Brave New Worlds

her posture or gestures or presence that makes me know her instantly.
    So I say, "Huh?"
    And her head lifts up so that her eyes turn toward me, glinting with amusement. I would recognize those stormy, sea-grey eyes anywhere. "You are mocking me!"
    She shakes her head. "It's very difficult not to. "
    I blush, the heat rising through my face to my forehead.
    She chuckles, and then walks to another cubicle several spaces over where she speaks to one of our sister workers about a particular child whose progress they are following.
    How can I describe her effect on me? In a single second, I suffer pangs and longings which have no name, an overwhelming need to peel away the layers of her robes like shells off a bean and root through her flesh until I find the hard nut, the seed core, of my perverse, unnatural desire.
    When I was studying theogenetics in preparation for the priesthood we were taught that everything in the world was black and white, right or wrong, and I learned to give all the answers I was expected to provide.
    All I have ever seen of Ali are her eyes. The white of her eyes and the black pupil are just like everyone else's. But that cloudy, wave-tossed grey is wholly hers!
    And all my world is grey now too, as if something swirling deep within me since the moment of my conception has finally taken shape, the way clouds form when wind swirls in a clear sky.
    The things I know are wrong feel right deep within my heart, and every right thing I do feels wrong.

    Jamin calls me at work later that day, just as he had promised he would, his voice warm and resonant as always.
    "I hope you don't mind," he says, "but I've arranged for you to join me and a friend for dinner tonight. "
    "Sounds great—will Zel be joining us?"
    "No. Just us. "
    Jamin is looking out for me, the way he has always tried to. He is a very good friend. I am filled with trepidation. "Well," I say. "I might be working late. "
    "That's fine. Pick you up in a taxi at quitting time?"
    "Sure," I say and disconnect.
    I look up from my desk but Ali is nowhere to be seen in the breakwater of cubicle ways. Sometimes I may see her no more than once in a day, though it feels like she is always with me since I cannot stop thinking of her.
    For the rest of the day I cannot concentrate on genetic sequences at all and my work is useless.

    When the taxi crosses into the men's quarter, Jamin and I remove our veils although the driver leaves his own. Jamin relaxes instantly, more happily himself, making small talk about work. I smile too, but inside I am tense.
    We're dropped off in a neighborhood where fruit trees shade the narrow streets. The houses are neat and tidy and old, the kind owned by government officials and couples who both have excellent jobs. Jamin leads me to a door by an elaborate garden that appears to be both lovingly created and recently neglected.
    The man who answers is not quite twice our age, perhaps a little younger. His beard looks new, as though his chin has gone untended for about as long as the garden outside. He wears a comfortable, tailored suit.
    Jamin embraces him, saying, "Hello, Hodge. This is the friend I was telling you about—"
    Somehow I cheerfully complete the introductions. Jamin and I sit at a counter in the kitchen while Hodge finishes cooking the dinner. The room smells of garlic and oil. Jamin and Hodge discuss work—they are both employed in law—and I avoid nearly all the personal questions directed at me. The songs of Noh Sis stream from the speakers to fill most of the awkward silences.
    We are seated around Hodge's elegant antique table, having finished a delightful chick pea soup and a satisfying pepper salad. A platter of mouth-watering spinach-feta pastries rests between us. As I am helping myself to a second serving, and laughing heartily at an anecdote that Hodge is telling about the prosecution of a man whose pet dog kept straying into the women's quarter, Jamin rises and wipes his mouth with his napkin.
    "Please forgive me," he says. "I didn't realize how late it has gotten and I promised to meet Zel this evening. "
    "But we've scarcely begun," Hodge says, evincing real dismay.
    And all I can do is think: Jamin, you beast!
    But Jamin insists, and I stand to go with him, but both men persuade me to stay by making promises of transportation. Then Hodge bustles around putting together a plate of food for Jamin to take with him, growing particularly distressed because his cake hasn't cooled sufficiently