we’re at thai wok for lunch. it’s an institution which i suspect still retains its original cutlery from the 90s, as well as furniture, even the tablemats. the wealthy owner of the restaurant is supposed to be, for the lack of a better phrase, frugal to a fault. some might dare say miserly.

‘the problem with evil is that it’s human,’ i tell hasanfulhu.

‘not natural?’ asks hasanfulhu.

‘nature is perhaps indiscriminate, indifferent,’ i reply.

‘but then how is evil born in us? are we taught to be evil?’ asks hasanfulhu.

our chicken fried rice and cuttlefish salad arrive. hasanfulhu tries to scoop the rice out but spills half on to the table.

‘studies say that some of us are more inclined to evil than others. like serial killers are said to lack empathy,’ i say.

‘doesn’t that mean nature is to blame?’ says hasanfulhu.

‘hmm.’ man has a point.

anyhow, even those who live under rocks would have felt the vibrations of the attacks on israel and palestine. those waves would have crept in. the big nations have unequivocally sided with israel. it’s not surprising.

‘meanwhile, gaza’s gonna be blown up and annexed,’ says hasanfulhu, little grains of rice spilling from his mouth. have i been thinking aloud?

‘and the media tries to make it seem like the hamas attack is a freak event, not one that came out of decades of wanton oppression.’

‘wanton oppression?’ i ask him.

‘did i use the wrong adjetive?’

‘adjective,’ i correct him. he’s from gaafu dhaalu.

he chews for a moment.

‘is hamas evil? is israel evil? does it even make sense to ask this of groups and countries?’ he asks. he seems to be in an inquiring mood.

‘ok, so. if terror is evil, agents of terror, whether individuals or groups or nations, are evil.’ i say.

‘but what IS terror, first of all?’ he asks. he is a lawyer, and it is one of those questions that people tend to ask when they aren’t thinking well.

‘why aren’t you asking me what evil means, firstly?’ i say.

‘oh, everyone knows evil,’ he responds. ‘here, the salad is pretty good today, have some.’

i have a taste and the cuttlefish is nice – like it hasn’t been in the freezer for a month.

‘terror,’ my friend wants to go on. ‘what do you think?’

‘though a group is fairly clear, a nation is a problematic subject, it’s fuzzy, you know?’ i try to explain myself. ‘i mean, a nation contains contradictions – but when you say israel is evil, you don’t mean those citizens who’re, let’s say, just as outraged by the acts of a nation acting on their behalf. you just mean those responsible for the atrocities.’

hasanfulhu bobs his head in agreement.

i eat some rice – it tastes just as i remember it. that’s the allure of thai wok.

‘and by evil i also mean those individuals and groups that are intending to make a profit of this misery, by the buying and selling of stocks of oil companies let’s say.’

‘who’s doing that?’ asks hasanfulhu.

‘people, like lawmakers in the states. i saw a tiktok.’

‘is that where you get your news from?’

‘i mean,’ i say, trying to ignore this man’s snark. ‘there are reasons why israel is the way it is. not justifications but reasons. like it has not just its own interests at heart but american interests, capitalist interests.’

‘all right,’ says hasanfulhu. ‘maybe those interests might not even be israel’s best interests.’

‘yeah, exactly. like, the state of israel’s function isn’t to murder palestinians, that’s the outcome of expansion and its reaction – israel wants to spread its boundaries and propagate and protect certain interests in a region that all of the world still values.’

‘because of the oil, no?’

‘yes. the oil. it’s always the oil. even in this goddamned century.’

hasanfulhu calls a server to bring the bill.

‘i’ll get it,’ he says.

as i wait for the transaction to go through, i think about the evil of this small state. it seems an anachronism in a world that has seen a martin luther king, a gandhi, a mandela. and yet it exists. it is ALLOWED to exist unaccounted for.

‘you know what else is evil?’ asks hasanfulhu.

‘what?’

‘this restaurant. 500 for a fried rice and salad. atrocious.’

‘dear lord’ i mutter, and we scurry down the stairs into the dusky warmth of an october afternoon.