by P. B. Kerr
“This man is British, sir,” explained the soldier. “From Kensington.”
“You don’t look very English,” observed the captain.
“We’re dressed to blend in,” said Nimrod.
“He says it’s not a bomb that’s buried by the side of the road, sir. He says it’s a carpet.”
“A carpet?” The captain looked aghast. “What kind of Englishman goes around burying a carpet? Haven’t you heard? You’re supposed to put a carpet on top of the ground. Not underneath it.”
“We buried it for safekeeping,” said Nimrod.
“A carpet?”
“That’s right,” said Nimrod patiently. “It was too heavy to carry it into town.”
“But not too heavy to carry somewhere else, eh? I don’t see you here with a cart or a truck or anything. What are you planning to do, fly it away?”
Nimrod smiled patiently.
“My friends here will dig it up and show you.”
“I suppose you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said the captain. “Dig it up and set it off with all of us standing around while you were doing it. You must think we’re daft.”
“I can assure you, Captain Sargent, that nothing could be further from the truth. But if you are at all concerned, then I suggest you and your men withdraw to a safe distance while we’re digging up the carpet. That way the only people who could possibly get hurt if my carpet exploded are us.”
“Couldn’t do any harm, sir,” said the soldier. “I mean, we’re planning to blow it up, anyway, when the squad gets here.”
Captain Sargent thought for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “But no tricks, eh? We’ll be watching you people carefully.”
When the British soldiers had withdrawn to a safe distance, Nimrod, Groanin, the professor, Axel, and the twins started to dig. And a few minutes later they lifted the rolled-up carpet onto the road and waved at the soldiers.
“Look,” said Nimrod. “It’s perfectly safe.”
The soldiers approached cautiously.
“Just an ordinary carpet,” said Nimrod. “Blue, of course. Which some people think is unlucky.” He nodded at the captain’s beret. “But I wouldn’t have thought that was a belief you shared.”
“Are you sure you don’t have anything rolled up in it?” said the captain.
“What, you mean like Queen Cleopatra?” said Philippa.
Nimrod smiled.
But the captain, who had never read Shakespeare, and didn’t know who Cleopatra was, frowned. “Well, maybe, yes.”
“Let’s unroll the carpet,” Nimrod told his companions, “and show the captain here that we don’t have one of the world’s most desirable and gorgeous women hidden inside it.”
“Someone talking about me?”
Everyone looked around to see an astonishingly beautiful woman — perhaps the most beautiful woman any of them had ever seen. She was wearing a golden silk sari, and a variety of Indian bridal jewelery including a tiara, a necklace, and a nose ring that was hooked up to the tiara. She was very tall, and very black, with a spoiled, pouting mouth and an expression that was so haughty and proud, she looked like she’d been born in the most expensive palace in a city that was full of palaces. In her hand, she held a small clutch bag and a diamond-encrusted cell phone.
“I think I’m in love,” whispered Axel.
Nimrod groaned. “Hello, Alexandra,” he said.
“Trying to sneak out of Kandahar without saying hello, were you? No, don’t deny it. Remember who it is you’re talking to.”
“Not at all.”
“And you thought you could be here without me knowing about it.” She tapped the middle of her forehead. “In here. With my third eye.”
“No, of course not.”
“That was stupid of you,” she said. “I’m always ahead of you. You should know that by now. I know what you’re going to say before you can even think it yourself.”
“If you say so, dear,” said Nimrod. “Philippa. John. This is your aunt Alexandra. Whom I was telling you about on the flight into Kandahar.”
Alexandra stepped toward the twins and gave them a critical, unfriendly look, as if she had been inspecting a couple of tethered goats for a forthcoming barbecue.
“So these are Imelda’s twins, are they?”
Philippa thought that Alexandra sounded English, like her uncle.
“You mean Layla,” he said patiently. “My sister is called Layla, not Imelda, as you well know.”
“I must say, they don’t look like twins,” said Alexandra. “Nor do they look particularly special. Hardly the stuff of prophecy, are they? I expected something much more impressive. Children who really look like the stuff of myth and legend. These two kids look more like a couple of local beggars. And look at their clothes. They’re not much better than rags. What a pair of urchins.”
