Chapter 11

House of Cards

Idris rereads the text from his cousin for the thousandth time in recent months.

I bailed on the party at a team member’s place for those of us that got accepted to avoid getting sick. I bailed on the performance. I prayed five times a day with my parents and none of us got sick, like the rest of the troupe. I thought our faith saved us and I wanted so badly for you to see, but maybe you were right after all, no amount of faith in any god will save us from the atrocities of humankind.
I know they cut off service for the city but I hope this message reaches you eventually anyway. Live well, cousin, and tell Amir and the rest of the family that we love you all and regret joining you in America.

Idris attempted to respond so many times. He tried to call daily, but the line was always met with a dead buzzing. How her text ever came through in the first place remains a mystery to him, he hadn’t heard of anyone else getting messages from those under the rubble of Eastern Russia. It was the closest thing to a miracle he would ever believe in.
Idris clears out of the screen on his phone, pockets it, and returns to shuffling around the papers scattered across his desk. News articles from throughout the year and personal note pages are mixed together without revealing anything insightful. He shuffles them again, a new order but once again no new information.
He pulls his phone back out and dials his older brother. It rings until he reaches the voicemail recording of Amir’s familiar voice saying to leave a message, but Idris doesn’t bother. He switches to text:

Ur probably teaching, no worries, just been a while since we’ve done dinner. You and the family free tonight?

It takes twenty minutes of shuffling papers for a response to come.

Yeah sorry, just finished up. That works, see you soon.

