Florence of Arabia

by Christopher Buckley

  Matar had ever actually been glorious.) Had he not risked all? What if the coup had failed? Where would he be now? In Gazzy's dungeon, supplementing his diet with beetles. No. he'd had quite enough of their telling him, Now, here's what else you can do for us today.

  "We will not see the Frenchman." Maliq petulantly announced to Fetish, the aide de camp he had inherited from his brother and who had come highly recommended by Delame-Noir. A certain air of pronouncement-making had crept into Maliq's speech of late; this often happens, alas, when one becomes dictator.

  "But Holiness—"

  "I have spoken, Fetish."

  Since Fetish was also on the payroll of Delame-Noir's Onzieme Bureau, he pressed as gingerly as he could. "Great Imam—would it not be wise to grant the Frenchman a few minutes? He has traveled a great distance."

  "Bah! You make it sound like he crossed the Nefud Desert on camel. He came in his own private jet. It's got a bed in it, a kitchen and a two-star Michelin chef. We ourselves have flown in it. It is—damn thy impertinence. Fetish. It is not for us to explain ourselves!"

  "I am but dung beside Thy Augustness, lord, beloved of Allah

  , protector of the one true faith. However, in my despised humility. I ask, should not my lord receive the Frenchman just for a brief time?"

  Maliq made a growling noise but knew Fetish was right. "Ten minutes.

  Make sure you come in after exactly ten minutes and say, 'Imam, you are urgently needed by ...' Well, by someone important."

  "How truly wise and benevolent is my master. Allah truly—"

  "Oh, just get him, Fetish."

  Maliq paced in his office, lingering his worry beads. Delame-Noir was shown in.

  "Altesse!" Delame-Noir bowed ever so slightly. He looked Maliq up and down, rather—Maliq thought—like a malevolent tailor. "In your person, the magnificence of the Bin Hazzim and the purity of the true faith have found their most sublime embodiment. How lucky is Matar to have so wise, so puissant, a ruler. This does not happen every day. Indeed, not since your second cousin's great-great-great-uncle Ali Hashim bin—"

  'Yes, yes," Malic] said. "Matar is once again a holy place. God be praised. So. Here you are."

  "I have come to pay you homage, man emir. To see the new crown jewel of the Matari in his setting."

  "Ah? Well. Good. Here I am. So. Very busy time."

  "Oh, yes." Delame-Noir grinned Gallicly. "It is truly work, establishing oneself as the unquestioned authority. But you have, yes, yes, you have. And now maybe it's time to give the signal that, okay, we take our religion seriously, we are very observant, very strict, but we're not going to beat to death all the naughty women in the mall outside the Starbucks? Surely?"

  Maliq sighed. "We didn't know this Florence woman was going to take a video of it."

  "All the same, it's not such a good image for the new Matar, mon imam. They are playing it on the Internet now. It's very— Speaking personally; I find it very difficult to watch. It's like a Mel Gibson movie."

  "The Internet is an instrument of Satan."

  "The theology I must leave to the theologians." Delame-Noir said. "My concern, it's for you. Because this is not good publicity. Look, myself, I don't really care. We chopped off a lot of heads during our revolution. For a while it's fun, and an amusement for the riffraff, but if it goes on too long, it's not good for business."

  "What are they going to do, not buy the oil?"

  "No, no. Oil they would buy from anyone. From Satan. But why give yourself such a bad image in the world'.''"

  "It's not my image you're worried about. It's yours."

  "From you. wise imam, there is no keeping secrets. But okay, yes, this is making everyone look not so good. Not that France cares what the world thinks, still..."

  Maliq threw up his hands. "It's the Wasabis who insist! Tallulah himself— he calls me every day to say he's sending more mukfelleel to help me 'purify the country.' I tell him. Thank you, you are too generous, but we don't need any more religious police.' And the next thing I know. Fetish informs me that another five hundred have arrived—by bus! What am I supposed to do?"

  Delame-Noir nodded sympathetically. "It's not easy being imam."

  "If it weren't for me, the muks would be holding twice as main executions and beatings."

  "Clearly. I have misread the situation. How can I apologize to you? How can I help?"

