Danka laughed and passed two cigarettes to Wanda. “The letters never come. I gave to him the number to hospital but really it is not possible.”
At last Wanda was busy, bending down to the gas to light the cigarettes one after the other. The Virgin got his opportunity to glare and kick her gently under the table, but Danka was unrepentant. “Never mind. It is nothing. You did not come to Hash last time.”
“No. I was in London.”
“Boże! London. It is so easy for you. For us we must have visa from Captain Zella before they will give us ticket. And must have ticket before they will give travellers cheques. Next time that you go, I will come in your suitcase, OK?”
“Where is the Hash this week?”
“Holey Rock. Good. I am happy that you are here. Now you can take us to Hash, OK?”
“I guess so. I’ve got to come this way anyway. What time are they starting now?”
Danka consulted with Wanda in Polish. “It will be on five o’clock. Now you have soup with us. Flaki soup; you like?”
Wanda was offering him a brimming spoon to try. “Uważaj - bardzo gorąco!”
“She says is very hot,” Danka translated. “You like?”
The soup was clear and peppery, good for cold windy days. Danka set her cigarette in the sardine tin and started putting bowls and spoons out. It was always the same when he visited Polish friends. You had not been with them for more than ten minutes before they were trying to feed you. And after the food the vodka would come out. Why not, he thought to himself. It beats sitting at home alone.
Major Jamal called him early next morning. He brought the letter of credit around immediately and stayed for a coffee. His queries about timing were cursory; the order did not seem to interest him at all. What did intrigue him was The Virgin’s exotic girlfriend in London, and he quickly steered the conversation around to her.
“Are you going back to England for Christmas? No? Your girlfriend will miss you. Really, you must invite her to come to Tabriz. I am sure it will be interesting for her here.”
“Well, maybe. Better in spring though. There’s not much to do in winter, really. The days are too short and it’s cold.”
“True,” he nodded. “I find it cold and I think you do also, but she is from England so even winter here will seem warm to her. Tell me again, what is her name?”
“Her name? Elena. Elena Anthony.”
“Elena. Such a pretty name. And where does she work?”
“She’s a travel agent, didn’t I tell you? She can get cheap tickets to go anywhere.”
“So. She must get a cheap ticket and come here. But I am sure you have other girl-friends, Filipino ones and Polish ones. There are many European ladies here. I thought you had a Polish friend.”
That would be Danka. “Well, I have some friends, but no-one special. Not a real girl-friend.”
Major Jamal smiled happily. “Ah, you are a young man. You play with all the girls and don’t settle down. Very good. We are the same except that we marry our girl-friends. If our old wives are not happy, they can always leave.
“But tell me. How did you find our chemical?”
“I just sent faxes to the company you told me about. You remember, Karelia. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it is nothing. I just wanted to know if you had found it with Karelia or tried other companies. And so you will order from them? Definitely?”
“You can make it a condition of the order if you like. But don’t worry. We don’t have time to run around getting competitive quotations. It has to be ready to ship at the beginning of the New Year.”
“Good. It is better that you don’t ask further because we do not want too many people knowing our business. Did you see Karelia in London?”
“No. I was too busy to worry about it.”
“And your office in London? Did they help you?”
“About this? No. Not a chance. They’re so involved in doing their own thing that you can’t expect any help from them at all. I expect the order will be placed from Rotterdam and payment made from there.”
Major Jamal seemed pleased by his off-handed responses, and The Virgin felt bold enough to ask a question that foreigners always steered clear of in their dealings with Tabrizis. “May I ask you something? I was wondering about the political situation here, the economic situation. Do you think it is going to stay the same?”
“As it is now?” Major Jamal gave it a moment’s thought. “You must understand that this country is not like Europe. It is a different sort of democracy. We have our congresses, and every man can stand and say what he wishes. This is true democracy, as the Great Man wrote in his book. I think that America and the West don’t understand this. They keep saying that the Great Man is another Stalin, but believe me, it’s not true. Any man can get up in the congresses and speak about most things. Not all, of course.
“You know the Great Man always says he is not the leader. He says it on the television and the simple people believe what he says; he is only the servant of the people. What the congresses want, he says, they can do. Of course, the truth is that although they can say many things freely, no one will dare to say anything directly against him. Not a word, because he has the army behind him. And the police. And all the different security forces. They are all his people.
“You see, most of the officers are not like me, old men from before the Revolution. Most of them owe everything to him. He meets us; he sits and eats with us. These things are very important in Tabriz. He takes care of us, and we all know that everything we have, every dollar we receive, (Did you know that? He pays us dollars so we can travel outside) everything comes from his hand. So we are his people, and we work for him because we are working for ourselves.
“The ordinary people, they are different. They receive what they can take and they must be happy, because anything else is not permitted. Believe me; sometimes a man will make a lot of noise in front of his friends in the congresses. He forgets where he is and starts to speak as if this was America or England, and then one day, two days later, he disappears. Disappears completely. His family know what has happened, of course. But what can they do?