Idris responds with a thumbs up and lets out a breath. Placing the phone aside again, he steeples his fingers and leans onto his desk on his elbows, not caring about several of the papers underneath getting wrinkled. He never shared the text from their cousin with Amir, assuming it best not to.
Staring at the papers clearly isn’t helping him find any answers, so Idris pushes himself out of his office chair and finds his keys to lock up and head out for the day. He listens for the click as he’s turning the key outside of his office door when a voice nearly startles him.
“Idris! You’re headed out early.” The familiar croak of his supervisor tells him who it is before he turns to look.
“Yeah, I’m not getting anywhere, I need to come back with fresh eyes and fresh information. So unless you have something for me, I’m gonna head out.”
The older woman has her hands squished into the too-small pockets of her too-small jeans. She’s a sausage just too big for her casing but sure acts like everything is under her control. She forces out several tsks.
“I can stay if that would make you feel better, but I seriously am not getting anywhere. Besides, my family invited me over for dinner tonight, so I ought to go pick up my share of groceries. I’ll stay late on Monday, I’ve got high hopes that something will come to light before then.” He has no intentions to get groceries.
That offer seems to have worked, “Alright, but you don’t get paid to come and go as you please, remember?”
“Yes, I understand, thank you Ms. Jensen.” You couldn’t fire me if you wanted to, I’m the only reason our press stays in business. Idris rolls his eyes once he’s turned away from the uptight woman and quickly makes his escape from the building.
*****
The door swings open wide before Idris can even finish knocking. He saw little Omar run past the window as he approached the house, but now the boy stands before him in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear, “Uncle Idris!” He must have just recently realized that he can reach the doorknob.
Idris scoops up the toddler as he steps into his brother’s home, closing and locking the door behind him. Amir meets them in the living room, his wife not far behind and their infant daughter in her arms. Omar quickly squirms his way out of his uncle’s arms, giving Idris the space to share hugs with the rest.
“Leila, so good to see you, you look well!” Idris smiles at the shorter woman, a rust-colored hijab covering her hair. He then carries that smile down to the baby in her arms, “And her first words will come tonight, obviously, because I’m here.”
Amir laughs through a thick mustache and beard, “Sorry, Esther started speaking last weekend.”
“Goddam-” Idris is silenced with a look, “Sorry. Dangit. But you didn’t tell me?”
“I swear I did, but you’re busy, I’m sure you just missed it.” Amir’s eyes study Idris’ own. They’re at eye level to each other and share their father’s heavy brow bone and shadowed eyes that surrender no insight on what’s going on behind them. The similarities end there, though.
Idris sighs, “I’d like to think I’d remember something like that! But it was a long week, you’re right.”
After waving the topic away with a heavy hand, Amir leads the family into the kitchen. The stove top is already in use, several dishes simmering and sizzling on the heat. Amir goes to the stove to attend, flicking food around in a large saucepan with ease. Not only is he several years older than Idris, but larger as well, built to fill his clothing. Idris has always thought his older brother looks like the type of guy you wouldn’t want to piss off in a bar. Himself, however, Idris has felt the opposite; the kind of guy you wanted to pick fights with.
“So,” Amir’s deep voice cuts through the sizzling from the stove top, “what’s got you hung up at work? Clearly lots is happening, but you don’t usually call unless you’re stuck on something.”
“That’s not true, last time I called I–” Idris stops to think, stumped. He finally seats himself behind the kitchen bar, where he can easily converse with his brother.
“Last time you called, you were trying to connect the Ice Flu to those new lab-made meats being developed in Russia.”
Idris hangs his head in admission, “That, right… I still don’t doubt the flu was man-made but it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?.”
“Sure.”
“Am I that predictable?”
Amir shrugs. “You going to answer my question or not?”
“It’s Pari.” Idris scratches at the 5 o’clock shadow attached to his cheeks, “Well, Pari’s friend, Dimitri.”
Amir pauses his stirring to turn to Idris, “And? What about her?” There’s a sad look in his eyes; the grief is still fresh.
Leila, having been seated at the dining table with the kids, stands to relieve Amir of the cooking. He mutters a thanks for only her ears and takes a seat at the bar counter next to his brother.
Idris turns on the bar stool to face Amir directly, “It seems like Dimitri Tsovetsky just, went missing, you know?”
Amir grunts, “I hadn’t noticed, honestly.”
“Yeah… no one’s seemed to…”
The room is filled with the popping of cooking oil.
“I see.” Amir finally responds, “You want to know what happened to her.”
Idris throws his hands, “Yes! But I can’t find anything, and everything seems suspicious.”
“Everything as in…?”
“Dimitri’s initial disappearance, the performance, the religious treaty, I could go on.”
Amir nods along, “I’d be lying if I didn’t agree that it’s all a bit strange, but so much is happening these days that I’m not sure what would be considered normal anymore.”
Idris cups his chin in the palm of his hand.
“I suppose I’ve been avoiding dwelling on the subject in regards to, you know…” There’s that sad look in Amir’s eyes.
Idris drops his gaze, his eyes mirroring his brother’s, “Yeah, I know. Sorry to bring it up.”
Leila clears her throat, “I think dinner is ready, then! Good time to move on, I think?” She glances between the two men, who both nod and acquiesce.
Leila offers the wooden spoon in her hand to Amir and returns to the dining table, clearing it of Omar’s coloring pages and setting silverware. The two men plate up food for three plus a little one, delivering each to its place at the table. Esther sits in a high chair at the end of the table, chewing on a bottle, while Omar sits in a booster next to Idris.
Amir and Leila juggle eating while making sure Omar gets the food into his mouth, all while Idris makes faces at the boy, making their jobs more difficult. Finally, with the toddler out of food and most plates nearly empty, Idris collects Omar’s and his own dishes.
“How’s teaching been lately, Amir? The students giving you a hard time?” Idris asks once he’s arrived at the kitchen sink.
Amir delivers his and Leila’s dishes and answers, “Giving me a hard time? Hardly! This year’s class has been nothing but amiable. It’s almost grown boring!”
“Missing our school days of having to come save me from schoolyard fights?”
Amir laughs, “Maybe not quite so boring, but also maybe not so far off!” He pauses to reminisce, “You know, I do have one student that often reminds me of you; stubborn and headstrong, but he hasn’t gotten into any fights quite yet. At least he knows when to keep his mouth shut.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I’m glad you learned where your talent lies, and that it’s on paper and not in the streets.”
Idris chuckles and shakes his head, but keeps his eyes down at the hot water burning his hands as he scrapes the dirty plates.
Amir steps away to wipe down the dining table, as the children have managed to make it look like none of the food will actually reach digestion. In the meantime, Leila sneaks away with Omar and Esther for the baby’s turn at dinner.
Once the rest of the family is out of sight, Amir resumes conversation with Idris. His voice is almost a mumble through his thick beard, as if he’s hoping the words get stuck in it, “The school won’t let me teach the students about our history.”
Idris pauses with a sponge in his hand, “You’re a world history teacher, what do you mean?” He continues scrubbing, a little more fiercely than before.
“For the new school term, the school system is cracking down on what’s being taught.”
“The school system has always done that, but as long as students meet standardized testing expectations, haven’t you always had some wiggle room?”
“Sure, in the past. This year our lessons are being recorded and frequently evaluated. They don’t want us, um,” Amir coughs and hesitates to continue.
“They don’t want students to put the pieces together.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“No, but you wanted to.” Idris finally finishes arranging dishes in the drying rack and begins wiping his hands on a towel. “What the fuck do they have you teaching, then? That the Middle East just happened to be buried under rubble one day?”
The look on Amir’s face answers the question, but he clarifies anyway, “It’s implied.”
Idris grumbles.
“I let something slip in class recently and the superintendent is now requesting for a substitute to teach the Middle Eastern and Russian lessons this semester. Told me I’d get a paid sabbatical those weeks. Leila and I agree that I should take it and not risk my job by complaining.” Idris can tell by his voice that that’s not what Amir really wants to do,
