Chapter 5 In the Tents of the Enemy
The address Morgiana had given Grace was about a mile out of town, on a road that Grace was not familiar with. Given what new professors usually earned, she expected something modest, maybe a rented cottage. Instead she found an impressive Moorish-style estate, surrounded with lots of land.
There was a paved area in front for parking: lots of space but only one car at the moment. As Grace got out, she heard the sound of hoofbeats, which instantly reminded her of her riding lessons at the farm. Looking in the proper direction, she saw Morgiana galloping toward her on a splendid horse. She looked completely different from the frightened immigrant in school, and the reason was obvious. There she was literally in alien territory; here she was safe at home -- and probably enjoyed her home more than Grace enjoyed hers. Although Grace's mother was on the mend from alcoholism, it was difficult to overcome bitter memories.
Morgiana reined in her horse. Grace noted that her hair was somewhat mussed by the wind: she was no longer wearing her scarf, perhaps since there were no boys around. "Hello, Grace. Would you like to go riding? We have extra horses."
"Um, thanks, but I'm out of practice." The truth was that Grace had only ridden one horse in her life, which had probably been created by God for the purpose. Mounted on a strange horse, she would be so self-conscious about her riding that she would be unable to concentrate on conversation. Grace hated looking weak, and she loved dominating a conversation.
"All right." Morgiana patted her steed's neck. "I will take Rakush to the stable and come right back."
She rode off and Grace looked over the house again. Remembering that the professor had just arrived in the country, she doubted that it had been built for the purpose. He had probably found it available on the market and liked the "Moorish" look. It also implied that he was loaded.
When Morgiana came back from around the corner of the house, Grace characteristically said the first thing that came into her mind. "Your must be rich."
She shrugged. "Begh used to be a title of nobility in the Ottoman Empire. We lost the status under Attaturk, but were able to hold on the wealth. During the past century we maintained our fortune by breeding horses."
Grace was wishing that she had paid more attention to History class, if "Ottoman Empire" and "Attaturk" had even come up. She HAD looked up Turkey on the Internet, and had been relieved to read that the country was seeking closer relations with the West and tried to distance itself from the violent struggles of its neighbors. As for the money, Grace had an ingrained prejudice against "the Rich", but she told herself that a family that brought wealth from abroad might not count.
"I'm surprised that your father didn't stick you in a private school."
"He considered that, but he wanted for me to experience ordinary American life, and be able to describe it to him afterwards. Though after what happened today, he is reconsidering. He wants to talk to you."
So was that Grace's mission? Talking the father into letting Morgiana stay in public school? Why was that important? Grace was nervous about confronting the elder Begh. Morgiana seemed easy to please, but her father might still be anti-Semitic, and very much in charge. "What about your mother?"
"My anne and younger brother stayed in Turkey. We keep in touch with Email. They did not come because they had difficulty learning English. It is very different from Turkish."
"You speak it well."
"In my generation learning English is considered, how do you say it, cool. And the language itself has hints about the culture of the people who speak it. If I am to follow in my baba's footsteps, it is the first thing to master."
----
Professor Begh looked exotic: a tall, bald man with a long, dark beard. But his manner was quite gracious.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Polk. Or should I say Grace? I know that Americans like using first names."
Grace decided not to mention her own game of referring to her friends as "Rove", "Girardi", and so on. She also made a mental note to reign in her sardonic tendencies, as long as the other side stayed polite. So far the topic of religion had not come up, but this could turn very ugly very fast if she said the wrong thing. "Grace is OK."
"I want to thank you for standing up for my daughter. Do you think such incidents will continue?"
"I can't say. But the principal said the administration was going to be more vigilant. And I don't think those specific boys will try again. They are going to feel humiliated, having been beaten up by a couple of girls."
"Not as humiliated as a Middle Eastern boy would be in the same situation," said the Professor, amused.
"I am willing to risk it and stay in the school, Baba," said Morgiana, evidently sticking to English for Grace's sake. "But it is not just a matter of avoiding bullies. I want to fit in, and I want to ask Grace's advice about that -- why is that funny?"
She asked the last question because Grace had burst laughing. Finally getting her reaction under control, she said, "No, the question isn't funny. It's just that I'm the worst possible person to ask. I'm the class misfit."
"I am sorry," the professor said. "Your classmates exclude you, then?"
"No, it's sort of by choice. My philosophy is, there's a tug-of-war between being yourself and doing what society expects of you. Me, I don't want to compromise at all. I don't mind being the oddball."
"But if my daughter does not want to be an odd ball, is that possible?" asked the professor. "She is, after all, a foreigner. Can she ever be accepted?"
"Oh, yes. Look at it this way. America has always been welcoming to immigrants. My ancestors were from Poland. My best friends emigrated from Italy a few generations back. But in exchange, immigrants are sort of expected to assimilate to American ways. Too much, for my taste."
"But I am willing to try. Should I go without my scarf, Baba?" Morgiana asked her father. "Or would that violate the Quran?"
"The hijab is not an end in itself, but a means to an end," said the professor. "The purpose is to protect a woman from unwelcome male attentions. What do you think, Grace?"
"Um, most American girls LIKE male attentions. But if you get too much, you can say so, or at worst slap the guy. He'll usually get the message."
The professor nodded. "Americans have their own ways of handling their problem, then. What else could Morgiana do to fit in?"
"Oh, there a lot of petty things she could do to look cool. American-sounding names, for example. If Morgiana let people call her "Margie", or "Maggie", for example --"
"I like 'Maggie'," said Morgiana. "There was a powerful ruler in Britain named Maggie, right? Maggie Thatcher."
Inspiration struck Grace. "Your horses. If you invite girls over and let them ride them, you'll probably be VERY popular. Lots of girls love horses but can't afford them. But of course, it's a matter of them getting something for nothing. They'll come for the sake of your horses, not you."
"I prefer to think of it as surmounting a barrier -- 'breaking the ice' as you Americans say. Once they get to know Morgiana, I think they will like her for herself. But how can we help YOU be popular, Grace?"
Suddenly Grace realized that the professor and his daughter were looking at Grace with a predatory air, rather like Professor Higgins sizing up Eliza Doolittle. And Grace was wondering what sort of situation God had placed her in now.