apostates, desecrators of the true faith. How many Americans even know the difference between a Shia and a Sunni? Am I right?"
He looked at our faces to gauge our reactions, and apparently decided to start at the beginning. "You come here, into our region, thinking you can rearrange everything. Fix everything. Mix everything up, make a big happy Arab omelet."
"We brought an invitation this time." I looked him in the eye and said, "Three thousand Americans are dead. Fifteen of the murderers were Saudis. Your unhappiness has become our unhappiness."
He did not want to be reminded of this inconvenient truth. "You know," he continued, "I attended George Washington University. Undergrad and master's. Many Saudis attend school in your country." He looked pointedly at me. "Perhaps you attended a Saudi school?"
"I have not."
"Has your President, the grand architect of our Arab future?"
That required no answer.
He continued, "How many Americans attend Saudi universities?" He paused theatrically, as though we should consider this a serious question, where obviously it was not. "You do not know our culture, our people, our ways. You do not care to know. You prefer your Hollywood stereotypes to true knowledge. Yet you believe you possess the cures to our problems, how to shape our futures."
Bian mentioned, accurately, "If a Christian wears a cross in your country, it's a crime. If a woman drives a car or fails to hide her face, or flashes a little bare leg, she's arrested by your religious Nazis. Your schools and universities are known for nothing but teaching religious intolerance and chauvinism. If you want Americans at your universities, accommodate us."
"When I was in your country, I wore your clothes, I ate your foods, and I sent my children to your schools."
I mentioned, "And probably also, you drank like a virtuoso, screwed lots of American ladies, and engaged in all the other fun and liberating activities you don't dare do at home. Acting like an American is a blast. You had the time of your life."
He wisely chose not to confess his sins and indulgences, and instead insisted, "If you want to live among us, live like us. To understand our ways, walk in our shoes. Did not Jesus Christ say something like this?"
"He said sandals. What's your point?"
"My point. You have started this war and made it into an unholy mess. Saddam was a bad man . . . yes, yes, we all knew this--I admit we do not mind seeing him gone. A barbarian. A stain to our Arab reputation. There is a thing, however, worse than Saddam. A Shiite-ruled Iraq, a puppet, or an ally of Iran."
"Go on."
"Who brought the Shia to power in Iran in the first place?"
"The Shiites?"
"No, your President Jimmy Carter caused this. In 1979 he drove Shah Pahlavi from power in Iran, and he opened the door for Khomeini, his ayatollahs, and their Shia revolution. An act of principled moralism, your President called it. America no longer would soil itself by aligning with a despot, he swore. For his moral convenience and ignorant naivete, he destabilized our entire region."
"Maybe he thought he couldn't screw it up worse than you screwed it up yourselves," I replied.
"Instability of our own making is one thing. Instability from foreign meddling is another."
While I tried to think through this piece of Arab reasoning, he continued, "Afterward came the eight-year Iran-Iraqi war, the Shiite terrorism in Lebanon, and the Iranian threat to carry their revolution into all our countries. Millions of deaths, because of your President, because of America."
He sort of smiled at me and said, "In your vernacular, this sucked." The smile was nasty and short-lived, and he continued, "Now the Iranians are developing a nuclear bomb, and if their Shia allies in Iraq win power, you will have left a mortal threat on our doorstep. Do you not understand this?"
I recalled what we had learned about Cliff Daniels and Mahmoud Charabi, and a light flashed on. I glanced at Phyllis. If this guy became privy to our suspicions about Charabi's flimflammery vis-a-vis America and Iran, the result would be a geopolitical earthquake. I glanced at Bian. She glanced back with silent understanding. I replied noncommittally, "Explain it better."
"Why? You Americans never listen. You are the most insensitive, self-indulgent, self-righteous people on earth."
"Well . . . it is hard being great."
This pissed him off, as it was meant to. He said, "You think the world is your big playground. Your ignorance is awesome. There is an Arab saying that translates something