by Lee Kerr
‘These people only want our oil,’ Abdul says, his thin fingers digging into my neck. ‘And our oil is all we have. Do you understand me?’
I shake my head, my body forcing against the hold he has on me. ‘It is not all we have.’
‘Oh, but it is. Do you think that tourism will save us? And do you think at the end of Western civilisation that anyone will still come? I promise you they will not. This will only ever be about our desert and what hides beneath those dunes. Today we will see how much they are willing to pay and then they will leave with nothing, because it is most definitely not for sale.’
‘He is right, young Jalal,’ this voice says from the doorway. I quickly realise it belongs to Hamza. He stands there in his full military outfit, a rifle thrown over his back as though he feels it is his duty to fight off the advancing hordes single-handedly. ‘We might seem like nothing more than a small pile of rocks and barren sand but we will not be beaten by these vile beasts.’
‘Hamza is right and you will do well to let him do the talking today.’
Hamza advances towards us both, his eyes on our violent embrace. ‘And you, Abdul, would do well to release your prince. However much a worm he is, he is not ours for squashing. We must all be focused on the real enemy that awaits us downstairs.’
Abdul seems to think carefully for a moment and then releases me and nods, patting down my arms and slowly stepping back. ‘You must forgive my enthusiasm, we both know I only wish for you to finally listen to my experience and wisdom, so that I may make you the prince we all hope you can be.’
Hamza grabs both of us and pulls us closer, as the smell of sweat resulting from this morning’s mobilisation floods my senses and makes me want to choke. ‘The purpose of today is to see them beg and then later this evening you will tell your father the tale of how they were on their knees. You will bathe in the glory of our nation’s reserves and offer them only enough for their return journey to whatever archaic battleship they have moored wherever they are still welcome. They will land back on their ship with nothing but a realisation that their world is coming to an end and that a new power will be born and a new world formed. Whatever plague they have created for themselves will be their undoing and we will only benefit in this new world.’
Abdul bumps his head into mine. ‘Follow our lead and do as we tell you and tonight we will comfort your father with stories of how they left us, never to return, and how we paved the first steps into the future of our people and our mighty country.’
I look at him but I cannot speak; I cannot even offer a fake nod. I don’t like the old world but the new world I envisaged didn’t involve my best hope of escape leaving without me. They will never return again, never again give me such an obvious opportunity. Abdul and Hamza smile at each other, and all I can think of is how I am about to lose something before I even gain it.
*****
I walk into the reception room and feel an immediate chill. I’m not sure if it’s me and the burden I am now bearing, or if it’s simply the constant buzz of the air conditioning that has slowly absorbed its way into the marble, making every step a cold reminder that I did not expect to find myself in this position today, or any other day.
Hamza suddenly grabs me and prevents me from moving another step further. ‘You will stand here,’ he says, his thick hand anchoring me in position, his eyes fixed on mine. ‘Do not move any closer towards them and at all times make them come to you.’
Abdul stands next to me. ‘And do not speak unless it is to reinforce what we are saying. You must remain proud and reserved, leaving us to do the talking.’
‘You mean I am not to speak because I cannot be trusted?’
Hamza laughs, before taking a couple of steps away from me, placing himself where I assume he would have been with my father, my brother and all those before me.
Abdul is still staring at me, his beady black eyes looking me up and down for what must be the hundredth time today. ‘You believe whatever you think is best and we will think whatever we believe is right.’
I look back at him, casting a probing gaze over him until he notices what I am doing. ‘You’re still sulking over the helicopters on the lawn, aren’t you?’
‘How dare you?’ he says, his hands ready to make their mark, our battle never over.
‘Enough!’ Hamza shouts, silencing us both as he looks towards the entrance.
We both look forward, just in time to see the Americans coming down the hall. They move quickly and with absolute purpose; the people of importance flanked by marines dressed in full combat gear. I look down at my robes and up at the visitors in suits and battle armour, and I realise how little and irrelevant I really am.
The marines push the group forward, their eyes observing everything, like they are assessing every possible threat. They look so noble, so proud of who they are and where they come from. I cannot help but admire them and everything that they symbolise. They suddenly separate, making way for the formation behind them to continue the journey into my room, leaving the soldiers outside. It is the generals, diplomats and ministers who will have the adult discussion with me.
I watch them enter: two suits and a soldier; two women and a man.
I’m confused; the vision in front of me is entirely different to what I would ever have expected and difficult to understand. I can’t see the obvious leader or understand who is in charge. I stare at this small group as they settle themselves into their new surroundings, their differences to each other both obvious and unexpected. Instinctively, I look at the only man, but he seems small and insignificant; his skinny frame barely filling out his pin-stripe suit. The bigger of the two women is the one in the general’s uniform – a woman in warriors’ clothing, with a build appropriate for her position. She stares down at me as I look up, admiring her ability to be who she wants to be – her nation allowing her the freedom to fulfil her own destiny.
