Chapter 64: Two Very Different Worlds

November 4, 2000, Chicago, Illinois

“Good morning, Sensei,” Miyu said when Kara, the girls, and I walked into the dojo on Saturday morning.

“Good morning, Miyu.”

“Do you have a moment, please?”

I nodded and we went to the small practice room for privacy, as Sensei Jim had a family in his office.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need you to meet a young man,” she said.

“I think you might be taking this ‘not do anything without permission’ a bit too far!”

Miyu shook her head, “No, I’m not. Everything has gone nearly perfectly since I agreed to complete obedience to you and Kaito. I need you to do this for me.”

“And what am I doing?” I asked.

“Talking to him. I need your approval before I agree to marry him.”

“Let’s have lunch at the house next Saturday after karate,” I said. “What’s his name?”

Miyu smirked, so I knew exactly what was coming.

“Fujikawa Hisataka,” she said, using the Japanese convention. “He attends the Buddhist temple.”

“Do I sense a trip to Hawaii in my future?”

“I think I’ve completely lost my mind, but probably, yes.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

“You haven’t met him yet!”

“Something tells me he’s a good man. What does he do for a living?”

“He’s an architect at Skidmore, Owings & Merrill.”

“I have a friend who works there,” I said.

“Anala Patel?” Miyu asked.

“Yes.”

“She was his mentor until last year.”

“If Anala approves of him, then I’m positive he’s a good man.”

I needed to call her. It had been years since we’d spoken, and quite a bit had changed in my life. I was equally sure that very little, if anything, had changed in her life. Her kids would be twelve and nine, if I recalled correctly.

“I’ll invite him to the dojo next weekend.”

“You’ve been keeping him a secret!”

Miyu nodded, “Yes, but because we were ‘courting’ as Kaito put it. My lack of self-respect as a teenager concerned Kaito, so my dates with Hisataka were mostly supervised.”

I nodded, “Very wise. Shall we go line up?”

“Yes, Sensei!”

We went back to the main classroom just in time for Sensei Jim to call the class to order. He introduced the new students, a family which had just moved to the area from Washington, DC, with a dad, a mom, and three young boys. As I expected, I was assigned to show them the basics after the warm up exercise.

“Sensei Steve Adams,” I said.

“John Bolton,” he said, extending his hand.

“In the dojo, we bow,” I corrected gently. “Like this.”

He bowed and I returned the bow.

“This is my wife Nancy, and our sons John Junior, James, and Joseph. They’re twelve, ten, and seven.”

They all bowed.

“Let’s go in the small training room,” I said. “And we’ll start with the basics.”

They followed me into the room and I had them line up abreast.

“What brought you to the dojo?” I asked.

“It’s something we could do as a family, it’s good exercise, and we felt it would be good discipline for the kids.”

“The true discipline will come when your kids outrank you!” I chuckled. “They tend to advance faster than adults.”

“Sensei Jim said your wife is a black belt?”

“Yes, and my daughters are brown, purple, and blue belts.”

“How long have you been coming to the dojo?”

“Since 1981 when I moved here for college. My wife started around the time we married, and the girls when they each were old enough. Now, let me show you the front stance.”

I helped each of them get into proper position, showing them where to put their feet, and how to square their shoulders, and how to hold their hands. Once I was satisfied, I had them all stand up straight, then get into position again. I corrected their stances and we repeated the process several more times, after which I began teaching them how to throw a simple front punch. They all paid close attention, and I was satisfied they would be successful, if they stuck to it. We’d had any number of families start, and eventually drop out, so all we could do is wait and see.

“How long have you been an instructor?” Nancy asked when we finished the lesson.

“I became an Assistant Instructor in September of 1989, a licensed Full Instructor in July of 1994 in Japan, and Senior Instructor in November of 1996.”

“How long did it take you to get your black belt, Mr. Adams?” John Junior asked.

“At the dojo, we only use first names, and my honorific is either ‘Sensei’ or «Shihan». So please, call me ‘Sensei Steve’ or ‘«Shihan» Steve’.”

“What’s an ‘hon-or-if-ic’?” Joseph asked.

“A title, like Mister,” I replied, then turned to his parents, “John, Nancy, I know many parents object to their kids using first names for adults, but that is the Japanese tradition and this is a Japanese dojo, and that is how we speak to each other here.”

