Asymmetry - Lisa Halliday Page 0,68
offspring of consanguineous couples. The closer the relationship, the greater the proportion of shared genes. The greater the proportion of shared genes, the greater the risk their offspring will be homozygous for the shared gene. In other words, autosomal recessive disorders are especially common in certain cultures in which, for enduring tribal reasons—to strengthen family ties, maintain a woman’s status within the hierarchy, facilitate the finding of suitable partners, and preserve a family’s traditions, values, property, and wealth—it is not only acceptable but standard and even encouraged to marry your first cousin.
IN DECEMBER OF 2003, approximately seven months after Bush declared his mission accomplished and the UN lifted a majority of its sanctions against Iraq, I saw my brother again for the first time in thirteen years. I was living in West Hollywood, three semesters into my economics PhD, and I had flown from LAX to Paris to Amman, at which point a driver was supposed to pick me up at the airport and take me to the hotel where my parents, who had traveled from Bay Ridge, were waiting for me to meet them. From Amman we would be driven across the desert to Baghdad, a journey that takes some ten hours. Before sanctions, and then the invasion, one could fly from Amman to Baghdad in less than one hour, such that reaching Amman meant you were almost there. Now, it meant you were only about halfway there.
When I got to the airport, there was no driver. Or rather, there were plenty of drivers, all of them keen for my custom, but none holding a sign bearing my name. At some point I realized that the address of the hotel in which my parents were staying was written in a notebook I’d left in the facing seat back of my flight to Charles de Gaulle. After about an hour, I gave up trying to find our arranged liaison and, via a series of leery interviews, identified a man willing to take me to up to five different hotels for a flat fare of 250,000 dinars, or about eighty dollars.
In the car, when this man heard that I was ultimately destined for Baghdad, he became delirious with ambition. I take you! I take you right now! Be there by morning!
Quite possibly, this was an offer made with the intention of selling me to kidnappers in the desert. I thanked the man and explained politely that I wanted to rest a little at my hotel before continuing my journey. At this the driver looked not only undaunted but delighted. Yes! Perfect. You rest, and I’ll come back later and take you in the morning. He might as well have said: Even better. I’ll just make some arrangements to sell you in the desert and then we’ll be ready to go.
My parents were at the third hotel. When I approached the front desk, the receptionist was on the phone. After a moment he placed the receiver on his shoulder and I asked if a Mr. Ala Jaafari and his wife were among his guests. And you are? Their son. The receptionist’s eyebrows went up. He pointed at the receiver on his shoulder. This is your driver. He wants to know where you are. Where is he? I asked. At the airport, said the receptionist. No, I said. I’ve just come from the airport, and I swear it to you: he wasn’t there. The receptionist nodded, inspecting me kindly, then returned the receiver to his ear and communicated my message into the phone. A muffled string of invective ensued, making both of us wince. Then the receptionist gave me another long look, as if he were listening to someone describe me—as one describes a wallet or a watch that has been lost—and, as the voice on the other end continued to chew him out, he hung up.
You know what? said the receptionist, shaking his head. I know this guy. He wasn’t there.
When my mother opened the door she was wearing a head scarf. Typically she did not wear one in Bay Ridge and for the first time I thought the hard black oval around her face gave unflattering emphasis to her jowls. She had also, owing to her age, taken to walking at a slight forward angle, as if leaning in the right direction might preserve or even generate momentum. Lately, when I called home and spoke to my father, he would answer questions as to how he and my mother were doing