“What do you mean?” asked Philippa.
“Oh, my God,” said Alexandra. “You’re Americans.”
“Something wrong with that?” said John.
“No, sweetie. Not if you like gum on the sole of life’s sneakers.” She laughed. “Bad enough that your sister should have married a mundane. But you mean to say he’s an American, too?”
“Yes, he is,” said Nimrod. “And a very agreeable fellow, to boot.”
Alexandra shrieked with laughter. “I’ll bet he is.”
Hoping to change the subject — or so it seemed to John and Philippa — Nimrod continued with the introductions to Professor Sturloson and then Axel, but these were ignored by Alexandra. She had big, clear-as-a-bell brown eyes only for the twins.
“You poor, poor dears,” she said, touching John’s face and then Philippa’s. “Americans.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t it drive you mad? Living among such barbarians. The clothes are just rubbish. Even in New York. There’s no decent tailoring to be had anywhere. And the food. How can you eat there? Hot dogs. Hamburgers. Milk shakes.” She swallowed biliously and pressed her bag to her stomach with a heavily be-ringed hand. “Light my lamp, but it makes me feel sick just to utter these words. Really sick. I think I’m going to throw up.”
Nimrod sighed. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” said John. “If you like hot dogs, and hamburgers, and milk shakes. Which I do.”
“Me, too,” said Philippa irritably.
“Oh, I can see that, dear,” said Alexandra. “Let’s face it. You could afford to lose a few pounds.” Once again, she touched Philippa’s cheek. “And your complexion is — well, it’s not exactly flawless, is it? I’ve seen trays of gloves with better skin than you, honey. A little less grease in your diet might not go amiss, you know. And as for those glasses. Where did you get them? A bottle bank? A submarine?”
“Don’t you know?” Philippa’s tone was challenging.
“Believe me, little girl,” said Alexandra. “I’ve forgotten more things than you’ve ever even remembered. And don’t for minute doubt that I can foretell the future.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I know that the private is going to sneeze in five seconds, that the stupid captain with the ridiculous mustache is going to scratch his ear and wave away a mosquito….”
The private sneezed and the captain scratched his ear and waved away a mosquito.
“Gesundheit,” said John.
“See what I mean?” Alexandra jabbed Philippa on the shoulder. “Don’t mess with me, shorty. Or I’ll give you the full forecast on the rest of your young, soon-to-be-ending djinn life.”
Philippa tutted loudly. “Really,” she said, exasperated.
“Get off her case,” John told Alexandra.
“And as for you, meathead. You have a fool’s face. The world must be in a pretty poor state of repair if you’re half of its best hope, sonny. Try closing your mouth once in a while. The way your jaw hangs down. It makes you look like the village idiot.”
“I have trouble breathing through my nose, sometimes, that’s all,” protested
John.
“If you are going to save the world, you should first try to look like you can save a couple of cents for your bus fare.”
“I can see you’ve lost none of your talent for diplomacy, Alexandra,” said Nimrod.
Alexandra snorted. “You talk to me about talent, looking like that. If you wanted to dress like an Afghan, why did you choose to look like a filthy peasant? Not that you ever had any taste in clothes, Nimrod. Tell me: Are you still wearing those stupid red suits?”
“She certainly doesn’t sound like an Eremite,” Philippa told her uncle.
“The Eremites.” Alexandra laughed. “I gave up on them years ago. What a bunch of losers. These days I just stick to telling the future. Which is not looking good. At least not for you and your dumb brother.”
“He’s not dumb,” insisted Philippa.
“No?” Alexandra looked at John with barely disguised contempt. “Hey. Brainbox. What’s the capital of Afghanistan?”
John thought for a moment and then pulled a face. “I dunno.”
Alexandra shrugged. “See what I mean? It’s Kabul. How can you be in a country and not know what the capital is? Oh, wait. I know the answer to that one, too. You’re an idiot.”