  "Just tell me." Maliq grunted, "what am I supposed to do."

  "Perhaps there is a solution. Look, why don't you say to Tallulah. 'My dear king, we have had the iron fist, now it's time for the handshake, eh? We have made the people tremble. They are making pee-pee in their thobes, They are so full of respect for you. Now we have a very obedient people. And now it's time for the making pleasant.' Eh?"

  "They're Wasabis." Maliq said. "They don't make pleasant"

  "At least get this publicity off your soil."

  "How?"

  "Here is a statistic that I happen to possess. It's very secret, so please don't tell who told you. Do you know part of the reason Wasabia is sending you all these mukfelleen? Because they don't have enough to do there, because the population is so scared of them, they don't do anything wrong. They don't even go outside the house anymore. And this has translated into an unemployment situation among the mukfelleen. Tallulah is very worried about this, so he see it as a golden opportunity to get them out of his country and fully occupied. This is what is going on with the mukfelleen. And it's not good to have out-of-work executioners, eh? They get ideas.

  "So, why don't you say to Tallulah, "Okay, in return lor your assistance with the change in regime. I am going to send you all our naughty women of Matar to help with your mukfeleen unemployment situation.' If they want to chop off the women's heads and make the bastinado, then at least it's happening in Wasabia, where they expect this barbarism, not here in the former Switzerland of the Gulf, eh?"

  "But what about this Florence woman? I can't have her running around loose. It undermines our authority."

  "No, no." Delame-Noir smiled. "This we cannot permit. Perhaps for this, too. I have a suggestion."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Florence could tell from the look on Bobby's face that it was not good news. He ripped off his gutra with disgust and tossed Al Matar on the table. Florence saw the front-page headline above the fold:

  FORMER SHEIKA CONFESSES TO IMMORAL RELATIONSHIP WITH AMERICAN FLORENCE SPY-PROPAGANDIST

  Bobby said. "They probably didn't bother to torture her. Just made it all up."

  Florence read the last paragraph aloud:" "The decision about how to punish her foul sins rests with the highest authorities. Acknowledging the enormity of her crimes, the former sheika has herself stated that strict implementation of shari'a, as interpreted by our blessed imam Maliq—a thousand blossoms fall upon his immaculate person—is commensurate with her crimes, too unspeakable to detail here.'

  "Aw, shit." Florence finished.

  "Us a trap. This is the bait."

  Florence started to gather up her things. Bobby watched her. "Does this mean that we're takin' the bait?" "I can do this alone."

  "G od-dammit

  , Flo."

  By the time they left their shabby dwelling, they resembled a thousand married couples—she determined, he furious.

  They drove to a car park in the Mirdam district, one of Amo-Amas's most crowded, a place of market stalls and outdoor eateries abutting the playing fields where soccer games and camel and horse races were held. It bustled still. Even the grim asceticism that had settled on Matar had not entirely stilled the ambient noise of buying and selling.

  Bobby's ego had now recovered at least to the point where he was speaking to Florence. "If he picks up right away." he said, "make it real quick. If he offers to put Laila on the phone and tells you to hold, hang up. You can always call back on another cell. But if they're expectin' the call, and they sure as hell will be, we've only got a couple minutes before the place’ll be swannin' with muk
s. I don't know how much technical assistance they're gettin' from the Frogs, but let's assume they are, so whatever you've got to say, say it fast.

  "The call will be taped. And they will take anythin' you say and splice it so it'll sound like you're admittin' to everything from lesbian orgies to pissin' on the Kaaba stone in Mecca."

  They parked the car and got out and blended—Bobbv's favorite pastime— into the late-morning crowd. It was as good a place as any to make a call that would be immediately traced: thousands of people, half of them veiled, traffic, two-way streets, dozens of ways in and out.

  Florence took out one of the cell phones that she had stolen on the night of Matar's "liberation." as it was now officially called. Bobby pressed a wad of sticky wax on the back of it and returned it to Florence. The wax made it feel lumpy and strange in her hand. She dialed the emir's private line.

