by Lee Kerr
‘Do it gently,’ she would say, as if she was with me, caressing my body with those small, feathery fingers. She moaned as I moaned; our distance climaxes were as real to me as if she had my manhood in both her hands, which she assured me would be needed. I always did as she told me, angling the camera and working my body as she demanded, her entire mind seeming to be mesmerised by me. And in return, she was the only woman I had ever obeyed, let alone talked to on any sort of equal level. I wondered if all Western girls would feel the same about me – whether my body and name would be as exotic to them as I hoped, and whether I would allow others of her kind to command me, as she had done.
After these thoughts I would always chastise myself, assuring my fractured mind that I would be faithful to the one who had found me first – forever ignoring the many more who would offer themselves freely to me. Her loyalty would be rewarded, if I could just be with her. She never knew that what she believed me to be is actually what I am. I never got to tell her the truth about me – the truth that the robes I took off were as real as my birth right to the empire around me. I wanted to tell her. I desperately wanted her to know that we could have been more than virtual lovers. We were so close yet so far.
I only ever got to show, never to reveal. I came close to sharing my plans with her. The further they came to becoming a reality the more I wanted to confide in her my deepest hopes: that soon we would be able to embrace as one. I would be in America within the year. If she could wait that long I would make it worth her while, giving her all the treasures that my land could ever offer. It was a question I was dying to ask but I never got the chance.
When they found me exposed, close and entirely in the moment, my father’s first threat was to have me executed. He screamed at me; I felt as though I’d been unfaithful to a cause without even knowing it. He said that I should be sent back to the moment when I was at my lowest; my most depraved, and that is how I would be buried.
But the beauty of being the only one left in a family where bloodlines matter most, so obviously brings a blanket of safety that cannot easily be thrown away. She screamed for me when they shot the lock and stormed into my room, carrying me away as I commanded, perhaps begged, them to stop. When they finished hosing me down with cold water my father finally let me put a robe on and then he sat next to me, his face level with mine. He said she was still on the screen when he finally entered my room, her pale face staring back at him. He told her who he was, and who I was, and helpfully informed her that the things we had done together were sins in the eyes of anyone who mattered. He forgave me but said he could not do the same with an infidel such as her. He had kept her online as his men found her real life location. She had threatened to call the New York Police Department, but this meant very little when our spies got to her.
As he told me this story, he grabbed my manhood, balls and all, and lifted me up, staring into my eyes as he promised that she had paid dearly for my mistake, and that this was the last time we would ever talk about the USA. He said that if I was doing such things then I would never study there, exposed to all that corrupting filth. I could not be trusted, and so my computers and passports would all be removed from my possession, just in case I had any more foul ideas.
In many ways it was as if he had blinded me; he took away my ability to communicate with the outside world, with the friends I had found in that place with few boundaries – no physical boundaries, at least. The virtual me wasn’t held back by my looks, my future or my place of birth. I could be someone different and I often changed exactly who that person was, trying out new versions of myself, finding the one that best showed who I wanted to be.
I told none of this to my father, although I’m sure his men found out all of my secrets on the laptops they seized. I made no effort to hide any of it, having hidden enough of myself all over the planet. I wondered if all those distant friends I made would ever remember me, or if to them I would go forever offline - followed but forgotten – nothing more than a memory of the past that only ever hung around the edges of their waking lives. My father didn’t understand anything about this new world and became convinced that I needed a simple life, to enable myself to remember who I was and what I would become. And now with each layer I put on my body I hide further away; busy being the person I am supposed to be, never the person I want to be.
When I’m finished I look in the mirror that’s leaning against the wall. The breeze from the balcony and the fans on the ceiling are doing little to help me. The heat from all these garments is stifling and they work together to form a blanket that slowly suffocates me, giving me no freedom to be who I really am. My real self remains hidden somewhere deep inside and I somehow tolerated this for so many years, knowing that there was always a possible way out. I had been looking forward to a year in the United States of America with every ounce of my being. I planned to quietly disappear while my brother continued to charge forwards, only a short step behind my father, preparing to lead to the family while I happily shrank into oblivion. It would have been my chance to be different, to find myself – to be me. After that I had many ideas of what my future would look like, mostly centring around my eventual and eternal escape.
The knock on the door comes on cue, barely a second after I have fixed my turban and taken a deep breath. I don’t answer at first, but there is no second knock; the handle turns, and I am imposed upon.
‘Shouldn’t you knock again, Abdul?’ I say, turning to look at him.
He looks back at me, dressed in his simple suit – so entirely boring next to everything I am forced to wear, like I’m the only one to go on stage – the only one who requires a costume in these uncertain times.
‘A prince deserves the respect of a second knock, don’t you think?’ I say, desperately trying just to elicit a response, let alone assert anything that resembles authority. I know that in this place I have none.