“Kids, please do what uhm, what was the title?” Nancy asked.

“‘Sensei’,” I responded.

“ ... what Sensei Steve says.”

“Is that true for all black belts?” John asked.

I shook my head, “No. Only the ones who have at least two white stripes on their belt, or who have a gold stripe. They are ‘Sensei’. Everyone else is addressed by their given name or by Mr., Mrs., Ms., or Miss. So, my wife would be Mrs. Adams or Kara. Will, Therese, Hannah, and Molly would be addressed as ‘Sensei’, as would «Shihan» Jim.

“What’s the difference?”

“‘Sensei’ means ‘instructor’; ‘«Shihan»’ means ‘master’. You’d only use that for Sensei Jim, me, or Molly for now.”

“Molly? Which one is she?”

“She’s Master of our sister dojo in Racine. You’ll see her next Saturday when she brings her students here so we can test one of them for their 2nd Dan, which is the second level of black belt. All of you are 10th kyu, and you’ll work your way to 1st kyu, which is the senior level of brown belt, and then you can work to become 1st Dan, and progress from there if you have the skill and personality to be an instructor.”

“How long did it take you to get your black belt, Sensei Steve?” John Junior asked.

“About five years,” I replied. “But I was fairly undisciplined to start with. You should be eligible by the time you turn sixteen, if you concentrate, though if you want to compete, you’ll probably want to defer your black belt until you’re eighteen so you don’t have to go against adults at sixteen!”

“Compete?” he asked.

“There are two main tournaments in Chicago every year, one Labor Day weekend and one Memorial Day weekend. There are also other smaller tournaments including Thanksgiving weekend.”

“Do you compete?” John asked.

I shook my head, “No. I suffered two concussions unrelated to karate and my doctor won’t let me spar because the second one caused post-concussion syndrome. But I coached a couple of citywide champions before I turned those duties over to Therese. And I’m sorry to cut this short, but we need to go into the main training room to be dismissed.”

“How were the new white belts?” Kara asked when class ended.

“If they stick with it, they’ll do fine. But you know how it goes.”

“Half the new white belts drop out within a year.”

“Dad?” Stephie asked.

“Yes?”

“Why do we have to dress up for lunch?”

“To be polite to our new neighbors.”

Kara, Maria Cristina, and I had discussed what to do, given that both Fatimah and her mother, Nada, wore the hijab, a scarf which covered their head and shoulders. From what I knew about Saudi custom, that was actually a relaxation of the usual practice of wearing the niqab, which left only the eyes visible, and which covered their entire body, including their hands. We decided, in the end, the best approach was for the girls to wear long-sleeve blouses and skirts, while I’d wear slacks, a dress shirt and a sports coat.

“We don’t have to wear scarves, do we?”

“No,” I said. “We don’t believe the way they do. But there’s nothing wrong with them wearing scarves if they want to. Remember, too, that boys and girls do not hug each other unless they’re married.”

“Oh, give me a break!” Birgit exclaimed in exasperation. “A hug is a problem?”

“Yes. Remember, they’re new here, and right now, all they know is what they learned in Saudi Arabia. I have a Muslim who works for me and once she moved out of her parents’ house, she stopped wearing her scarf except when she goes to her mosque.”

“That’s like a church, right?” Birgit asked.

“Yes. Do you remember when we went to the church Jesse goes to? About half the women wore scarves in the church, including Michelle.”

“Count me out!” Birgit declared.

“I agree with you,” Kara said. “But they get to decide for themselves. Remember that.”

“So I’m guessing no naked saunas?” my troublemaking twelve-year-old smirked.

“No, young lady! No naked saunas. And no talking about them today, either. We want to be friends and help them adjust to living in the US.”

We arrived home and showered, then dressed. Kara and I went to the kitchen where Maria Cristina joined us to prepare lunch for our guests.

“How much did you tell her, Maria Cristina?” Kara asked.

Maria Cristina laughed softly, “That Steve is a sheikh and has multiple wives and girlfriends!”

“Great,” I chuckled. “That’s used for the extended royal family in Saudi Arabia!”

“It’s also used for tribal leaders, which, if you think about it, fits.”

“How did they respond to that?” I asked.

