Benzehabe Quotes

The next day, the cycle starts again. We're set out like decorative plates in this cavernous architecture, and such a craggy dining hall it is. Not exactly a Claude Monet cottage, more of a Medieval bastion - a vestige of Roman conquests. It still moans with the rickety sounds of age. I can almost hear the grumblings of ancient inhabitants. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Zoe stopped one last time in front of the mirror, adjusting her new American dress. She didn't see the dress, however. She saw what the big Russian did to her. She saw what al-Qaeda did to her. She saw a person shunned by her Persian village. She saw ugliness. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw deficiency. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

No." The smile had left Sarah's voice. "He still works for the Basij. Beware of weak men, little sister. He never returned to help, not even to express condolences for Father. Find a strong man. Get a man who will stand up for you, even if it means he has to fight the whole world. There is nothing more dangerous than a weak man. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Li, a willowy manboy with a shock of black hair atop a mouthful of bad teeth was the brother-in-law he had introduced to industrial espionage several years back. Rong often regretted that. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Civil order mattered.
Zoe didn't know why Farah continued to wear the headscarf, but most Middle-Eastern women wore modest clothing to anchor themselves to a moral order, in an upside-down world.
Zoe wore the chador as a protective shell, to erase herself, to avoid thinking, to envelop herself in the complete custody of her adopted Muslim sisters. In their care she would come out healed, able to process the bigotry that caused the murder of her Jewish parents. Then, when she was whole again, she would reclaim her place in the world.
Though others couldn't see it, behind the nameless, shapeless, Middle-Eastern garb, she was healing. The chador cocooned and nurtured her. Dour exteriors meant blossoming interiors . . . to Zoe. Judaism centered her, but Islam shielded her. Both served their purpose . . . for now. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Dean Rolfe squirmed, coughed, and looked everywhere except in Frank's eyes. To do what was fraught with legal ramifications. These were the words he had carefully avoided, the hidden croutons in his carefully prepared word salad. "To give you the reach to keep tabs on certain people, no matter where they go. You know . . . a surveillance system. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

She closed the distance between them and gave him a tentative hug. He was liberally cologned, with a scent that incited bewildering memories. She circled him, not knowing why. She had only met him a few weeks back, yet tonight, something about him triggered old memories, of a time, a person.
Maybe not.
What she did know, he lacked that special ingredient that moved her. Dull as ditch water. He was sufficiently polite, but that was about all she could say. –Michael Benzehabe, from the novel Unassimilated ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Mario's high spirits soon took a somber turn. He rolled himself closer to Frank. "I need this job, but you were right. More than a job, I need a way out."
Frank had him. He was about to detour the rest of Mario's life. Build a team, deploy them, scoop up the data, get the hell out of town. Frank had left an unhappy trail of ruined technicians. Spies do that kind of shit, were his usual parting words. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

His office was a spider's lair of silver thread and tempting promises, a page out of Power Architecture Magazine. The dean copied the design from President Lyndon Johnson's old senate office. The room narrowed toward his desk, an architectural device that channeled all eyes toward the dean, and his chair was slightly elevated, forcing visitors to look up. The two visitors' chairs were both lowered and oversized, making each guest feel like a child, swimming in too much chair. His architect had assured him it was a subliminal masterpiece. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

In the privacy of her century-worn house she donned an old burka to stay warm. Years earlier, the ragged garment had been discarded by her eldest sister, Sarah. Zoe secretly retrieved it so she could wrap herself in its fond memories. Those memories, good and bad, quickened her weary heart. Only one person could help when she got nerved-up. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Diplomacy is so weak and prosaic. Diplomacy must never become an end, itself. Facts are so much more important in science. Yet, I'm beginning to appreciate the value of a soft word and a smile. --Unassimilated pg 294 ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Pleading for forgiveness was always on the tip of her tongue. She had tried doing a good thing, but because of one thoughtless act, his two beautiful daughters were brutally raped, and running to the other side of the world hadn't helped. Because of her, two innocent ADP employees were dead. She was older but not a shekel wiser, still opening the wrong doors. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Luz cleared her throat. "I've always said, 'Getting a foothold in a country that doesn't want you is daunting, but determination and good manners can go a long way.' So, be careful. Gays are outsiders too . . . just like us."
Luz smiled. "But, life in the shadows isn't so bad."
"You don't have a Green Card?" Zoe asked.
"No. And I'm not attracted to men. But I'll never be Mexican again. I'm a child of free enterprise, wandering through an international marketplace. I may only work in a nail salon, but at least I'm part of America's circus of self-invention. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

I dread dinner with Father. I dread his suffocating shroud of silence. I dread his end-of-day rituals. Most of all, I detest what comes last: his lock-up-for-the-night clatter. These sounds rasp my already fragile nerves. Click, clang, grind, zing, clap, schlik: horrid sounds. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Saul stared at his Whisky Sour. He hadn't heard from Zoe in about a week. Maybe she had lost interest.
All at once, the room was filled with people laughing, talking about how wonderful it was to be a couple. He was mildly amused at how disconcerting being alone felt. He had met Zoe about a month ago, when he helped her cross a busy boulevard. Yet, it seemed like he had known her for years.
He stepped outside to call and leave another message. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Dora Flores was one of the few people Tom confided in. She reported to him as Cyber Division's Inner-Office Field Support. She still had a slight Mexican flavor in her pronunciations, and he liked it. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Rong Kang needed a college town that still embraced yesteryear, a place largely unknown to outsiders, a base where he could conspire at white linen tables, unnoticed. Claremont Village fit the bill. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

The dean yanked the wrinkles from his suit vest. He adjusted his spectacles and, after a side-to-side waggle of the head, he tightened his bow tie. Placing both hands flat on his desk, he tipped forward, and radiated a practice glare--Superman style. Small wonder the visitor's chair in front of him didn't burst into flames. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Zoe did what civilized people do when they freak out: she drank tea. She had walked from her little bungalow to Coffee & Tea. It was always filled with the well-educated, the complicated, the people who read books with captivating titles. A perfect place to ignore and be ignored. She found the anonymity delicious. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

People, like buildings, have facades. Tom created his. His walk was a feat. It had taken him twenty years of killing bad guys and a pair of Tony Lama boots to perfect the illusion. He made sure that everyone felt it by the third clunk of his boot heel. When he entered a crime scene there was a hush, and no one ever quite knew why they were holding their breath. But he did. A crime scene was theater and the stage was his. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe

Saul had gained his six-foot frame at sixteen, but his muscles didn't arrive until his early twenties. Between those lost years, he was a gangly, uncoordinated klutz. He was told that he could improve his dancing by watching himself in the mirror. He tried. What he saw was so repulsive that he resolved never to inflict himself on a dance partner.
These days, Saul hid those memories behind weight lifting and jogging. His new athletic physique hid his aimless decade as an outsider, an odd and lonely kid--as he remembered it. ~ Michael Ben Zehabe