  He picked up after two rings. She identified herself. Maliq came on within moments. They'd obviously been expecting the call. Bobby chewed gum and looked at his watch with the air of a nervous coach.

  "Well, Maliq." Florence said, "are you ready to take your seat at the table of civilized nations'.''"

  "What are you talking about. Florence?"

  "I’m doing what you wanted me to—answering that notice you put in the paper today."

  "Ah, Still want to trade, then? I shall require a down payment."

  "What did you have in mind? A hand? Tongue? The whole head?"

  "Since you like to make tapes, you'll make a tape of your confession. On it should be included all your admissions, all your crimes—the U.S. government's role in plotting against Matar, against Islam, against me personally, your unnatural relationship with the sheika. Everything."

  "The thousand and one crimes? I'll need a very long tape. And after you have it?"

  "She will be flown to Cyprus. And you will surrender yourself." "What guarantee do you have that I would surrender after the sheika is set free?"

  "You want her to live a long and full life, yes? With her son?" "All right. Hold on a moment, would you, Maliq?"

  She left the connection open. Bobby look the phone from her. He stepped off the curb and bent, as if to tie his shoe, and affixed the phone to the underside of a car that was stopped for a red light

  They moved off and again blended into the crowds. Moments later, there were sirens and a helicopter overhead, then several black sedans full of mukfelleen sped past them in the direction of the innocent vehicle.

  “I HAVE COMMITTED offenses against the state and ... I have..." Florence stared into the lens of the camera Bobby held. "My name is Florence. I am American. I have had a ... relationship .. ."

  "Would it help if I set it up on a tripod and let you do this alone?" Bobby said.

  Florence sighed. "No, let's try it again. What take are we on?" "Eighteen or nineteen. Lost count Okay, rollin'.. ."

  "My name is Florence. I am American. I am an enemy of the regime of Imam Maliq." She looked at Bobby. "How was that?" "I think they're going to want more than that." "This film—you're sure it works?" "Like a charm. Used it dozens of times."

  "Okay, then." She brushed a strand of hair away. "Do I look all right?"

  Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fabulous. Rollin'."

  "My name is Florence, and 1 have commit led many offenses against the country of Matar and its glorious leader, the imam Maliq bin-Kash al-Haz ..."

  ". . . FOR THESE TERRIBLE offenses, I deserve whatever punishment Imam Maliq. in his great wisdom, counseled by the holy mullahs of Matar, in accordance with shari'a. should decide upon. May my sins be cleansed, and may Allah forgive me for my transgressions. Long life to Imam Maliq. Long life to the new Islamic Republic of Matar."

  Fetish switched off lhe VCR.

  "Hum." Maliq grunted, pleased.

  "Congratulations, Imam." Fetish said. "A great success." "Yes. "It was, rather. You don't think she was acting too much?" "No. sire. She looked most fearful and penitent. Very convincing." "She's not bad-looking."

  "Truly, a waste of beauty. Magnificence. Shall I have the tape copied and distributed'.''"

  "Oh. yes. Make many copies."

  "And shall I make the arrangements?"

  "Which?"

  "With respect to the sheika. Great One. The plane—to Cyprus?" "Of course not."

  "Ah? The imam would pray first, then have me make the arrangements?"

  "You may make the arrangements. Fetish, when I tell you to make them. Is this difficult to comprehend? Is thy hearing afflicted?"

  "No. Holy One. It is all quite straightforward. Forgive thy humble servant's obtuseness."

  "Your what?"

  "Stupidity, Imam."

  "Ah. You may leave us."

  Fetish went off to a quiet corner of the palace apartments to relay by cell phone to his other employer. M. Delame-Noir, the developments and lack thereof.

  FROM ANOTHER CROWDED part of the city. Florence placed another call to Maliq. Bobby, now even more impatient, kept time with his watch.

  "You have your down payment." she said when Maliq came to the phone.

  "Yes. Do you have a television in whatever stink hole you're in? It's going to be playing tonight. But if you miss it tonight, you can watch it tomorrow night. Or the night after that."

  "Will I also see on television the sheika disembarking from a plane in Cyprus?"

  "Well, you see, there's a problem."

  "What problem.' Maliq?"