“Mrs. Khan seemed to take it in stride, though I suspect she wouldn’t tolerate Mr. Khan taking a second wife! As for you, given you treat Kara and Jessica equally, and you treated me equally, and you care for all your children, you fulfill the requirements for a Muslim man to have multiple wives.”

“Listen to the religious scholar,” I teased.

“You gave me the book on comparative religion!” Maria Cristina declared. “So you only have yourself to blame!”

“I guess I did. You didn’t tell them about you, did you?”

“No, of course not. But I did say you treated your wives and your children properly, which is the command in the Qur’an and the interpretation in the Hadith.”

“I remember most of that from my world religion class nearly twenty years ago.”

We finished preparing lunch just before 1:00pm, and precisely at 1:00pm the doorbell rang. I went to the foyer and opened the door, while Kara and Maria Cristina took the food to the dining room.

“«As-salāmu ʿalaykum», Amir Khan,” I said. (“Peace be unto you.”)

“«Wa ʿalaykumu s-salām», Steve Adams,” Amir replied. “This is my son, Yousef.” (“And peace be unto you, too.”)

“Nice to meet you, Yousef.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Adams,” Yousef said.

“Won’t you all come in, please?”

The four of them followed me into the house and we went directly to the dining room, where we were joined by Kara, Maria Cristina, my girls, and Albert.

“My son, Albert,” I said, bowing to the Khans’ custom.

“Hi,” Albert said.

“My wife Kara; Maria Cristina, a family friend who is studying to be a doctor; my daughters Birgit, Stephie, and Ashley. My other boys are aren’t here today.”

“You have a beautiful house,” Amir said.

“Thank you. I understand you’re here as a visiting professor in advanced mathematics. What is your area of expertise?”

“Algebraic number theory. The work begun by Fermat and Gauss. I understand your wife is a professor of chemistry and an expert in polymers.”

“Yes, that’s Kara, who is senior wife; my other wife is a trauma surgeon and a professor at the medical school.”

“Having two wives is not normal in the US, is it?”

“No.”

“You’re a Christian?”

I shook my head, “I call myself an agnostic, because I honestly don’t know if any supreme being exits.”

“Do you know the Qur’an?”

“I’ve read it in translation,” I replied. “I can’t read Arabic so I’m unable to read the original. Shall we eat?”

“Yes, of course. May I pray?”

“Please do,” I said.

“I will pray in English,” he said.

His wife and children raised their hands, and he began praying.

“In the name of Allah, the beneficient, the merciful. For the uniting of the Quraysh; For the union during their winter and summer journeys; Let them worship the Lord of this house, who fed them when they were hungry and gave them security against fear.”

They answered in Arabic, and then we passed the dishes.

“Nothing here has pork,” I said. “If I understand correctly, that’s the main restriction. The meat comes from the butcher shop, which is kosher.”

He frowned, but nodded. I knew that kosher rules were stricter, and while he might have an issue with Judaism, that meant there were no food problems. If we were going to be friends, there were going to be lots of frowns in the future, because while I’d respect his beliefs and not offend him by serving food which wasn’t reasonably ‘halal’, and the girls would dress modestly when the Khan’s visited, I wasn’t going to change who or what I was.

As for the kosher food, that was probably about the best he was going to do in Hyde Park or Kenwood. There were plenty of Jewish families, but I only knew of one other Muslim, a cardiologist at the hospital who Jessica had met. He was Lebanese, and neither his wife nor daughter wore head coverings. Obviously there were more Muslims, but the only others I saw in the neighborhood who dressed as conservatively were Hindus, and they generally didn’t wear head coverings.

All of that would explain why the Khan’s had not made friends beyond their mosque - the neighborhood was fairly liberal and very secular, with the most religious people being, for the most part, Jews or Hindus, with a smattering of Christians from liberal denominations. That would make it tough on them, and, I was sure, tough on us to be their friends. That said, I was determined to try.

The conversation during the meal was limited, and neither Nada nor Fatimah said anything. When we finished our meal, I invited Amir, Yousef, and Albert to join me in my study, hoping to give the girls a chance to get to know one another. Kara brought in tea about five minutes later, and poured cups for the four of us.

“Are your children in public school?” I asked.

“Yousef goes to the public school, but my daughter goes to the Aqsa school, an Islamic school for girls. Your children go to the public school, right?”