“I hate to interrupt this touching family reunion,” said Captain Sargent, “but if we could get back to the main business in hand.”
“Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is the main business in hand,” snapped Alexandra. “These two children of the lamp. Eh, Nimrod? Your being here is to do with the Taranushi prophecy, isn’t it? After all, this is the time that was surely foretold in that book you were always going on about. When ‘a sea of cloud arises from the bowels of the earth and turns the lungs of men to stone, the wheat in the fields to ash, and the rivers to liquid rock.’ There’s no getting away from any of that, is there?”
She looked at Philippa and flashed a thin, insincere smile.
“Certainly not for you, niece of mine,” she said. “The sooner you and your doofus brother here sacrifice yourselves to save the world, the better for the rest of us. My cell phone has been useless since this whole thing began. I don’t know why I’m even carrying it. Habit, I guess.”
“If you could just unroll the carpet, sir, and let us check that there’s nothing concealed inside,” insisted the captain.
“If you interrupt me again, Officer Dibble,” said Alexandra, “you’ll regret you ever left whichever neglected mouse hole of a town you sprang from. And I don’t care if you are English.” Alexandra gritted her teeth and stamped her stiletto heel angrily. “I won’t be interrupted by a mundane. Not ever. Do you hear?” “No need for unpleasantness, Alexandra dear.” Nimrod stood on the edge of the carpet and kicked the rest of it hard — so hard that it unrolled completely. “The captain is merely doing his job.”
“We’re back to using these old things, are we?” said Alexandra. “Still, in the absence of commercial air travel, it’s better than nothing, I suppose. But it’ll never beat a whirlwind.”
“You see?” Nimrod said to the captain. “There’s nothing hidden inside. No weapons. No bombs. No Cleopatra.”
“I wonder why you even bother trying to humor him,” said Alexandra. “After all, he’s just a mundane.”
“Look, I’m still not satisfied that you people are on the level,” said the captain. “If I could see some proper ID from you all.”
As he finished speaking, Alexandra’s jewel-encrusted cell phone flew through the air and struck him on the head.
“I told you not to interrupt me when I’m speaking,” shrieked Alexandra. “Didn’t I? Well, didn’t I?”
Groanin rolled his eyes. He had seen this kind of bad behavior from Nimrod’s wife before. “Now then, missus,” he said. “No need for any unpleasantness, is there?”
“I’ve no reason for not throwing something at you, either, you old baldy,” she said. “And count yourself lucky I don’t foretell your future as well.”
“That’s it,” said Captain Sargent. “I’ve had enough of you. Private Parz? Arrest them all.”
“Yes, sir. Right you are, sir.”
In truth, only the first two words of what the soldier said sounded at all human. The next four words amounted to little more than braying, which was not surprising as in the blink of an eye, the private, the captain, and several other British soldiers in the vicinity were transformed into a small herd of donkeys by Alexandra who was, after all, a powerful djinn, and a cross and angry one at that. All of this was accompanied by a bang, a strong smell of sulfur, and a loud exclamation of surprise from the professor.
“Gœfa mín, Peir eru sauðir,” said the professor. This means “My goodness, the soldiers are all donkeys,” in Icelandic.
“Otrúlegt,” exclaimed Axel. “Pað er rifið pað.”
“That’s torn it, right enough,” said Groanin, who knew a little Icelandic himself. “I say, that’s torn it.” He looked at John and Philippa and threw up his arms in horror. “The woman’s mad. Mad. Always was. Always will be.”
The donkey that had been Captain Sargent began to bray in agreement with the butler.
“No wonder she and Nimrod don’t live together,” added Groanin. “This is why she lives in Afghanistan. Everyone here is mad or angry about something. So she fits right in. Isn’t that right, Alexandra?”
Alexandra lowered her head in shame. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, it is.”
“Alexandra, Alexandra, Alexandra.” Nimrod sounded almost weary. “Why must you always get so angry?”
“People like you make me angry.” She pointed at Groanin. “And him. Not to mention that stupid soldier.” But already she was becoming calmer, as if the exercise of her power had purged something of her irritation and anger, which was always increased by seeing Nimrod again. “Anyway, it’s not my fault I have the gift of prophecy. I didn’t ask to be like this. It just happened.”