  "She's not well to travel. She has had quite the time of it, you see. Why don't you visit her? We’ll put you in an adjoining room. You can make love through the bars."

  "So, Maliq, still the cheater?"

  "No, Florence, still the winner."

  Florence pressed END and dropped the phone in the gutter, where it broke apart as it tumbled into the sewer drain. She and Bobby joined the throng and walked off. Above, they could hear a helicopter approaching.

  "IMAM, THERE IS a problem with the tape." Fetish said. "What 'problem'?"

  "There is nothing on it."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I sent it directly to Jahar, the head of the television station, for duplicating and broadcasting. But he says that when they went to duplicate it, it was— empty. There was nothing on it."

  "This is impossible. Fetish. You and I watched it together."

  "I cannot explain. Imam."

  Maliq picked up his phone. Jahar came on the line and tremblingly reported that, regretfully, alas, there was nothing on the tape. Maliq called him an imbecile and a fool and. what was more, a traitor. Jahar, sweating profusely, said that the tape was being examined most rigorously by TV Matar's top technicians, and if anything could be found on it—other than nullity and blankness—he would immediately advise His Most Holy Worship. Maliq slammed the phone down with such force that it cracked. "Filthy deceiving bitch!"

  "Holiness," Fetish said, "she is not worthy of thy wrath."

  "Trickery! Foul women's deceit!"

  "Calm thyself. Holy One, lest thy heart burst."

  "Fetch the sheika! Bring her here, the slut! Immediately!"

  "Master—"

  "Fetish." Maliq seethed, "do you know what an oubliette is?"

  Fetish did not, but he was certain it was no pleasant thing.

  "It is a hole, Fetish, a very deep hole, found in French chateaux and prisons, for the hurling into of troublesome people. And there they are forgotten— oubliés. I'm having one installed beneath the palace. Would you like to be the first to try it out?"

  Nothing so concentrates the mind as the prospect of being hurled into a pit. Fetish scurried off like a crab to call Delame-Noir.

  Delame-Noir was a man of refinement, but on hearing Fetish's report, he uttered a low "Merde." Upon regaining his composure, he instructed Fetish to delay, whereupon Fetish began babbling about oubliettes. It had been some time since Delame-Noir had heard the word, but now that he was reminded of it, he was inclined to dig one himself, deep enough to accommodate the entire
Matari royal family; or the whole country, for that mutter.

  "1'1'S BECOME EASIER now that film is digital," Bobby was saying. "There's an algorithm embedded in the chip that activates the erase function when you hit PLAY. So you can only play the tape once, and it won't duplicate. Can come in kinda handy. I've used it a lot."

  Florence hadn't said much since dropping the phone into the sewer.

  "Look, Flo," he said, "you tried. You did everythin' you could. He was never going to let her go. Even if he wanted to, the Wasabis wouldn't let him. The only thing they want more than Laila's head on a stick is yours."

  "Algorithm." she said absent-mindedly. "It's an Arabic word. It comes from 'Al-khawarizmi.' Mathematician, twelve centuries ago, in the days when they were great. They're going to kill her. Bobby."

  'Maybe the French'll intervene. This PR can't be doin' them any good. They may be assholes, but they don't like lookin' like assholes."

  "No. they'll kill her."

  "Maybe it's time to go home, Flo. We're not makin' things any better here at this point."

  She looked at him. "Are you scared?"

  "To be scared, you gotta not want to die. I haven't really cared about that, since there wasn't really anyone I'd miss that much. Up to now. If you see my problem."

  "You don't sound very happy about being in love." "I've got mixed feelings about it, frankly. There are better places than the Middle East to lose your edge."

  "THE FRENCHMAN is here, Holy One."

  "What? Who does he think he is, just showing up? And where is the sheika? I told you to bring her here."

  "Yes, she's coming. They had to ... wash her. She was not presentable, sire. Being in the cell without amenities ..."

  "I didn't ask you to give her a bath. Fetish."

  "My stupidity is a boundless as the Nafta Desert, oh lord. Forgive me." Maliq made a growling noise.

  "In the meantime, will you not admit the Frenchman, sire?" "What does he want?"