I nodded, “Yes. Jesse, my eldest, is in High School. The others are all in Junior High or grade school. How long are you going to be in the US?”

“Two years,” he said. “Then I’ll return to Riyadh.”

“Your English is very good, though I detect a slight British accent.”

“Oxford,” he replied. “That’s where I completed my PhD. We lived in England for four years.”

“Have you met any of the other neighbors?”

“No. Your young woman friend saw my wife and daughter walking and spoke to them. She’s the first person in the neighborhood to do that.”

“I assume there’s a mosque somewhere close.”

“On 47th Street. We’ve made friends there, and of course, I have colleagues at the university.”

I saw Albert fidgeting, which didn’t surprise me. He wasn’t used to this kind of setting. Yousef, on the other hand, was sitting straight and paying rapt attention to his father.

“Would you mind if Albert took Yousef somewhere to play? And are video games OK?”

“That depends on the game.”

“Albert likes FIFA Soccer, though I suspect you call it football.”

“That would be fine.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Albert said. “Come on, Yousef!”

They left the study, closing the door behind them.

“We’d like to be your friends,” I said. “I know it can be difficult for observant Muslims here.”

“I’m curious how you know.”

“One of my employees is a Muslim woman. She works in our Los Angeles office and had some trouble with discrimination. She and I have spoken quite a bit about her faith.”

“Has she invited you to her mosque?”

I nodded, “Yes, and no offense, but I’m not the person you want to try to convert; I’m too much of a free-thinker. That said, I’m not going to try to convert you or interfere with your practice of your faith. You’ll find, though, that I believe in complete equality between men and woman, allowing for the biological differences, of course. That said, I respect your right to live your life as you see fit. I have friends in Japan who are equally conservative, and I fully understand.”

“America could use a bit of that.”

I nodded, “My Russian friends say the same thing. They think we’re «некультурный».”

Amir laughed for the first time, “I know that word. A fellow PhD candidate, a Russian, used it all the time to refer to how many college students behaved.”

“My friend is a Russian diplomat and her husband is a retired Russian Army officer.”

🎤 Birgit

“Do you wear your scarf all the time?” I asked Fatimah.

“Not inside our house, so long as no men besides my father or brother are there.”

“Do you work, Nada?” Mom asked.

“Not here, but in Saudi Arabia I taught at a school for girls.”

“All girls and no boys?” Stephie asked.

“Yes. It keeps the girls safe.”

I couldn’t imagine going to an all-girls school. Even if boys were dumb, they were fun to be around. And how did you meet boyfriends if you were in a school with only girls? I tried really hard not to giggle when I thought that a school like that would have been awesome for Katy or Aunt Jennifer!

“Mom? Can I be dismissed to go play?” Ashley asked.

“Yes,” Mom said. “Go on. Stephie and Birgit, you can go, too, if you want.”

My sisters got up and left, but I decided to stay for a bit.

“What do you teach, Nada?” Mom asked.

“Reading to what would be about first grade; girls who are six or seven.”

“Mom,” I said. “Can I show Fatimah my room?”

“Nada, what do you think?” Mom asked.

“Where are the men?” Fatimah’s mom asked.

“In my husband’s study.”

“Fatimah, you know the rules,” Nada said. “Go ahead.”

I got up and Fatimah got up and followed me out of the room.

“What did she mean about rules?” I asked.

“I’m not permitted to be around men or boys without my father or brother with me.”

“Whoa! Why?”

“To keep me safe, of course!”

“But what about dating?” I asked as we went up the stairs. “You’re fifteen or sixteen?”

“Sixteen. There is no dating. When I go home, I’ll marry Khalid, the son of one of my dad’s friends.”

“Like an arranged marriage?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he like?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“What?!” I gasped. “How can you marry someone you never met?”

“Because that’s who my dad chose for me. That’s how it works in Saudi Arabia.”

“But what if you don’t like him?” I asked as we walked down the hall to my room.

“It’s about being a dutiful wife and mother, not about anything else. Is that your mom downstairs?”

“You mean did she have me? Yes. But I call both my mom and my dad’s other wife ‘Mom’. They were married before I was born.”

“Your mom came first, though, right? Your dad said she was ‘senior wife’.”

“It’s complicated!” I said as we went into my room.