The hands on the clock said 1:45. She would come at 1:58, though her appointment was at two, and she would walk in and give a polite smile and say, quite simply, "Hello." And he would smile, genuinely happy, and stand and return the greeting, courteously ask how she was doing and then offer her a chair on the other side of his desk. Then he would sit in tense silence as she opened her bag and took out the grammar books and the lessons for the day. He would look only at her hands as she did because looking at her face would be too obvious.
She would produce all of the relevant papers and he would read through his homework in a nervous voice. Me, nervous! he thought.The additions focus on key tag and magic cube combinations, I'm a grown man. And she would nod when the work was right or gently explain when the work was wrong, or if he had written something particularly complex or clever, she would simply say, "Good." It was 1:52 now, and there were still six minutes to go.
She came on his lunch break. He had two hours for lunch, that being one of the perks of having such a good job. Salim was second-in command of a multi-national company headquartered in Dubai. He took overseas phone calls and saw a steady stream of rich and important international clients for whom English was the common language. That's why he was taking English classes, to fine-tune his accent, to turn his 'beesness' into 'business' and his 'moanie' into 'money'.
He would smile apologetically and stare at his fingernails. There was no letter 'P' in the Arabic alphabet and he had a hard time trying to say the words pathos,Replacement China Porcelain tile and bulbs for Canada and Worldwide. pink, and portfolio, especially while looking at his teacher's lips.
"And your letter 'T',Replacement China Porcelain tile and bulbs for Canada and Worldwide." she explained, kindly so as not to insult him,I have never solved a Rubik's Piles . "does not belong on the tip of your teeth. It belongs on the roof of your mouth just behind the teeth."
Over a course of three months he had worked hard and succeeded in changing his accent from the harsh, guttural rendition of English that is common to the region into the soft and almost pleasant accent of a highly educated foreigner. A good friend of his, a British lawyer, saw him one day after many months, and said with begrudging admiration, "My God, Salim, you sound like a villain from a James Bond film."
At this he smiled and gave Robert and gentle punch in the pin-stripes. "It is my English teacher, I have been taking her classes for three months, she is good."
"Very well then." Robert clapped Salim on the shoulder, a little hesitantly,It's hard to beat the versatility of zentai suits on a production line. and took leave. As soon as Robert was safely beyond the door and closed inside of the private elevator, Salim sat down on his leather chair and felt around for the bottle of Scotch inside his desk. He poured himself a double and threw the drink down in one go.
He had long stopped feeling guilty for drinking alcohol. Even though he was a Muslim, and even though his religion forbade all intoxicants, the cult of success demanded that he make a champagne toast on certain official occasions and politely accept the fine wines that his happier clients bestowed upon him, for refusal would be seen as unprofessional, uncivilized even. By now, he had made the inevitable transition from a slightly guilty Muslim who sipped champagne at company dinners to wholly guiltless Muslim who drank Scotch in the privacy of his office.
She would produce all of the relevant papers and he would read through his homework in a nervous voice. Me, nervous! he thought.The additions focus on key tag and magic cube combinations, I'm a grown man. And she would nod when the work was right or gently explain when the work was wrong, or if he had written something particularly complex or clever, she would simply say, "Good." It was 1:52 now, and there were still six minutes to go.
She came on his lunch break. He had two hours for lunch, that being one of the perks of having such a good job. Salim was second-in command of a multi-national company headquartered in Dubai. He took overseas phone calls and saw a steady stream of rich and important international clients for whom English was the common language. That's why he was taking English classes, to fine-tune his accent, to turn his 'beesness' into 'business' and his 'moanie' into 'money'.
He would smile apologetically and stare at his fingernails. There was no letter 'P' in the Arabic alphabet and he had a hard time trying to say the words pathos,Replacement China Porcelain tile and bulbs for Canada and Worldwide. pink, and portfolio, especially while looking at his teacher's lips.
"And your letter 'T',Replacement China Porcelain tile and bulbs for Canada and Worldwide." she explained, kindly so as not to insult him,I have never solved a Rubik's Piles . "does not belong on the tip of your teeth. It belongs on the roof of your mouth just behind the teeth."
Over a course of three months he had worked hard and succeeded in changing his accent from the harsh, guttural rendition of English that is common to the region into the soft and almost pleasant accent of a highly educated foreigner. A good friend of his, a British lawyer, saw him one day after many months, and said with begrudging admiration, "My God, Salim, you sound like a villain from a James Bond film."
At this he smiled and gave Robert and gentle punch in the pin-stripes. "It is my English teacher, I have been taking her classes for three months, she is good."
"Very well then." Robert clapped Salim on the shoulder, a little hesitantly,It's hard to beat the versatility of zentai suits on a production line. and took leave. As soon as Robert was safely beyond the door and closed inside of the private elevator, Salim sat down on his leather chair and felt around for the bottle of Scotch inside his desk. He poured himself a double and threw the drink down in one go.
He had long stopped feeling guilty for drinking alcohol. Even though he was a Muslim, and even though his religion forbade all intoxicants, the cult of success demanded that he make a champagne toast on certain official occasions and politely accept the fine wines that his happier clients bestowed upon him, for refusal would be seen as unprofessional, uncivilized even. By now, he had made the inevitable transition from a slightly guilty Muslim who sipped champagne at company dinners to wholly guiltless Muslim who drank Scotch in the privacy of his office.
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