Isabel felt this was stupid. Decades back she’d come to the Bay Area to join the Symbionese Liberation Army. Back in Gallup, New Mexico, this had seemed romantic. By the time she arrived, the SLA members were either dead or in jail. She ended up meeting some Marxists, who convinced her that violence without the masses was not revolutionary, they’d be better off working for the longer haul. She’d tried it, but even that had gone nowhere. She’d come tonight to see if this group had any fresh ideas — but clearly they didn’t. She gathered up her coat and walked out the door.
What followed made Gholam’s heart sink. Michelle, who’d mostly been silent, came over to Keisha’s side. She was smooth. She struck a skeptical posture, she asked leading questions, and she allowed Keisha to persuade her. Falling for her provocations, Tracy and Keisha competed to present the most radical ideas. The choice came down to robbing a bank to gather funding, or commandeering a food truck to distribute groceries.
When Gholam tried to interrupt, Michelle cut him down: “There was a time when Gholam was courageous, but he’s lost the spirit of his younger days.”
Tracy muttered, “Sellout.”
Keisha looked confused.
Gholam understood Michelle’s game. Here was a group of overzealous students and one ABD, and sure, in the hothouse of a campus, students and would-be professors might easily fantasize about apocalyptic or utopian scenarios, but come final exams, things would usually fizzle out. Unless, of course, espionage agencies sent instigators in to stir the pot.
Gholam caught Michael T.’s attention and said he’d like to speak to him outside. Michelle gave him a warning look.
They stood out on the landing.
“Look, this is getting out of hand. It’s time for you to tell these people this was all just part of your dissertation, an exercise to see how people react. It’s not real.”
“I can’t,” Michael T. responded. “I’ve set it in motion, I need to carry this to the end.”
“Even if it means you guys end up in jail?”
“I’ll make sure there are no weapons involved.”
“But the other side will have weapons. You can’t risk people’s lives and future.”
“They’re adults, free to make their own choices.”
“Damnit, Michael, you’re not being much of an adult.”
He could have spilled the beans on Michelle but his own self-interest restrained him.
When they went back in, Michael T. informed the group that since Gholam didn’t agree with taking action, he should leave. Only those who wanted to be involved should help with the planning. Gholam saw confusion in Keisha’s eyes once again but she remained paralyzed. Michelle was smug.
Gholam desperately sought a way to stop this disaster in the making. He tried to engage each of the players. Tracy was contemptuous, Rachel shut him down, and Michael T. was unreachable. Keisha stopped coming over but they met once for tea after her last final exam. She wouldn’t say what they were planning but was insistent on her duty to act.
“What about us? Is it over?”
“No. But if you cared for me, you’d join me. The least you could do is change your plane ticket.”
Gholam tried to contact Michael T. through e-mail. He offered detailed arguments, providing scenarios of how Michael T. could pull these students back and still maintain respect. When he received no reply, he concluded these people were beyond reach.
Still, he could not let Keisha come to harm. He had to find a way to get through to her. Gholam decided to forfeit his plane ticket, and bought a new one for a flight leaving on January 2. It cost him twice as much. He called to tell her, but he had to leave a message, so instead he wrote a passionate e-mail. He knew she was busy New Year’s Eve — but what if they had one night together on December 30? He was headed to the other side of the globe. If something did happen on January 1, he wouldn’t be able to fly out, but if he did fly out and then something happened back home, would she not want to see him one last time?
Somehow this desperate plea worked; Gholam didn’t have to come up with an alternative plan.
When she arrives at his door, there’s a tentative look on her face, as if she’s not sure why she’s here. Her face brightens when she sees the spread he’s laid out. He’s even lit candles. Gholam’s about to open a bottle of wine but she says no, she needs a sharp mind for the following day. That’s her only mention of the next day, and she seems relieved when he doesn’t press.
After they finish eating, they play Scrabble. Then they make love slowly and fall asleep. He wakes her one time and they have another go.
Gholam hardly sleeps and wakes before dawn. When he slides out of bed, she’s still lightly snoring. He quietly opens the drawer and takes out his accessories. With the silk ribbons, he loosely ties her ankles to the bed frame. He can tighten them later. With one of the cable ties, he carefully clasps a wrist to the headboard. Before he can use the second tie, however, Keisha wakes up.
“What... are you doing?” She has a curious smile. She doesn’t seem surprised, perhaps because there have been one or two times they’ve used light restraints in bed.
“Hush.” He kisses her left nipple. She moans and closes her eyes, he sucks harder, and in her moment of confused pleasure he clasps her other wrist to the bed.
“Gholam, not now. Maybe after you get back.” She pulls her hands and realizes it isn’t just ribbons holding her wrists but something tighter. “What the fuck?”
Before she can get another word out, Gholam stuffs her mouth with fabric. Now Keisha’s eyes are open wide. She’s scared, confused, and hurt.
He sits next to her, one of his hands on her belly. “Don’t be afraid. I can’t let you go today. You don’t know what’s waiting out there, so I have to keep you like this for the rest of the day since I don’t know what you guys have planned. I’m really, really sorry, but I have to tell you the full story.”
Her eyes fill up with pain, tears, and blazing hatred. No matter what story he tells her, he doubts she will forgive him. He doubts whether he will forgive himself, for it is his cowardice that led to this.