by N G Osborne
“Last year my father received fifty marriage proposals alone.”
The Prince pauses.
“I assume that means your sister doesn’t wear the burqa.”
“To my shame, my father forces her not to, but Noor’s a religious woman, literate, reads the Quran in Arabic every day. And strong too. Badia is such a delicate flower, sometimes you fear the wind could snap her in two.”
Unlike your deceased wife, Noor will be able to take a beating.
The Prince switches the dumbbell to his left hand.
“How old is your sister?” the Prince says.
“Twenty-one, your Highness.”
“This Badia is sixteen, correct?”
“She is.”
The Prince grunts, and Tariq castigates himself.
Why didn’t you lie, you fool, say Noor was seventeen?
The Prince drops the dumbbell on the floor. A bodyguard returns it to the rack.
“And she lives in a refugee camp?”
“She does. Once my family was of some means, but now they could not be much poorer.”
The Prince stands. A guard hands him a glass of water, and he gulps it down.
“Can I see her?” the Prince says.
“I have a photo,” Tariq says.
He pulls out a faded photo of he and Noor from when she was twelve. The Prince studies it.
To think we were once friends.
“How do I know she hasn’t changed?” the Prince says.
“I assure you she is more beautiful than ever. I could bring her here this Friday.”
“No, the refugee camp’s fine. It’s been a while since I’ve been to one.”
Tariq wills himself to count to ten. On eight the Prince speaks up.
“What’s troubling you, Tariq?”
“Salim Afridi will think I betrayed him.”
“It’s not up to Salim Afridi whom I marry.”
“I understand but I hope you realize the delicate nature of the situation.”
“Then we’ll arrange it so he won’t know a thing. First thing Friday you and I will go see her. Understood?”
Tariq nods, and the Prince heads for the door. A servant opens it from the other side, and the Prince turns back.
“It’d be quite something, wouldn’t it?” he says. “All these pompous fools throwing their daughters at me, and I go and marry some miserable refugee.”
It’d be quite something indeed.
FIFTEEN
“ARE THEY PERFORMING any better?”
Charlie looks up from sketching the recruits to see Wali standing there.
“I must have told them a hundred times to lie on their stomachs.”
Wali takes the recruits in. They are on their knees poking the ground with metal probes. The courtyard has so many holes in it a visitor might suspect a rabbit infestation.
“Maybe they need a rest.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
Charlie puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles. The recruits turn his direction.
“Okay, we’re done. See you tomorrow.”
The recruits stagger over to a corrugated porch where some water jugs sit. Charlie sees Obaidullah coming their direction. He grabs Wali’s arm.
“Let’s get out of here.”
They walk towards the main building.
“So what’s up?” he says.
“I have good news. My friend was able to place us on the list for the next survey expedition—”
“That’s awesome.”
“Unfortunately when Mr. Kaymar saw your name on it, he took it off.”
“I thought you said your friend had the final say.”
“He says in all his years, he has never come across a situation like this. This Mr. Kaymar must really despise you.”
Charlie opens the lobby door and shuts it behind them.
“Can your friend do anything?” Charlie says.
“Mr. Kaymar said he’d be sacked if he put that ‘cocksucker back on’. You were the cocksucker he was referring to.”
Charlie lights a cigarette.
“So what you’re saying is I’m blackballed?”
“Blackballed?”
Wali gets out his notepad and pen.
“You know, shut out, excluded, motherfucking banished from these trips.”
“If that is the definition then, yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Fuck.”
Charlie looks across to see Qasim smiling at him from his office. He gives him a weak wave..
“You should buy him a gift?” Wali says.
“He’s not some corrupt official, Wali.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you bribe him.”
“A gift’s a bribe.”
“Or it can be just a gift.”
Charlie doesn’t have the strength to argue the point.
“Okay, like what?” Charlie says.
“Johnny Walker—that’s a favorite of the foreigners.”
“Where am I going to find Johnny Walker round here?”
“Don’t worry yourself, I have contacts.”
“How much?”
“Well in this country if it’s a small favor you require you give Red Label, if it’s a medium favor Black Label and if you need a big one, well then you must bring Blue Label.”
“Pretty much told him to go fuck himself.”
“Then I would definitely suggest Blue Label.”
Charlie pulls out his wallet.
“How much you need?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
Charlie winces and hands Wali two crisp one hundred dollar bills.
“Keep the change,” Charlie says.
“I’ll go to the smugglers’ bazaar Friday and buy your gift.”
Charlie pulls out a twenty dollar bill.
“Can you get sneakers in the smuggler’s bazaar?” Charlie says.
“Of course, counterfeit naturally, but excellent counterfeits. What size do you require?”
“Not for me, for you. You need a good pair.”
Wali grins.
“You know Mr. Matthews you are the very best friend I have ever had.”
***
THE BOTTLE OF Blue Label sits on the desk. With the evening sun shining through it, it looks like an ingot of gold.
“I was out of order,” Charlie says.
