Holy Water (27 page)

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Authors: James P. Othmer

Tags: #madmaxau, #General Fiction

BOOK: Holy Water
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He listens, more transfixed by her story than he

s ever been by his own. She drinks the rest of her wine, her fourth glass to his two, before resuming.

When my father fell into disfavor, my husband,
who had a clerical job in the palace, told me that he could not abide my presence if he were to have a career. We were a distraction. He didn

t know that I was expecting a child. I was so young I barely knew myself. She died from diphtheria. From, you

ll be interested to know, tainted water. Had we lived near the palace, she could have been treated and perhaps saved, but the roads were impassable because of the monsoon rains, and at her age she passed quickly.

 


What happened to your father?

 


He died in a taro field. Heart attack, I imagine. A person raised as an intellectual can

t be expected to survive as a peasant field-worker at the age of seventy-two. It

s no matter, because the prince built a dam that dried up the rivers, and the fields died soon after that.

 


I don

t know what to say, Maya.

 

She signals for the bill.

You know, the way you spoke about your wife, I don

t think that is how you truly feel about her. Maybe you are no longer in love, and maybe you were not meant to be married, but you should respect her. The desire for a child, the loss of a child . . . you can

t begin to fathom.

 

~ * ~

 

 

 

 

Continuous Partial Attention

 

 

 

 

Two nights later, after ten on a Sunday, Madden is in Henry

s room, sitting on Henry

s bed, drinking Irish whiskey out of the bottle, when Henry returns from a late dinner alone in the spa restaurant, followed by a garden stroll.

 

Madden

s presence doesn

t startle him. Already he

s reached the point where nothing in Galado surprises him.

 


I thought I told room service not to bring me the drunken Aussie until after eleven.

 

Madden smiles, toasts Henry with the half-consumed bottle of Jameson.

Well, according to the concierge, you

re a
fl
aming homosexual, so I thought I

d stop by and give you a proper buggering.

 

Standing at his desk, Henry checks the messages on his laptop. He

s been away for only two and a half hours, but there are more than a dozen, including several apiece from Giffler and Rachel, plus one with a video attachment from Norman. But he has neither the curiosity nor the desire to open any of them.

 


You realize,

Madden says,

that anything that goes through their network is being deconstructed and analyzed by no less than a dozen security hacks back at the palace. The prince may indeed like you, but the truth is, he

s put you here, just as he

s put dozens before you here, because it makes you that much easier to keep an eye on.

 


What will they make of your late-night presence?

 

Madden stands and stretches. His fingertips and the bottle top reach the ceiling. Henry had forgotten how large the man was.

They

ll scratch their heads a bit over it, but ultimately they

ll think it

s a good thing. Back at the palace, anyway. They don

t entirely trust me, but I

m a rainmaker, and these days the prince gives rainmakers special privileges.

 

For the hell of it, Henry calls up his iTunes library on the laptop and pushes Party Shuffle.

No Fun,

a dance song by
Vitalic
, begins to pulse. He

s not particularly fond of the song, but he downloaded it anyway, because he read that the front man claimed to be a part-time gigolo as well as a Ukrainian
trubka
player from a family of sea otter fur traders. For a moment he thinks of sharing this backstory with Madden, but Madden speaks first.

 


So are you ready for a bit of an adventure?

 

Henry waves at his room, toward the foreign darkness outside his window.

I hung with a prince. I had dinner on a cliff. I

m staying at a holistic whorehouse. Don

t you think I

m already sort of engaged in one?

 

Madden laughs derisively.

This? Come on, mate. Grab a jacket. Let

s take a ride. I

ve got some business to tend to in the hinterlands.

 

Henry looks at his watch, which is still running on New York time.

Now? It

s got to be pretty late here, right?

 


Why not? Unless you

ve got some young massage boy scheduled for a midnight quickie.

