Page 59 of The Moon Also Rises
“To you both!” I say as I reach for my own glass, which is only half-full.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Rami?” Lionel asks.
“Oh, he doesn’t drink,” I say, waving my hand in the air.
“Why is that?” Luigi asks, and he doesn’t sound anything but genuinely curious.
I open my mouth to reply but then realise I don’t have a reply. Thankfully, working in hospitality for the last twenty years has prepared me well for such moments and I smooth over my momentary panic with a broad smile.
“He’s Muslim,” I say, and it feels like a leap but possibly not a lie. I don’t actually know why Rami doesn’t drink, or if he is indeed a Muslim, but I know it’s an explanation that will pass well.
“He’s Muslim and he’s queer,” Lionel says slowly as if he’s not sure these words are allowed in the same sentence. “Wow.”
It’s my personal experience of living as a gay man in Morocco and also having very brief relationships with Muslim men over the years that has me prepared with an answer for this.
“It’s much the same as being Christian and gay. Many of the ways the Quran has been interpreted to be anti-queer can easily be interpreted in a very different way with an alternative translation or just with an alternative approach. Many queer Muslims also refer to the saying that Allah made us all different, as we are, and that Allah makes no mistakes. Besides, Rami is Iranian, a country that was actually very liberal and forward-thinking until the Revolution, which is the reason his parents left.”
Luigi coughs. “Goodness. We’ve already got to religion and politics. And we haven’t even sat down to eat!”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I was being a bit nosey. But I just respect Rami a lot for having… principles.”
Unsure if Lionel is referring to Rami’s sobriety or to his possibly fake religious beliefs that I have bestowed on him, there’s no time to clarify as the doorbell goes again.
“That will be Rami!” I say and place my glass down. After pushing the button on the intercom, I excuse myself and jog down to the front door, hoping Lionel and Luigi don’t notice that I pull the kitchen door shut behind me. I’m standing at the open front door tapping my foot and chewing on my nails when I see Rami walk out of the lift and start walking towards me looking… looking annoyingly attractive.
Dressed as always in all black, this evening he’s wearing jeans and a shirt that is unbuttoned at the neck, low enough for me to catch a glimpse of dark hairs lining his light brown skin. My stomach swirls in on itself and I know it has nothing to do with the alcohol or the antihistamines or the way I skipped lunch so I’d have a little extra cash to spend on food supplies for this dinner.
“Hey,” he says, and I see he’s carrying a box in his hands. “I’m sorry I’m a little later than I said I’d be but I went to Edgware Road after work. Really wanted to get us some someghorabieh. They’re Persian almond cookies. We could have them as a dessert, or maybe a nice after-dinner treat with coffee. Or you can just shove them in the bin if you want. Whatever.”
Is Rami nervous? Is that why his smile is a little wonky and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows once, then twice?
There’s no time to debate this because I only have seconds, not even minutes, so I grab Rami’s arm that isn’t carrying the box and I pull him inside my flat and a few steps down the corridor. Pushing open a door, I pull him in after me and then close the door. Rami takes the room in for a second – my neatly made bed, my wardrobe and the bedside tables – then turns back to me.
“You want a quickie before dinner?” he asks and I am only alarmed by his joke for a split second before my focus and resolve return.
“You don’t drink because you’re Muslim,” I tell him.
“Pardon?”
“They just asked me why you don’t drink and that’s what I reached for.”
“Okay, I mean it’s technically true but not completely…”
“Well, tonight it’s true in all senses. And according to you, Allah is completely cool about you being queer.”
Rami’s eyes widen and he rocks back on his heels. “Is he now? When did he call you to let you know that? Or did he send an email?”
“Rami! Don’t be pedantic. This is serious!”
“Come on, Jake, it’s not really serious. It’s actually the opposite of serious. It’s practically a Shakespearean comedy.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Do you still want to do this? Because if you don’t, it’s best you turn around and go right now.” I don’t intend to point at the door in such a dramatic fashion, but it comes far too easily.
Rami turns to set the box down on the chest of drawers behind him and then he uses his hands to hold my upper arms.
“Jake, I don’t drink because I don’t like drinking. I was raised Muslim but stopped practicing when I was in my teens. And yes, I’m queer and I happen to agree thatifAllah exists, he would be very cool with that.”
“Okay, so we’re on the same page.” I nod, realising just how worked up I was, now I feel slightly calmer.