Nimrod looked at the twins. “She’s not a bad person, really she isn’t. It’s the gift of prophecy that makes her this way. Impossible to be with. Isn’t that right, Alexandra?”
“It’s a curse,” agreed Alexandra, who seemed to be coming back to her senses. “Right enough. Every night I lie awake and hear the future. And the next day when I tell people what’s going to happen, they just don’t believe me.” She shook her head. “It’s a terrible predicament I’ve lived with for a long time now. This sense of understanding everything and yet being powerless to make anyone act upon that.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Look, I’m sorry for being so rude to you both. I didn’t mean anything I said. I often speak rashly, without thinking. I was just so pleased to see Nimrod again and yet mad at the same time that he was going away without speaking to me, that I got really angry and said all kinds of nonsense that simply isn’t true.” She stroked John’s hair with affection. “Nonsense about you and Philippa and the dreadful fate that awaits you in the clouds after you have discovered that the price of chocolate is far above rubies. Nonsense about the death of a man in a black mask. About the ship that’s inside a ship and a gray tiger. What can that mean? Oh, yes, and some nonsense about poor Axel winning the jackpot in the University of Iceland Lottery. And the shock he experiences when the worm turns. I don’t know.”
“Pví miður, I haven’t won the lottery,” said Axel.
“You see?” said Alexandra. “I told you it was all nonsense, didn’t I?” She laughed a hysterical sort of laugh and shrugged.
“Never mind that now,” said Nimrod. “What about these soldiers? You can’t leave them like this. As donkeys. It’s hardly fair, is it?”
“No, I suppose not. But look, before I turn them back into men, you’d better sit down on that carpet and get out of here. Just in case that captain causes any more trouble for you. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. He’s going to cause a lot of problems for a lot of people before he’s done in Afghanistan.”
Nimrod took Alexandra’s hand and, in the moonlight, Philippa saw
that it was beautifully tattooed with mehndi — intricate henna markings that are considered good luck.
“Why not come with us?” he said.
“No,” she said firmly. “We both know that wouldn’t be a good idea. It’s best I stay here where I can’t cause too much trouble.” She shrugged. “I mean, who would notice?” She tried a smile. “But thanks. Thanks for asking. And next time, don’t leave it so long before you stop by, okay?”
Nimrod nodded and then kissed her hand.
A minute later they were airborne.
“She wasn’t always like that,” Nimrod said quietly. “Certainly not when I married her. But she had a brother. Who was killed. And the grief of that was so acute that it seemed to bring on her ability to foresee the future. While at the same time it made her so very angry about things. Until that happened she was the most wonderful woman in the world.”
“She’s very beautiful,” said Axel. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman.”
Philippa smiled bravely and tried to contain her disappointment.
“I agree,” said the professor who by now had thrown off his chadri and was looking like a man again — albeit a man in a black mask.
“I feel sorry for her,” said Philippa.
“Me, too,” said John.
Nimrod said nothing. But after a moment or two, Philippa noticed him wipe a tear from his eye. And she stopped feeling sorry for her aunt and started feeling sorry for her uncle.
CHAPTER 26
A SIMPLE PLAN
Past life regression,” said Nimrod. “It’s a technique that human hypnotists use to recover memories of past lives or incarnations. Of course, they got it from the Upanishads — the philosophical texts of the Hindu religion of ancient India.”
He glanced over the edge of the flying carpet at a more modern India, which lay several thousand feet beneath them. It was dawn and Nimrod had been flying all night and because he was feeling tired, ‘Groanin had just fetched him a reviving cup of his excellent tea, which Nimrod had declared was the best cup of tea in the world.
“Only the Indians called it karma from previous lives,” said Nimrod. “Now, the Chinese believe that people are prevented from remembering their past lives by the goddess Meng Po, also known as the Lady of Forgetfulness. Anyway, all of them got the idea of PLR, or ‘reverse birthing’ as it is sometimes called, from us. From the djinn.