“I could use another project. What’d you let slip, anyway?”
Amir’s eyes widen, “No no no, that wasn’t an invitation to get involved. I don’t like it, you’re right, but Leila is also right, I need to not take any risks.”
“You won’t be.”
“We share a name, brother, you’d be putting me at risk, not yourself.”
“But then it wouldn’t be you against the school, you’d have me and everyone else with any morals and sense backing you. I’ll write up an article, it wouldn’t be front page and nothing crazy, just enough to light a fire under some of the Bay Area parents. Let ‘em know how much our school system is lacking.”
Amir has always admired his little brother’s conviction, even if it meant getting him out of fights with much bigger men up until their recent decade of life. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…”
“Tell you what, I’ll dig up some info, write it up and let you know when it’s ready and then you can give me the go-ahead. I bet it keeps me busy into next week, if not a little longer.”
Amir doesn’t respond, clearly considering the offer. “No, you’re busy enough, don’t sacrifice your weekend for my sake.”
“You’d be doing me a favor, seriously. Otherwise I would be spending the whole weekend running into dead ends on the current project. I need the distraction.”
Amir sighs– his sign of agreement.
Idris clasps his hands together loudly, “Great! Now, you didn’t answer, what’d you say to the students recently to get you in the doghouse?”
Amir moves to a cabinet and pulls out a glass bottle of liquid amber –encasing recent and personal history– and pours two short glasses. He carries the glasses to the bar counter, where Idris follows and they both return to their bar seats from before dinner.
After twirling the dark liquor and taking a sip, Amir answers the question, “A student asked about the recent Diaspora and I made the mistake of saying that I still remember growing up in Syria, when we weren’t the ones that were refugees.”
“Ah.” Idris takes a drink and savors the burn. “God forbid you allude to the fact that we didn’t want to leave.”
“Right.” Amir looks at his brother, whose eyes are on the glass in his hand, but burn with that conviction he’s seen so many times and invites an explanation, “I know that look, this is about more than my teaching.”
“I have this feeling…” Idris continues to stare into his drink, where light is refracting through the intricately carved glass and across the liquor. “I think something big is coming, and I want to be the first one on the scene, but I’ve gotta figure out where that’s going to be.”
Amir watches as the gears turn and realizes that Idris is hardly talking to him anymore. He doesn’t speak up, assuming that his brother will explain on his own.
Idris disappoints, however, “I should get home, before I lose motivation.” He replaces the glass on the counter, unemptied, and stands up from his stool.
Amir raises his brows in surprise, “Oh! Okay, I suppose I’ll just let Leila and Omar know you had to take off early. You’re alright to drive, I presume?”
“Yes, thank you, Amir.” He offers a quick hug and adds upon pulling away, “I’ll be in touch by the end of next week and let’s have dinner again, sooner than later.”
Amir is almost overwhelmed by the speed of his brother’s farewell, “Yes, of course, take care of yourself!”
Idris is out the door with a whirlwind.
Street lights reflect across the wet city streets as Idris drives home. He can hardly remember a time since moving to the Bay Area, over 15 years ago, that the music of the city wasn’t backed by the splashing of flooded gutters. Society has aged rapidly in the past several decades.
Idris swerves when a monstrous rat scurries into the road, but rapidly corrects himself as the rodent does the same. It leaps onto the sidewalk, where a man stumbles and curses the rat. There’s fewer and fewer places to run. Idris thinks back to his family’s emigration from Syria, and wonders whether it was because of the oppression of the sun or of something closer. Just like the rats fleeing a flooded sewage system and into the flooded streets, San Francisco isn’t much warmer than Damascus these days. Idris glances at his car’s dashboard; 79 degrees Fahrenheit, 9:37pm, 10/17.
He pulls up to his apartment building and parks, but lets a song finish on the radio before shutting off the car. Idris reaches into the backseat to retrieve his pack and shoulders it as he steps out into the muggy night air, mumbling the words to the song all along.
He climbs several flights of stairs to his apartment, where he can hear the television from outside the door before he even reaches it. By the time he’s finished fumbling with his keys and makes it inside, the sound has already been lowered by his two roommates who could hear his arrival. The women are halfway on top of each other on the couch, their legs tangled together as they’re outstretched and resting on the ottoman.
Anais has the remote in her hand and turns to Idris as he enters, “Ohhhh you’re home late, were you out on a daaaate?” Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and wobbles uneasily as she speaks, as if it’s being held up by sheer will.
Idris hangs his keys on a hook next to the other two sets and responds as he marches behind the couch to drop his bag by their dining table. “No ma’am, I was at Amir’s place, getting dinner with the family.”
“Awww, and you didn’t bring us? C’mon Rizzy, you know how much I love Leila’s cooking!”
Kate, who has to adjust her head on Anais’ shoulder as she gets animated, mumbles, “And he also knows how much you love talking.” Long red curls flow over her shoulders and onto Anais as Kate settles her head back into the soft space beneath her partner’s collar bone.
“Yeah,” Idris adds, “For like, six thousand years, and I had work shit I wanted to run by Amir.”
Anais and Kate both laugh.
“By the way,” Idris continues as he traverses the apartment, having to shout as he steps into his bedroom, “had you two heard anything about the state school system’s crackdowns on what’s being taught this year?” He uses the soft illumination from a fish tank in the back corner of his room to guide him to the actual light switch. The light bulb flickers before allowing its light to reach every corner of the room.
Kate is the one that responds, “Do we seem like the types to keep up with that information?”
Idris shrugs even though they can’t see it from the separate room. “Yeah, who am I kidding? I wouldn’t trust you two to raise kids anyway.”
“The idea itself sends shivers down my spine.” Kate’s voice barely reaches him.
Idris moves to the tank, where he scatters food into the water and takes a moment to watch as a dozen different colorful fish fight for their share. Once they settle down, he returns to the living room. “Well, according to Amir, the school district won’t let him teach anything about the Diaspora, the Middle East, or Russia.”
“So what is he teaching?” Anais asks.
“Bullshit, I guess. He’s pissed, obviously, so I’m going to do some research and write something up for the paper. I’m not overstepping, am I? He was hesitant to allow me to do this.”
“Overstepping?” Anais lowers the TV volume even more and thinks for a moment before answering, “I think as long as you leave him out of it you should be fine. Maybe write about the entire Bay Area school system instead of targeting the high school he teaches at.”
Kate nods along, “Yeah, I bet it’s an issue across the state and country too. I mean, I’m not at all surprised, what with all this weird religious fear mongering going on everywhere.”
“Yeah, unfortunately that’s true. That helps though, thank you.” He lets out a sigh of relief and then moves around the couch to where the girls have half a bottle of vodka sitting on the floor, which he picks up and takes a shot directly from the bottle.
Anais cheers him on with a soft ‘whoot.’ He hands the bottle off to her to follow suit.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower and then try to get some research done.” Idris gathers fresh clothes from his room and moves to their shared bathroom. He sheds his work clothes and gets into a hot shower, letting it wash away the smell of printer paper and ink that seems to stick to his hair like nothing else. He doesn’t hate the smell, in fact he once loved it, but now it seems to remind him more of the bland office and his bland supervisor more so than his journalism.
He brushes his teeth in the shower until the hot water turns cold and has him rushing to get out of the water. He pats down his skin with a towel and then uses it to roughly dry his buzzed hair that’s beginning to grow out. He glances at himself in the mirror as he brushes his hair down to be more uniform.
Amir keeps his dark hair just long enough to slick back and style, whereas Idris has always kept his much shorter hair to avoid maintenance. Once dry, he slips into soft pajamas and returns to the living room. Anais and Kate have resumed their show and he takes a seat at the dining table, pulls out a thin laptop, and searches up the state’s board of education.