Abdul doesn’t answer, instead choosing to fuss around me, pulling my robes tighter and searching around for the appropriate shoes. ‘A prince has to earn that right, Jalal,’ he says, focusing on hunting for my footwear instead of looking at me. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that you certainly have not earned that right.’
I don’t answer, instead sitting down and watching my own personal dictator rummage through my things, both of us knowing there is nothing left that should be hidden. I watch and wait for him to throw the shoes in my direction, which he does, silently demanding that I comply. The man who is supposed to be my advisor, my confidant and my voice of wisdom simply walks across me and stands back at the doorway, tapping things into his phone and telling me that I need to hurry up.
‘The Americans will soon be here,’ he says, as we walk along the marbled corridor. I follow him, always one step behind, his little legs doing a great job of setting our hurried pace, as if he is floating through the palace on a cloud of nervous energy.
‘Why do they want to meet me?’ I ask, stopping still. I wait, somehow finding the courage to anchor myself in one spot, hoping for an answer that will make moving worthwhile.
He stops and turns around but doesn’t walk the few steps back towards me. Instead he tuts and sighs, as if this only re-enforces his feelings of frustration at decades of being stuck with me. The man who has been telling me what to do since I was a small boy does the same again, demanding that I come to him.
‘I’m not a fucking dog!’ I shout.
It’s enough to bring Abdul tearing towards me. We both look around to see the guards who were lingering behind pillars and on balconies suddenly come into view. He smacks me on the arm. ‘Why must you constantly embarrass me? You must learn to behave like a prince and not a petulant child.’ He rubs his eyes, his head shaking, as he takes time to properly massage the exhaustion out of his weary head. ‘You do realise that your brother would never have behaved like this.’
His eyes reach into mine, and I somehow find courage from my growing rage. ‘My brother is no longer here. You must accept that
and start treating me like a prince. I will be in charge one day, Abdul. You had best remember that.’
He takes a deep breath, bringing himself closer to me, his mouth near my ear. ‘You think you will ever be in charge of anything? Your father grows older but because of you he must still produce another son. This is a great burden you have placed upon him, and yet you show no remorse.’
My mouth falls open quicker than I can collect my thoughts to defend an impossible position. I know that these insults to my honour will continue forever, no matter how much logic is on my side. I wasn’t there that day, deep in the desert, when the cars were ambushed. I wasn’t involved in the route planning or the security precautions, wasn’t one of those brave few who tried to save half of the royal family. It didn’t take long for me to realise that had been my biggest mistake and it meant I was forever on borrowed time, the days and hours counting down until my absence from everything state and family-related would be my ultimate undoing.
When that long day finally ended my father found me on the southern terrace, just as the sun was setting. I was watching the wisps of sand flying across the distant hills, imagining it was my mother, her spirit still looking out for me, her echoes of understanding travelling across the land. She was the only one who had really known me; although she couldn’t always accept that I was somehow different, but she at least realised it was true. On that particular night she was not looking out for me, not able to hold him back this time. As he beat me until the sun finally disappeared I knew that somehow it was my fault, and it always would be, because it hadn’t been me in the convoy that day, and my brother hadn’t been safe within the palace walls. It should have been me. He told me, without saying a single word. The loss of his wife was bad enough but the loss of an heir with the energy to carry on the name and to lead our people was impossible to comprehend.
‘I have caused this?’ I say to Abdul, already knowing the answer, already regretting giving him such an easy way in.
‘Yes, you!’ he shouts, as he digs a finger into my chest. ‘You and your western thoughts. Somehow the capitalist devil got into your head and I’ve tried everything to get him out.’
I shake my head, unable to find the right words to match my dismay. When my father first said the Americans were coming I got so excited. I would get to meet them and we would talk about my future, all of us having a say in deciding what university I would attend and where I would live. Even when my father made it clear that their visit was about oil, trade and money, and that my year away was only an afterthought, I still got excited. Just knowing that this was a chance for a better life was enough to make me smile every day, even if three body guards and the never-happy Abdul would have to come along with me. I never once wondered how many barrels it would take to buy my freedom; only the thoughts of different shores mattered.
‘I’m not going to America now. I’m never going to leave this place and we both know that, so why would the Americans ever want to meet with me?’
He prods my chest again. ‘You never listen to anything I tell you. The Americans will be meeting with you, which means that all the trade discussions will be in your hands.’
‘But where is my father?’ I ask, not believing that I will be alone, unable to comprehend the thought that I could be trusted with anything more than visits to our most remote settlements.
‘He had to leave immediately and so he will not be joining us. Something is happening in the south and the military has been put on the highest alert. He has personally gone to investigate.’
‘And I am only being told this now?’
Abdul starts tapping something into his phone and when he eventually looks up he smiles. ‘You only needed to know this now, and that is why you have just been told.’
‘So, I have been left in charge?’
He takes a deep breath and mutters a prayer as he looks up to the ceiling and then at me. ‘You must understand that we had no other choice.’