“So you ask me, will the situation change? As long as the Great Man is there, and as long as we can protect him from his enemies, nothing will change. But he does have enemies. Many enemies from different families. Especially from his own village and the country around there. One day he will be caught, I think, because no security net can be perfect. He will play with some-one’s sister, or be rude to the wrong old man and one of the young men close to him will kill him. That is our way here. Young men will die for their families, and if they do not fear to die themselves, the life of a leader can finish in an instant.”
“And then what?”
“Ah. Now you have asked a very difficult question. What will come in his place? I don’t know. I can hope only that whoever comes next is a strong man, or everything will be lost. We must have a strong man who will control the army and the security forces, and then we will have peace. And it would be better if it was some-one close to the Great Man.”
“Close to him? I would have thought people would want a change.”
“Maybe. Maybe the people would want that. But let me tell you a story, young Gregory (May I call you Gregory?). There was once a wounded soldier lying on the battle-field. He was badly hurt and his wounds were open and bleeding. A friend came to him and saw that his wounds were covered with flies, so he wanted to chase them away. But the soldier would not let him. He said that the flies had already eaten as much as they wanted, and they were not troubling him much. If they were chased away, their places would be taken by fresh and hungry flies who would attack him fiercely. This is a good story for Tabriz, don’t you think so?”
“Yes. I can see that. And it would certainly be better for us, for the foreign businesses. We all wish the Great Man a long and happy life. I’d hate to be around if there was another revolution.”
“Oh, I don
’t think it would touch you. You could just hide in your house for a couple of days. But there is a lot of old blood to be paid for. There will be many old debts paid. You know, when the revolution came, people were shot. Some were shot in their houses, in front of their women and children. Some were even hung in the football stadium. Good people, from good families, strung up like criminals. For every one of them, there will be ten of the people who did these things hanging in the wind. Believe me; people do not forget wrong things like that, not in Tabriz. And everyone knows who will be hanging there.” Major Jamal sat musing. He seemed to be looking forward to the day.
“How is Captain Zella? I haven’t seen him for a little while.”
“Captain Zella? He will be one of the first! No, Captain Zella is improving his Islamic and revolutionary education by visiting Amsterdam. He has even arranged that a foolish Greek company pays all his expenses there. And when he has finished playing with the white prostitutes, he will buy a Mercedes and return. I wish he would play with the girls in some African countries and then he would definitely catch a vile disease and bring it back to his family.” Major Jamal was vehement in his hatred. “Have you heard of what he does in the hospital? He is in charge of the visas for the nurses, so if they want a visa and he is feeling sufficiently like a man, they must sleep with him first. He tells his brother officers about the things he does and who has been forced by him. And then some of the younger ones from bad families go and make trouble for the nurses at their homes. I have had to prevent all security officers from entering their buildings in Barani, or we would have visits from their consul every day. Has anyone you know had trouble with him?”
The Virgin was on the edge of telling him about Evelina’s problem but an urge to appear uninformed held him back. “Well, I know the nurses all hate him. He seems to enjoy making them suffer. He’s no gentleman...”
“Exactly. He’s not a gentleman and never will be. One day he will do something too ugly and foolish, and his masters will have to transfer him. I hope for the sake of those ladies that it will be soon.
“Enough about Captain Zella. I must enjoy my freedom from him while I can. Now, you will call me as soon as you have any more news about our shipment? This order is very important to me.”
“And me too. My manager is keen that everything should go well, and then maybe you will order more material through us.”
“You never know.” Major Jamal was rising. “How is the telephone? Working well?”
“It’s fantastic! I can call my parents, and Elena. And business is so easy. It’s just like being in America.”
Major Jamal laughed. “Why not? Everything is possible in Tabriz, if you know the right people.”
- 12 -
Friday dawned grey with the wind rattling the ghibli blinds. The Virgin crawled out of bed and looked at the sky. The wind was coming from the sea, bringing rain and English misery with it. And today was the cement job. What was it about cementing that always seemed to attract foul weather? First he had to decide what he would wear. MacAllans insisted on fire-proof Nomex coveralls. The artificial fabric might be safe to wear, but it felt unbearably hot and sticky in summer. Conversely, on a winter’s day like this, wearing Nomex alone would feel like standing around in the nude. He had some thermal liners left over from an assignment in Germany but he was too embarrassed to wear them here. He settled on jeans and a thick sweater under his coveralls. And no matter what MacAllans said about proper uniforms on location, he would wrap himself in an old ski jacket. He might get wet but at least he would be warm.
The wind-blown streets were empty as he drove to the office to make his morning call. Florian was bitching about the amount of equipment tied up in Sabah. He wanted everything and everybody back tomorrow morning if not sooner. Apart from that, nothing was happening. About normal for a week-end when all the work-over rigs some-how managed to get themselves onto dull repetitive work with no decisions required. He would have to go to the rig to sit out the hours before the job.
As he left the empty car park he thought about going to church, to listen to Evelina and the other girls singing hymns in their Filipino country and western style. Sunday fell on Fridays in Sabah and he would be just in time for mass. Perhaps he could pray for a good cement job. It was not just his clothes that stopped him; it was hard to be enthusiastic about anything on a day like this.