I turn to see that the third visitor is staring at me through eyes as dark as mine. I gasp as my mind takes me straight back to my last American love, to the sense of perfection and meaning I felt back then, even through the eyes of a simple webcam. I look at her again, and it’s as if she’s become one with my previous love, the first and only woman to be of significance to me. This thing of beauty stands before me now, dressed in a tight-fitting black suit, which exposes a pale, perfect body, like the one I remember.
My eyes rest upon her, and I wonder if they will ever be able to leave what I have now found, as she stares back at me, clearly confused by my long hesitation. I take a deep breath, seeing more than what a thousand cameras could ever give me; my loyalties to that forgotten, long dead girl in New York now mean nothing to me.
The man in the suit steps forward, his hand extended. ‘Young prince, I’m Ambassador Richard Nevins. I don’t believe we have had the chance to be introduced.’
I look at him as he stares back at me. His beady, grey eyes look at me through small, wiry glasses. We both wait for me to say something, as everyone else stands patiently. I don’t find that I’m scared of not having anything to say, or of saying entirely the wrong thing, but rather of feeling different. I start to think like I am actually someone of importance, that fate has finally made me into something special, even if it is only for a short time and not what was intended by my elders. I’m no longer on the edge, uninvited; I’m now the centre of all that matters.
‘No, we have not met before, but I welcome you to my palace anyway.’
‘The imperial palace,’ Abdul says, as he leans forward and takes the Ambassador’s hand from me. ‘The king cannot be here right now, for which we offer our sincerest apologies.’
I hold up a hand to the man who has cursed me from the shadows since the day I was born. ‘I am dealing with all matters of state whilst my father is away, so no apology is required.’
‘Well, it’s great to finally meet you,’ Nevins says, looking between us. ‘Perhaps I should introduce the rest of our delegation?’
‘May I introduce General Martha Edwards, and this is Jessica Adams from the United States Treasury Department.’
General Martha holds out a hand, forcing it towards me, but Jessica Adams just stares at me. I stare back at her, repeating that name, seeing how it feels as I say it in my head in different ways.
She smiles but doesn’t move. It’s like her body is a statue that has been brought into the room to haunt me for what I have missed all my life and may never see again. I watch her face, wondering how someone so beautiful could work in such a boring place. I imagine all those old men staring at her as she walks around the office, much like the programmes I used to watch on television.
I feel the grip tightening around my hand and realise that General Martha has taken hold of it. I look up at her and feel a slight squeeze that demands to be recognised. Whatever words she has just spoken were wasted but the connecting of our eyes seems to placate her as she lets go.
Before I can say anything, I feel a tap on my shoulder, a reminder that the act must begin. I invite everyone to the seating area, realising how little effort I have put into being the host and how little interest I have in these formalities. I sit in the larger chair, the one always reserved for my father, and I realise just how frustrating I have been for Abdul and any other of the aides as they have tried to mould and shape me into the man I was meant to become.
‘We were sorry to hear about the loss of your mother and brother,’ Ambassador Nevins says, as positions are taken and tea is poured. He watches me, waiting for a reaction, clearly hoping for an acknowledgement. He will never understand what she meant to me and when I give nothing back he shuffles in his seat, looking around the open room. ‘We are also wondering where your father is, if I may be so bold to question his absence?’
‘He is not here and I am, and this is all you need to know.’
The big general sighs and shakes her head, and Hamza sits forward, perhaps wanting to confront his opposite number on my behalf. Abdul looks into the shadows around the room but says nothing. He most likely shares their frustrations and it’s clear that none of us want to be here, in this situation, with me as the man tasked to pull this together.
The ambassador leans forward, taking his time to look at each person. ‘With all due respect, young prince, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we worry you might not be enough. Not when we consider the gravity of what we must discuss.’
‘I will be enough or I will be nothing and that is down to you to decide,’ I say, and then sit back, somehow happy with my choice of words – it was like a riddle, the kind that would normally come from Abdul’s sharp tongue, except that this one actually made sense.
She finally takes her chance to speak: the only one I see, the only one I will ever listen to. ‘We’re here to discuss the purchase of oil and we need you to take this seriously.’
‘The world is changing,’ Ambassador Nevins says.
‘I know this, I have heard.’
He looks at his general, then my general and then back to me. ‘Well, I’m not sure you all realise just how much it is changing. We have new intelligence about what is happening and we could put ourselves in a position where we can share this with you.’
‘You have probably heard about everything that has happened in Eastern Europe?’ General Martha says. ‘The whole continent could be a graveyard by the weekend.’
‘We have heard many stories,’ Abdul says, looking at his hands and absently picking dirt from his nails. ‘None of them have proven to be more than what I think you call ‘old-fashioned wives’ tales.’’
General Martha nods, seeming to admit she has heard a few of these stories for herself. ‘The tales of zombies and killer viruses are, as best as we can tell, isolated instances of false information based on variable sources. However, let me be clear, there is a very real threat that affects all of Europe that could soon spread across the planet if not contained.’