He starts to walk away but I stand still, refusing to leave this place without the respect I deserve. ‘Perhaps I will not see them. Perhaps I will be the petulant child that I appear to be so good at. I could sit here and leave you, the mere advisor to the lowly prince, to see them and to negotiate on behalf of the palace and my father.’
He turns on his heels so he can look at me, refusing to move back. ‘Perhaps you do that and then we both know that you will never get to the USA. You long to travel to that arrogant land, yet I pray every night that you will somehow find a way out from under the vast shadow of your late brother, and finally prove your worth to your father. Act as a petulant child and you will simply confirm everything he knows to be true about you. But achieve victory in this meeting and you will earn some much-needed respect, which will be good for both of us.’
I think for a moment. I think about the United States and I think about myself; the two always joined as one in my desperate mind. It doesn’t take long before I nod and walk forward, coming to my master like the dog I am, knowing my place and what my biggest needs are. As we walk along the corridor I wonder how the relationship of two countries could be left in my care. I am about to be locked in a room with a monster, desperate and hungry for what we have, and yet it still excites me. I have what it wants – I’m literally sitting on barrels of it and a passage out of here is all I really care about.
Abdul grabs my arm, squeezing it tight, as if he can guess the thoughts that are running through my corrupted mind. ‘Our relationship with the Americans is nearly over and we are ready to burn it. It is clear that they are falling from grace and they are nothing more than a frantic and plagued people. Once their military machine runs out of power it will die like a horse that has ran out of water, so you must not give them anything of value. In fact, you must do the opposite and give them nothing.’
I shake my head, openly willing to refuse this order, feeling closer to the future I want than I have been in a long time. ‘What is the point of them being here if we are not to negotiate?’
He shakes his head at my continuing lack of understanding of our political and economic place in the world. I think I understand it better than he ever will; the divide between our generations and our different desires is never as obvious as when we discuss the land of the free. ‘You will do nothing but listen and remain firm,’ he says. ‘You must say very little and remain aloof and disinterested whilst Hamza and I do all the talking.’
I throw my hands by my side, behaving exactly as I have always been forced to, playing a role, one that has by now become very easy for me. ‘Hamza will be in the meeting, too?’
‘Why would a general not be in attendance at such an important meeting? He has deliberately remained behind to meet the Americans, and then he will fly to the south when they leave.’ He shakes his head at me once more. ‘You will never know how much it pains me that you cannot be trusted to conduct these negotiations on your own. General Hamza should be with the scouting party and yet he has to be here, with you. If anything should happen to your father then this will be entirely your fault.’
I say nothing and rub my face, playing with the stubble that should be a beard by now. I wonder why I have never allowed it to grow into what it is supposed to be. His stare tells me more than I want to know. He looks at me as though I am an outsider who somehow got inside this palace but also into my mother’s womb. I imagine in the USA that many people will be running through all those corridors of power that I used to see on my television before it was taken away, all of them focused on today’s important visit. I remember all those many rooms, with their big, over-the-top titles on every door. I truly believe it would be a nightmare to make any major decision, but it symbolises all these people working together to create something bigger than any individual could ever be. And here, it is just one person, in one room, who makes all the decisions that matter. When that person disappears and I am relied on, I don’t know what I will do, or how I will ever make a success out of today.
A
dbul pulls me out of my thoughts and onto the balcony, and I immediately see three helicopters approaching. They look big, even from this distance, and extremely powerful yet utterly exciting. They hold formation like they were made to fly together, until they get close enough that all I can hear is the deafening sound of their blades. One of them suddenly moves forward and I assume it is the one with the cargo – the passengers of importance.
I glance to my left for just a moment, just long enough to see Abdul shouting into his radio, his angry screams competing with the unstoppable sounds of our new visitors. I look around to see our soldiers getting themselves ready, perhaps for a fight; if nothing else, wanting at least to look strong against the small, yet deadly force that has arrived. I look around and see chaos, but I still don’t see the sinister aspects of what is approaching. All I see is opportunity.
The lead helicopter finally lands, still flanked by the other two, as though they are playground bullies who always stick together, knowing that strength comes from numbers.
‘American arrogance knows no boundaries!’ Abdul shouts, louder than I have ever heard him before, as if he hoped they would hear it from inside their big metal toys. As if they could; as if they would care if they did.
‘They were supposed to land at the back, not on the new lawn!’
I don’t answer him and look down to see servants and soldiers shouting and waving their arms, pointing to the back of the palace.
‘These bastards landed on the moon first and now they think it gives them the right to land wherever they like and do whatever pleases them.’
‘And clearly it does,’ I say, with a smile.
Abdul suddenly grabs me and pushes me back into the room, pinning me against a wall. We’re inside enough for the Americans not to see but still close enough that I can feel the sun beating down on one side of my face. I don’t look at him, even as he shouts at me; instead, I look outside, hoping the Americans don’t ever see me like this – as the weak and imperfect person that I am. They will think of me as sheltered and unimportant, and however true that may be, I don’t want them to know me as everyone else does.