 

~ * ~

 

In the passenger

s seat of Madden

s Range Rover, careering around a winding, guardrail-free mountain road, Henry declines yet another offer to hit off the bottle of Jameson.

 


Here, then,

Madden says, rising off the seat to reach in his pocket.

Grab the wheel for a sec, will
ya
?

 

The truck is going straight toward the edge of a cliff and certain death while the road ahead veers sharply to the right. Henry lunges across the seat and gives the wheel a yank.

What the hell?

 

Madden retakes the wheel. He mumbles,

Nicely done,

because he now has a small metal pipe clenched in his mouth.

I knew you were a man of action.

 


Is that a crack pipe?

 


Not crack. Hashish, mate.

Using his thigh to control the
wheel, Madden flicks a butane lighter and puffs the pipe

s contents to life. After he

s taken a second hit, he offers it to Henry.

Galado doesn

t have much to offer in the way of nightlife, but it may well have the very best hashish on this planet.

 

Henry says no, but when Madden waves it closer, he takes the pipe. As he

s inhaling his first hit, Madden says,

Of course, if you

re caught with it on your person here, it

s punishable by death.

 

When he stops coughing, Henry looks at Madden to see if this is true.

 

Madden shrugs.

 


What kind of business are you doing up here?

 


Timber.

 

Henry tilts his head.

I thought there were strict rules regarding timber. Special permission from the king to fell a tree. Et cetera.

 


This is true. But many of these rules are about to be tossed out the palace window. When this happens, some people are going to get very rich. Might as well be me and my constituents.

 

Henry accepts the pipe again. He thinks about his recent conversation with Maya about every action impacting something.

What about the people? They spent centuries trying to preserve their culture, then it

s all gonna change overnight?

 


It

s my opinion that people spend way too much time trying to preserve their so-called ways. If they

re worth a damn, they

ll preserve themselves.

Madden takes his foot off the gas and stares at Henry.

For instance, you Americans get your underpants all up in a bunch when someone tries to pirate your culture, but it

s really not about preserving your culture. It

s about protecting your right to shove it down someone else

s throat for a healthy profit. You just shook your head.

 


I did.

 


Oh, please.

He raises the whiskey bottle to his lips and takes a gulp.

Get off your high horse, Mister Bottled Water in the Land of Poisoned Rivers and Dried-up Wells. The fact is that every successful modern country polluted its way to prosperity, only to worry about the environmental consequences later. Now that the U.S., Japan, and the UK are obscenely wealthy, they suddenly want to get all green with their rules, which basically will ensure that no one else will.

 


I just wonder if globalizing a place—

 

Madden interrupts.

Oh, horseshit. We are the opposite of a global village. We live in a global kingdom. With the select few in the castle, and those who serve them comfortably living in the kingdom, and everyone else flailing in the muck and pestilence outside the walls, hating them, suffering them, warring with and dreaming of destroying them.

 


What I meant,

Henry responds,

is that introducing commerce and technology to a place shouldn

t mean it has to abandon its traditions. It

s just a disconnect that such a spiritual people would be forced to change so—

 

Madden interrupts again.

My spiritual belief is a grand unified theory of pragmatism. I believe that God lives in our synapses, in the last chemical link before action is taken. They whine about losing a species like a blind overfish, but it

s a fair trade for the untold billions to be made in development. Soon many other two-and-a-half-world countries will be forced to make similar decisions. We

ll choose who prospers and who lives in poverty. Which species will thrive and which will not make the cut. Darwinian economics.

 


By

we,

I

m assuming you mean people like you and a steroid-taking prince whom you have called, if I

m not mistaken, a sociopath.

 


That is correct. One man

s liberty is another

s control. You think the answer is to democratize them. To Americanize them.

 


I didn

t say that.

 


But no one gives a shit about that,

Madden says, smashing his right hand on the dashboard.

They sure as hell don

t. I don

t. And the people at your company, they don

t. We just want them to want our shit. Our
Walmarts
.

 


Our Big Macs.

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