Jurgen sits back in his chair, his lean fingers intertwined.
“Suppose I got defensive,” Charlie continues, “I lashed out, no excuse.”
“You understand, as an employee of the United Nations, I’m duty bound to report any and all attempts to bribe me.”
“It’s just a gift.”
“So you don’t want to go on a survey expedition?”
“I wanted to say sorry.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Charlie stares at the whisky.
God I could do with a slug right now.
“You know when you go out with someone—someone you really dig but you’ve had a shitty day, I don’t know, your boss kicked your ass or you and your buddy got in a fight—and instead of treating her right you take it out on her instead. Well the next day you feel bad so you send flowers. Now it’s not like you still don’t want to get with her, hell that’s why you went on the date in the first place, but really at the end of the day you just want to say you’re sorry.”
“So you’re comparing me to some floozy back in the States?” Jurgen says.
“No—yes—maybe that wasn’t the best analogy.”
“Mr. Matthews, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
“If I were you, I’d just have a shot of that beauty—it’s amazing how it makes everything seem right.”
Jurgen stands up and retrieves two glasses from a nearby cabinet.
“My sources tell me your operation is a joke; haphazard training, ineffectual management, substandard protocols.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“You didn’t give it much t
hought when you applied for your position, did you?”
“Guilty again.”
“Well now you’re stuck here why don’t you try and make something of it?”
Jurgen twists off the top and pours each of them a thimbleful. He hands a glass to Charlie before breathing in the aroma from his own.
“What it remind you of?” Charlie says.
“I was in Geneva; I’d just been offered this job and my partner and I, we went over to the President Wilson and he ordered me a glass. The funny thing is I never drink whisky, actually I’ve an aversion to it, yet he insisted and, my God, if it wasn’t the smoothest drink I’ve ever tasted.”
“Are you still with him?”
Jurgen shakes his head.
“He’s an architect back in Munich, and besides the idea of two men living together out here…”
Jurgen shrugs.
“Maybe him buying you that drink, maybe it was his way of saying goodbye,” Charlie says.
Jurgen takes a sip.
“I never thought of that,” he says. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I was drinking at my own funeral.”
Charlie takes the opportunity to take a sip.
Shit, it really is nectar.
“Your friend, Ivor, you are aware he’s CIA?”
Charlie’s glass hovers mid air.
“Can’t be a very good spy if everyone knows,” Charlie says.
“Oh, he’s very good—there’s no one more expert at manipulating the mujahideen groups. Whenever we have an expedition I always call him in advance to make sure we receive safe passage.”
“Why you telling me this?”
“Thought you should know.”
“Doesn’t make me like him any less.”
“Given your age I suspect it’ll make you like him even more. Just be careful that’s all; you may think I was being discourteous when I called you naïve but you are. I look at you and see myself twenty years ago.”
“What were you doing twenty years ago?”
“I was marching in the streets of Frankfurt.”
“I’m not much of a marcher.”
“Maybe you haven’t found the right cause yet.”
Jurgen brings the glass to his lips and knocks back what remains.
“Thank you for this,” Jurgen says, “it was a sweet gesture. I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.”
“No, you’re not.”
Jurgen smiles.
“I’ll say one thing about you, Charlie, like Scotch you’re an acquired taste.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Charlie stands and heads for the door.
“By the way,” Jurgen says, “we’ve an expedition scheduled at the end of the week.”
Charlie turns back.
“It might do you some good to have Shamsurahman show you what we’re trying to achieve out here.”
“Who’s Shamsurahman?”
“Oh, you’ll see. Have your colleague call his friend over here.”
“Thanks, Jurgen.”
Jurgen picks up the bottle and pours himself another glass.
“Likewise.”
Charlie heads downstairs to the waiting room. Wali is chatting with a group of Afghan employees. He’s hiked his shalwar pants up high so no one can fail to miss the bright white Nike Air Max sneakers on his feet.
Wali catches sight of Charlie and excuses himself.
“You’re a genius,” Charlie says.
SIXTEEN
NOOR HEARS SOMEONE cough and looks up from the assignment she’s marking. Miss Suha has somehow crept into the teachers’ room without her noticing.
“You have a guest,” Miss Suha says.
Elma.
Noor hurries for the door.
“A Mr. Skeppar.”
Noor looks back at Miss Suha.
“Young man, Swedish, says your fathers were friends years back.”
None of this makes any sense. Noor’s never heard her father mention a man named Skeppar.
A hideous thought strikes her.
“What does he look like?” she says.
“Tall, thin—a scar down his left cheek.”
Oh Lord, why am I tormented so?
“Would you please tell him I’m indisposed right now.”
“Your father asked that you meet with him.”
“I understand—”
“And the headmistress asked me to fetch you.”
Noor rubs her temples.
“Don’t worry,” Miss Suha says, “we’ll keep the door open.”