As he jolted up the location road towards the rig he could see the travelling block moving up in the derrick. That meant they were still running casing, and when he pulled up outside Terry’s shack he could see they had another thirty or forty joints on the racks. Terry was reading a novel.
“Hey, guy! You’re here early. You piss the bed or something? Or your little Filipino nurse have early duty? Like a coffee?” Without waiting for a reply he reached for his miniature percolator and a paper cup.
“Just thought I’d stop by and make sure you’re not giving our guys a hard time. How’s it going?”
“Hey, it’s good. The casing crew’s good. Haven’t cross-threaded a joint yet. They’re keeping up a steady twelve joints an hour. We’ll be done by lunchtime. Haven’t seen your guys. They’re out there on the mud-tanks somewhere, mixing up your God-damn expensive chemicals that we don’t really need. Sugar, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And milk if you have it.”
“It’s in the fridge. If you like canned milk. No, they seem to have everything about straight. That Rene, he’s a good hand.”
“Oh yes. He’s been around a while. We still displacing?”
“That’s what it says in the programme. And here’s one foreigner who ain’t going to change any programme. That’s playing with fire, that is.”
“Well, I hope they can get us the mud fast enough.”
“Don’t worry. Even RomDril can pump mud at ten barrels a minute. And we’ll have the mud pumps hooked up just in case. You hear the news last night?”
“No. What’s up? Price of oil tripled?”
“No such luck. No, it’s those Yanks again. Sounding off about Tabriz. Old Clinton was carrying on in his state of the Union speech last night, making out how they’ve been supporting terrorism and all that. Probably buying toys for the Palestinians.”
“So - what’s new? Name me an Arab country that doesn’t give money to the Palestinians. It’s just conscience money to save them doing anything positive to help. Clinton’s got an election coming next year and he’s looking for some-one to push around. The Great Man’s such an obvious target.”
“Yeah.” Terry seemed to be wondering whether he disliked the Tabrizis or the Americans the most. “And the Great Man doesn’t help himself, either. The mud man told me he was on television last week saying how the Arabs should be getting together to push Israel into the sea.”
“Why does he mess with that stuff? If Tabriz wants a quiet life all it has to do is to keep selling the oil and making babies. Start being rude to Israel and you’ll have the States down on you in a big way. Look what they did to Libya.”
“You’re right there. I wonder if the Arabs could ever get it together.”
“Not a chance,” said The Virgin happily. “Old Lawrence of Arabia tried that at the end of the first war. They just had to hang together for a couple of months and they could have strangled Israel at birth. They couldn’t do it; they hate each other too much. They had to run off and do their own Arabic things, and look at them now. What would they be if they didn’t have oil?”
“Yeah. I’d sure like to see them trying to push Israel into the sea. They wouldn’t even make it across their borders. Those Israelis don’t take no shit from no-one.”
The Virgin thought of the one Israeli soldier he had met. “Yes. They’re a pretty tough bunch. The Egyptians didn’t get very far with them even after they’d caught them with their pants down and got across the Canal. But I do wish the Great Man would leave it all alone. Doesn’t he have problems enough without that?”
“Problems? The only problem he’s go
t is how to spend the 750,000 barrels of oil he makes every day. Just think of it! That’s around a half barrel a day for every Tabrizi. If they make fifteen dollars a barrel, that’s seven and a half dollars a day each, just for waking up. And seven and a half dollars goes a long way here on the black market.”
“Don’t believe they get to see it! The Great Man has to get his cut first. And then there’s the army and all his other toys. I wonder how much they actually make.”
“That’s easy enough,” said Terry, reaching for his calculator. “750,000 barrels a day at $15 per barrel that’s - let’s see now - $11,250,000 a day. Wow; every day. Over a year that’s 365 times - $4,106,250,000. Four billion dollars a year. You could run a pretty good country with that.”
“It’s not all profit, though. I wonder how much getting the oil to surface and onto the ships really costs them. I bet it’s pushing $10 per barrel.”
“Could be right. You’ve seen the way they piss money away down in the desert. It should be hitting the boats at a couple of dollars only, but I guess you’re right. Not all of it goes to greedy bastards like MacAllans though. A lot of it stays in Tabriz as salaries.”
“Yes, but how long does it stay in the country? They don’t produce anything except tomatoes and dates, and even then the farm workers are Egyptian. All the workers in town, building houses and the like, they come from Egypt. Ninety-five percent of their money gets sent home. All their canned food, clothes, everything, it’s all imported. They must be the world’s most efficient consumers.”
“Guess we shouldn’t complain too much. If they ever decided to work for a living, they might take our jobs.” Terry chuckled at the thought. “It might take them a year or two to learn how it goes, but that wouldn’t stop them.”
“You’re right, though,” said The Virgin. “Isn’t it terrible? Whenever two foreigners start talking about Tabriz, they always end up complaining. And it’s not so bad really. You can find a way to live here and be comfortable enough. Sure it’s a bit strange, but I’ll tell you what; there’s no-where I could be saving the amount of money I do here. They pay us extra to be here because it’s such a pain, and there’s nothing to spend it on.”
The Accidental Spy Page 14