Florence of Arabia (34 page)

"H
e has the spine of a Red Sea jellyfish," Bawad said with disgust.

Delame-Noir smiled and opened his palms, denoting bemused frustration.

"It was a mistake putting him in," Bawad said.

"Respectfully, I disagree."

"Of course you do—he was
your
choice."

"Would you and the king really be happier with a strong, independent thinker on the throne of
Matar
? Puppets are better made from wood than steel." Delame-Noir's hands moved as if manipulating a marionette. "Much easier. Be content, my prince.
Matar
is your country now."

"Not forgetting your naval bases and your discount on crude."

"Our naval bases protect your new oil terminals. Historic synergy. Not since the days of Wadi Ben Salaam in the—"

“Yes,
yes, but what about the women? Why doesn't the idiot execute them and get it done with?"

Delame-Noir shook his head. "With all respect to your eminent self and to the king. I think it would be a complete calamity to put these women o
n a platform and publicly cut o
ff
their
heads. If you want to create martyrs, there is no better way."

"We know a thing or two about mar
tyrs in Wasabia," Bawad said, h
e reflected. "Our embassy in Washington reports some pressure there for information about the Florence woman."

"Two of her former collaborators are making a media campaign. But it's nothing—as long as Matar's position remains 'We don't
know where this woman is. so st
op bothering us.""

"Collaborators? They are—actively
campaigning?"

"If I thought they were going to be a problem. I assure you I would act."

"Act?"

"We have no secrets, you and I
. My contacts within the U.S. g
overnment assure me that they, t
oo, are watching the situation there. Very closely. And the last thing they want is a huge publicity about her. 'Florence of Arabia'? No, no. She is at this point an extremely inconvenient woman. I think, to be honest, the Americans
would be very content if Maliq
would simply give the order to toss her into his new
oubliette."

"Your contacts, they are CIA?"

Delame-Noir smiled.
"
Mon princ
e,
asking an old spy to reveal his sources is like asking a whore to tell hers. It's a matter of professional vanity."

Bawad snorted. "The price of oil can go up as well as clown."

"But I am telling you the substance of what I know. Which is this: The entire Florence operation was approved al the very highest levels of the Un
ited States government. Why? 'to
embarrass
your
government. As punishment for
your
Israel position, for your independence, for your nobility. In any case, as with every other American foreign operation, it turn
ed to absolute shit. But for us,
for you, for France, it was a fantastic opportunity, which I must say you yourself brilliantly exploited. So we must not be
too
upset with the Americans. They have accomplished for us in a few months more than we
were able to achieve in eighty
years."

"They're not happy about it. Our ambassador at the UN reports that they're preparing a motion against Greater Wasabia for the Security Council."

"Which, I assure you, France will veto."

"They're already saying this was all France's idea.
You're
gett
ing the credit for it."

"H
ave you heard one single statement from France, from one single minister, from any representative of the French government, taking credit for Wasabia's actions in
Matar
?" Delame-Noir said testily. "Not one word have we said."

"What about that
Jewish senator in New York? H
e gave a speech yesterday saying this was all France's doing. I le called Tallulah a 'Parisian tool'!"

Delame-Noir made a disapproving clucking noise. "Disgraceful. But what can you expect? This was the same Jewish senator who made the big fuss when we released an old man of ninety-four years—ninety-four!—because he had something to do with some concentration camp in World War Two. It's the same every time."

"I suppose it's too late to do anything about it
," Bawad said, eyeing Delame-Noir carefully.

"About the senator? Really. Your Highness ..." "No—
Maliq."

"Ah. I think that would not be a good
idea at this point. Perhaps in t
ime ... Look, Matar has gone through enormous turmoil. A few months ago, it resembled Las Vegas. Now it's ... a decent religious state. Not as much fun, to be honest, but okay, for now stability is of the essence. Later, if you are still unhappy with Maliq, I am always at your disposal." Delame-Noir smiled. "Your humble servant."

"H
umble. Hah. But Florence?"

"She will not be a factor for too much longer. Of this I am confident. Anyway people quickly forget. And I don't think she will last very long the way it is. It's not the Crillon. eh. where they are holding
her. I don't think she is gett
ing mints on the pillow every night."

Maliq had not
ridden many
camels in his life. On the whole, he rather p
referred the Italian leather seat of a Maserat
i or a Ferrari. But now the occasion demanded it.

Really
he thought, the demands on an imam and emir were beyond onerous. But better to ride the damned thing than to have to suck on a piece of its dung. What utter barbarians the Wasabis were.

One of the more unfortunate by-products of the new comity that existed between Matar and Wasabia was that Matar was now required to commemorate the anniversary of the Perfidy of Raliq ("The Unwise"). King Tallulah and his council—Allah's blessing upon them—had dictated that the emir of Matar observe the occasion by riding the Camel R
oyal down former Winston (now Abg
ullah) Avenue while receiving the plaudits and ululations of his subjects as the
mukfelle
en
dispensed lumps of the sacramental ordure for them to place on their unhappy tongu
es. It would not make for th
e cheeriest day on the Matar calendar, but the point would be made that Matar wa
s now part of Greater Wasabia.
Maliq had tried to persuade KingTallulali and foreign Minister Prince Bawad that sucking on dromedary turds was not a ritual likely to enhance a sense of fraternity between the citizens of
Matar
and Wasabia. But Tallulah and Bawad were adamant: Tallulah because he had to placate his lunatic
mukfelleen,
Bawad because he was furious at Maliq's recalcitrance in the matter
of chopping off the heads of the she
ika
Laila
and the American busybody Florence.