‘Europe is not our concern,’ I say, sitting back, trying to make my body represent my views, even though my mind is scattered. I curse myself as these words leave my innocent mouth, because how can I say that Europe is not our concern when I truly have no idea how much oil we pump to them every day? It could be thousands of barrels or it could be none, but my naivety seems to know no bounds and I know the Americans will spot this.
‘Of course Europe is all of our concern,’ Abdul says. ‘Our prince knows the worth of every country but we will not be intimidated into giving you our natural resources based purely on unsubstantiated stories, just so you can fuel your endless military operations. We know that it is only our oil that you want.’
General Martha leans forward, her head shaking as she looks at Abdul. ‘Let me tell you specifically what your precious oil would be fuelling. It will be going into aircraft carriers, fighter jets and tanks. If we are going to get control of this situation then we need these things and you will need us. You should just remember that.’
This is enough of a bold statement to make everyone starts talking, all wanting to have their say – and everyone aims it at me, as if I’m the one to blame for everything. They don’t get a chance to present their individual thoughts as Jessica coughs loudly, which makes everyone else stop to look at her, although I’m sure my keen eyes get there first.
‘If we accept that Europe is in big trouble then it looks to me like you will need a new customer and we’re clearly in the market for buying,’ she says, looking at everyone before winking at me. ‘I suggest you come to a solution, boys. And you do it quickly.’
The ambassador looks at me and nods, his eyes almost pleading. ‘Time is running out and we need a solution today. We are getting ready to intervene across Europe. It is not our homeland, but we know that if the world is to remain secure then our involvement will be required. Having access to your oil will greatly accelerate our efforts, and ultimately, it will protect your country as well.’
I stare back at him, unsure what he expects me to do. I wonder if he thinks I have any power or the ability to make any important decision. I’m simply a victim of circumstance; I have nothing to sell and nothing to bargain with and what I want in return I cannot ask for. I think about trading a few million barrels – if we even have that many – in return for safe passage to the United States. I know that this isn’t just a one-off trip anymore; it’s about my future, a new life in a different world, which I have to buy by the barrel.
‘Well, can you help us?’ the ambassador says, staring at me.
I look around to see that everyone else is doing the same; all staring and pinning their expectations on me. Half of the group want to see the others begging for the world’s most precious resource, and the other half want to buy something I cannot sell. I’m stuck firmly in the middle: my needs are not known by those around me, and will never be discussed.
‘We can sell you what you need, but I warn you that it will be costly,’ I say.
Abdul and Hamza gasp, both of them openly shocked by how I have departed from the script. I wonder if they will go along with me, on the assumption that I intend to make the Americans beg for our liquid gold, or if they will drag me out of the room and then shoot the guests so that no one ever finds out about my insolence. I imagine my treachery being seen by all. I imagine them burying the bodies and repainting the helicopters, and my father returning home to hear how I have let him down, yet again. I have been doing that since I was born, but we all know that this time would be the last time, and that this story would inevitably make me the fourth grave, lined up next to our American visitors.
I hold up a hand, hoping to keep my story going for just a little longer, wondering if I will survive the day. To my surprise they both stay silent, both waiting to see what I will do. Everyone looks at me, no doubt asking themselves if I have the guts to follow through on what I have started.
In the silence I have now created it is the woman of my dreams that are yet to
come who speaks first, as I am still wondering how I survived so long in a world without her. ‘We will take everything you have and based on the scale of the purchase we can offer you 40 dollars per barrel.’
I’m still doing the maths in my head as Hamza laughs and Abdul shakes his head. ‘You must take us for fools,’ Abdul says. ‘The scale of the worldwide crisis has pushed the price up, not down.’
She shakes her head and taps things into her tablet, working out sums that don’t exist in anyone but the Americans’ minds. ‘You misunderstand the fundamental issue here: the value of world currencies will also diminish. As the weeks go by and global commerce stops, the value of whatever gold you have will decrease drastically. Tourism will stop and no one will buy anything from you, making this your last chance to sell what you have.’
The ambassador leans forward, looking at Abdul and then Hamza, then finally at me, making me wonder if I’m actually important or I’m just an afterthought. ‘We are on the edge of what is to come and if we boil your economic survivability to its simplest form, your current revenue stream will cease and only what you have buried out there can ever help you,’ he says, looking out of the open window. ‘The vast majority of people are aware that something is happening but they are still in the denial stage. Those who haven’t seen anything or who aren’t directly affected by what has happened will continue to lead their lives as normal, but when the oil runs out and the supply of food is restricted they will realise something is very wrong and they will demand a resolution.’
Abdul laughs and I know his mind is working through how to phrase the inevitable rejection. ‘You would like to borrow our oil so that you keep up with the demands of your people, and what is more you offer payment with barely a few coins that will be worth even less in a few weeks’ time?’