Noor nods; that’s what worries her. They inch down the hallway, Miss Suha’s walking stick making an unnerving clunk with each step she takes. Halfway down Noor hears Charlie’s loud, confident voice and shudders. It’s followed by laughter from the headmistress, a sound so rare that even Miss Suha frowns.
When they enter the office, the headmistress is in fits, and has the countenance of a teenage girl. Charlie stands by the window with a broad grin on his face.
“Ah, there you are, Noor,” the headmistress says. “Mr. Skeppar was telling me how he ate live octopus in Korea.”
“The key is to suck it down in one go,” Charlie says. “You let it wriggle in your mouth then it’s all over.”
The headmistress shrieks before descending into a fresh set of giggles. Noor finds it impossible to say anything.
“Well it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Skeppar,” the headmistress says. “I wish you the best with the rest of your trade mission.”
“Thank you and you with the school.”
The headmistress leaves. Miss Suha lingers in the doorway.
“It’s alright, Miss Suha,” Noor says, “you can return to your work.”
Noor waits until she hears Miss Suha sit down at her desk and start typing.
“Your father thought it’d be nice if we met,” Charlie says loudly.
Noor ignores him and walks over to the far window. She stares down at the girls playing below in the courtyard. Charlie comes up beside her.
“I didn’t think it possible,” she says, “but the lengths you have gone to hound me have only increased since I had the misfortune of first meeting you.”
“It was the only way I was going to see you.”
“Have you never heard of writing a note?”
“You wouldn’t have responded.”
“What do you expect?”
“That’s my point.”
Noor spins to face him.
“What is it with you Mr. Matthews? First you chase me down a darkened alley, then you bamboozle my father into making me have lunch with you, then, once I had made it crystal clear that I had no interest in seeing you again, you turn up at our hut and now this. This is Pakistan, not New York. Women here are not objects to be pursued, and the more you do it, the more you put me in danger. Is that what you want? For me to be thrown in jail for impropriety.”
“Of course not.”
“Then I beg you, leave me alone.”
Charlie eyes gesture to the far end of the room. Noor turns to see Miss Suha leaning against the door frame.
“Is everything alright?” Miss Suha says.
“Absolutely,” Noor says. “We won’t be much longer.”
Noor stares Miss Suha down, and Miss Suha retreats to her desk.
“Believe it or not,” Charlie hisses, “this isn’t about you. It’s about your dad. I’m going to Afghanistan for six days. I thought you guys could stay in my house while I’m away.”
“Is this a joke?”
“If it is I’m not sure what the punch line is.”
“I thought you said this had nothing to do with me.”
“It doesn’t. Look, I get it, you don’t like me, but your father’s a good guy, and I’ve a ridiculous house with a ridiculous amount of books—”
“Then why rent such a place?”
“I didn’t. It came with the job. Hell, I’d have been happy with a shack.”
Noor is k
nocked off her stride. Charlie seizes the opportunity.
“Point is, if I can’t offer it to him while I’m gone then what kind of friend would I be?”
Noor stares at Charlie.
“This is ludicrous,” she says. “This isn’t a sincere offer.”
“It’s the sincerest offer I’ve ever made in my life.”
“Then why not go to my father and make it?”
“Because the only way he’ll do it is if you’re on board.”
“He’s a mind of his own.”
“Give me a break, he’s totally whipped.”
Noor reddens.
“That’s it,” she says. “I’ve heard enough.”
Noor storms for the door. To her astonishment, Charlie grabs her arm.
“Get your hand off me.”
Charlie doesn’t let go.
“For Christ’s sake stop being so obstinate and do it for his sake. Let him sleep under clean sheets, take a hot bath, eat three large meals a day, hell, let him think that his life’s back to normal.”
“But it won’t be, it’d only be an illusion.”
“Isn’t everything in some way or other.”
Charlie releases her arm. Noor is breathing so heavily it’s as if she’s just finished a run.
“In case you change your mind,” Charlie says, “Mukhtar knows you’re coming. I told him you’re friends of Mine Aware’s.”
Charlie walks out. Soon after Miss Suha enters the office. Noor forces herself to appear calm.
“That was quick,” Miss Suha says.
“There wasn’t much to be said,” Noor says.
“Strange, he sounded more American than European.”
“His mother’s American.”
“Ah, that must explain it.”
Miss Suha wanders over to the window. Noor fumes.
Now he has me lying for him as well.
“I tell you one thing,” Miss Suha says, “he definitely has a way with women.”
“That’s not a quality I’ve noticed,” Noor says.
“Come see.”
Noor joins Miss Suha by the window. Down below, Charlie is encircled by a large group of girls, answering questions as best he can. Kamila seems to be the ringleader. Charlie makes a funny face, and the girls all burst out laughing.
He’s only doing this in a desperate attempt to impress me.
Kamila tugs on his arm, and Charlie leans down to listen to her. Moments later the girls take off in every direction, their blue headscarves flying behind them. Charlie counts to ten and tears after them. He tags one after another until only Kamila is left. They face each other at opposite ends of the yard.