Oct. 24, 2092
Idris Rafiq

Education Under Attack!
I still remember my childhood home in Syria. I remember the day when a school bus pulled into my neighborhood and refugees came flooding out to share our community. At the time, I couldn't imagine what they must have been feeling, having to seek refuge in a strange new world, knowing that bombs rained down on their homes behind them. I also remember the day, not many months later, that I stepped off the airplane and onto California soil, into a strange new world.
That feeling has resurfaced recently, as I've learned that the local school system no longer educates our students on these events– the Diaspora of the Middle East and the religious and political conflicts of the past century. To erase this history may as well erase my experience –those feelings I had as we moved to America in hopes that the people here would show the same kindness to us that we had to others not long before. My parents brought my brother and I to California just over 15 years ago now, and yet we still struggle to find acceptance in this community.
According to the California State Board of Education, the new curriculum for world and US history teaches "the origins, conflicts, and spread of Christian ideals and how these have impacted today's society." It also includes "the continuous use of God-given resources and how mankind has shaped the Earth for our benefit."
Aren't history lessons meant to inform us on how NOT to make the same mistakes as our ancestors? So what does that mean when we're teaching a false history? We as adults have a duty to pass our knowledge down to the next generations, so how is it that we are allowing the school system to abridge this responsibility?
I reached out to the board president to ask about this recent change to curriculum. In response they explained, "[That] is all that will be required on standardized testing, in accordance with the universal test updates after the International Faith Treaty." They continued to explain that, while it was unnecessary to remove segments from the class, they deemed it "wasteful not to spend as much time as possible preparing students for testing."
We have the option to give our students –our future generations– a true education on human history, but the state's school administration has decided that to be unnecessary. We all know that they started with literature; the banned book list having been steadily growing since the 70s. It makes me wonder what subjects may be affected next; science, math? I'm beginning to think the list of teachable subjects is shorter than the banned list.

Know something or want questions answered? Email Idris Rafiq.