Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Expat Tribunal
That Sunday, I arrived at brunch at the Intercontinental Hotel to meet up with Henrietta without her husband, and a group of other expatriates that we were friendly with. Henrietta just returned from three weeks of home leave in the United States. I was running a bit late, having been up late into the night with Yulia, who was still sleeping in my apartment. Everyone had ordered already and I saw Henrietta nodding her head slowly and incredulously, “it just ain’t right,” she clucked, “it ain’t right.”
It was not my lateness; but that Alan had been blabbing – to some Americans at church that morning and to some folks at an embassy party the night before to which I was invited, but did not show up to. The rumor seemed to have caused a minor sensation among the Tashkent expatriate community, but I hadn’t been aware of it – enjoying my time with Yulia. Finally, in the company of expatriates, I felt like I was facing a tribunal, one albeit, well fueled with mimosas and bloody marys.
“I go away for a few weeks and what happens?” Henrietta said addressing me with mock amusement. “Has all of Tashkent gone mad? What is this that they’re saying about you, dear? Please tell me that it’s not true and just a nasty rumor.”
I squirmed in my seat. “Have you all ordered already?”
“Come on,” chimed in Mary, a lawyer in her mid-30’s who didn’t think much of Uzbekistan or the people or the culture, or the women. “Fess up! It’s true, isn’t it?”
Steve interjected. He was a teacher at the International school who seemed to be in Uzbekistan purely because he was able to score with gorgeous women here -- women who, if they were back in the US, probably wouldn’t even give him the time of day. “It’s cool – come on, cut him some slack. It’s cool,” he patted me on the back. “I just never heard of a guy going from gay to straight.”
“Unless,” Rick said, “that’s your modus operandi, where you play the gay guy -- because the chicks seem to really dig that and use that to get in with them. That’s a pretty smart tactic..”
“You know that she probably sees you as a ticket to ride,” Mary said. “She’s just after a green card.”
Even Henrietta sadly agreed, “or your money.”
“Guys, you don’t even know her, before you start saying things about her.” I said. “And there’s no justice for me on this bloody planet – if I’m gay here, then I have problems…If I’m straight, then I get other problems. There’s no way I can win.”
“We just didn’t think you were bisexual. We thought you were just plain gay.” Mary said. “Very gay.”
“Can we change the subject now?” Steve asked.
“Thank you. Enough of the tribunal” I said. The waiter arrived with everyone’s food and we ate pretty much in silence, making small talk about the quality of the bacon and the omelettes and that the coffee wasn’t very good and how there wasn’t any good coffee in Tashkent. And then at the end of the meal, Henrietta cheekily asked, “so, when are you going to dump her?” ¶ 8:11 AM
That Sunday, I arrived at brunch at the Intercontinental Hotel to meet up with Henrietta without her husband, and a group of other expatriates that we were friendly with. Henrietta just returned from three weeks of home leave in the United States. I was running a bit late, having been up late into the night with Yulia, who was still sleeping in my apartment. Everyone had ordered already and I saw Henrietta nodding her head slowly and incredulously, “it just ain’t right,” she clucked, “it ain’t right.”
It was not my lateness; but that Alan had been blabbing – to some Americans at church that morning and to some folks at an embassy party the night before to which I was invited, but did not show up to. The rumor seemed to have caused a minor sensation among the Tashkent expatriate community, but I hadn’t been aware of it – enjoying my time with Yulia. Finally, in the company of expatriates, I felt like I was facing a tribunal, one albeit, well fueled with mimosas and bloody marys.
“I go away for a few weeks and what happens?” Henrietta said addressing me with mock amusement. “Has all of Tashkent gone mad? What is this that they’re saying about you, dear? Please tell me that it’s not true and just a nasty rumor.”
I squirmed in my seat. “Have you all ordered already?”
“Come on,” chimed in Mary, a lawyer in her mid-30’s who didn’t think much of Uzbekistan or the people or the culture, or the women. “Fess up! It’s true, isn’t it?”
Steve interjected. He was a teacher at the International school who seemed to be in Uzbekistan purely because he was able to score with gorgeous women here -- women who, if they were back in the US, probably wouldn’t even give him the time of day. “It’s cool – come on, cut him some slack. It’s cool,” he patted me on the back. “I just never heard of a guy going from gay to straight.”
“Unless,” Rick said, “that’s your modus operandi, where you play the gay guy -- because the chicks seem to really dig that and use that to get in with them. That’s a pretty smart tactic..”
“You know that she probably sees you as a ticket to ride,” Mary said. “She’s just after a green card.”
Even Henrietta sadly agreed, “or your money.”
“Guys, you don’t even know her, before you start saying things about her.” I said. “And there’s no justice for me on this bloody planet – if I’m gay here, then I have problems…If I’m straight, then I get other problems. There’s no way I can win.”
“We just didn’t think you were bisexual. We thought you were just plain gay.” Mary said. “Very gay.”
“Can we change the subject now?” Steve asked.
“Thank you. Enough of the tribunal” I said. The waiter arrived with everyone’s food and we ate pretty much in silence, making small talk about the quality of the bacon and the omelettes and that the coffee wasn’t very good and how there wasn’t any good coffee in Tashkent. And then at the end of the meal, Henrietta cheekily asked, “so, when are you going to dump her?” ¶ 8:11 AM