And so Maliq foun
d himself in a foul temper, sitt
ing on a beast he loathed, having to play figurehead at an idiotic
Wasabi ritual that would leave his subjects' mouths t
asting—as the expression goes—like shit. Allah be praised.

following dawn prayers. Maliq
suffered himself to b
e hoisted onto the hump of Shem,
the current Camel Royal. Shem was gorgeously caparisoned in gold and silver a
nd jewel-colored tassels. Maliq
wore the ceremonial
robes of a high sharif of Matar,
as well as the distinctive
farfee
sh
of a grand imam of the
Bukka. Into his waistband was t
ucked the
na'q
’
all,
the lustrously bejeweled ceremo
nial dagger that, legend had it,
had been used by Sheik Alik "The Righteous" M
akmeh to castrate five hundred E
nglish crusaders. (In deference to Matar's new ally France,
the dagger used to castrate 150
French knights was not on display.)

As Maliq was lowered onto
the saddle. Shem uttered a long, low,
pained moan followed by a noxious emission of colonic gas that continued for nearly a full minute.

Maliq waved with annoyance at his nostrils and barked down at Yassim, the attendant to the Camel Royal. "By the Prophet, what have you
fed
this accursed beast?!"

"Aashaah eshowkiya,
H
oly One!" Yassim cringed. "The finest!"

"Next t
ime give the lucking thin
g an enema before I am put on it
! It is highly unpleasant!"

"Ye
s, Great One! May Allah bless—"

"Shut up. Let's get this ov
er with."

Maliq
and Shem, the latter still groaning and issuing a mephitic Jetstream behind him, were led out of the courtyard onto Abgullah Avenue, where the sullen crowd of Mataris awaited.
Mukfelleen
were going d
own the line dispensing small lumps of dried camel excreta.

"This surely will make them love me," Maliq grumbled under his breath.
"Urrrrnnnfninnnwim'ooooooooooorrrrrrahhhhh!"
Shem groaned. "If h
e farts," Mal
iq hissed at the now trembling Y
assim, who was leading the animal, "it's your head." "But Magnificence—" "Shut up. Pick up the pace."

Maliq waved noncommitt
ally at the crowd. The crowd reciprocated. Ahead, a squad of
mukfelleen
was beating a man who was refusing to put the ceremonial dung on his tongue.

Oh,
Maliq thought,
let this day he over.

Maliq's royal court walked behind, their faces
puckered from Shem's exhaust. Y
assim tried to hide himself beneath his own robes. As Maliq passed a group of young men. Shem issued forth an epic gust that caused convulsions of hilarity. Since laughter was forbidden from dawn to dusk on the F
east of the Perfidy of Raliq—and,
according to Wasabi precepts, discouraged on all other days—
mukfelleen
were quickly upon them, dealing vigorous bastinadoes with their rattan canes. These particular howls of pain Maliq enjoyed, inasmuch as he did not enjoy being t
he object of their amusement, h
e was certainly the mos
t miserable emir in the Middle E
ast at this moment. Never had he felt more absurd. He was not a great drinker of alcohol, but once this ghastly ordeal was over, he was going to drink an entire bottle of brandy. Possibly two.

It was while Maliq was entertaining this palliative fantasy that the event happened, the event that became known (and is still known to this day) among
Matar
is—and a good many
- Wasabis—as the Revenge of Raliq. It would take days of intense forensic investigation to determine what exactly had happened. But
from the point of view of Maliq,
what happened was as follows:

One moment he was scowling in the direction of the youths being beaten by the
muks;
in the next there was a very loud noise coming from directly beneath him, and he became aware of being propelled upward into the fierce morning sky at a rate similar to that experienced by astronauts launched into space, escaping—how does the poem g
o?—the surly bonds of earth. H
is ascent became dreamlike, understandable since at this point he had lost actual consciousness. He found himself happily swinging from star to star, like a delighted young child. Alas, this innocent, carefree slate o
f mind did not last.
and as Maliq regained consciousness, he was still a hundred feet or so up in the air and—alas again—earthbound at a rate commensurate with the implacable laws of gravity.

This part of Maliq's wild r
ide did not endure for long. H
e was saved—God be praised—from even more terrible injury by landing on what remained of the Camel Royal. If it was an inglorious cushion, it was at least softer than the unforgiving asphalt of Abgullah Avenue. Such of the emir's bones as remained unbroken were, doctors agreed, the result of his having landed on the lower torso of the formerly whole Shem.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

Com
mon a
s explosions are in the Middle E
ast, it's not every day that the
ruler
of
a nation is blown
up by
his own camel. Word traveled quickly around the globe, despite
Matar
’
s official news blackout.

Someone had covertly filmed the event. Indeed, the
episode
was
so completely
captured on tape that the authorities concluded that whoever made the film must have been involved. Within hours, footage
of the emir lofting into the sky
was being viewed avidly in Internet cafes, in airport waiting areas, in bars, on lens of millions
of television
screens—
everywhere.
Headlines
ranged
from
the subdued (
Matar’s new r
uler
is
gravely
wounded in
suspected
bomb
attack)
to the less restrained (
three – two – one – ignition -
camel!).