Right of Thirst (25 page)

They sent a small gray Asian sedan with tinted windows. The uniformed driver spoke no English. Despite myself, I could not shake the sense of dread as I got into the car, and we pulled out on the wide road, the lanes divided by a dusty hairline of bushes and painted white cinder blocks. The air-conditioner blew, the cloth seats were frayed. The car smelled like cigarettes.

Low concrete and tan brick buildings, alleys, market stalls. Shop fronts selling candy and photocopies by the page. Signs, in Arabic and English alike. Scooters, three-wheeled rickshaws, heavy trucks covered with battered finery—tassels, bits of tin, elaborate paint. Laundry on the rooftops. Clouds, heat shimmering damply on the roofs of the other cars. We moved at little more than walking speed. I sat back, invisible behind the windows, wondering what to say. Every so often a motorcycle would weave past, the rider's elbow brushing the glass at my cheek.

General Said's office was in a low concrete building, with a high wall around it, and guards out front, and the crest of the army on the front door. It stood on a side street near the city center, not far from the hotel, and as we pulled in through the gate it looked like nothing at all.

The driver led me up the steps of the building, and through the
door, and down a long hall. The hall was lit by fluorescent light, and the linoleum underfoot was worn and scuffed. Other doors opened on either side, to offices, and we passed them, turning left, then right, then left again. The building was larger than I realized, and soon I was disoriented. A few men passed us in the hall, some in civilian clothes, but most were uniformed soldiers. They ignored us, walking by without a glance. I heard telephones, and, at times, typewriters. The building smelled of cigarette smoke and mildew. There seemed to be many empty rooms.

When the man stopped, it was at a door that looked exactly like the others. The door was numbered, in English—24. He knocked, opened the door, and gestured for me to enter. He did not follow. Instead, he waited in the hall.

Behind the door, in the corner of a small room, a soldier sat at a metal desk beside a modern telephone. There were papers on the desk, a Rolodex. The red wall-to-wall carpet on the floor was worn and scuffed, like everything else. Above the desk hung a large photograph of the prime minister, chief of the army, in uniform. It was the only decoration on the walls, which had once been white. In places, the paint was peeling. In one corner, against the ceiling, a yellow stain.

On the other side of the room, to my right, sat two overstuffed chairs, a small glass coffee table between them. The chairs were a different shade of red. An ashtray sat on the coffee table, half full.

The soldier stood immediately as I entered, then gestured for me to sit.

“You will wait, please,” he said, in broken English.

I sat down in the chair. The soldier returned to his desk. I stared at the door leading to the general's office, with its worn imitation gold handle. I could hear voices behind the door. They rose and fell, and sometimes they were punctuated by laughter.

The soldier did paperwork, checking boxes on a form with a cheap ballpoint pen. He ignored me entirely.

There was nothing to read. The coffee table beside me was empty save for the ashtray. The chair was comfortable enough. There was no clock in the room. I waited. The conversation continued.

Ten minutes later I'd had enough.

I stood, and the soldier looked up at me.

“Tell General Said,” I said, “that if he wants to see me, he will see me now, or else I will leave. Do you understand?”

The soldier looked at me impassively, but then he pressed a button on the phone, and I heard the crackle of an intercom. The man spoke into it, and then Said's voice replied—a few quiet words, that was all. The soldier looked up at me again, then gestured for me to sit once more.

I didn't sit. I stood by the chairs, and made an elaborate show of looking at my watch. Perhaps thirty seconds passed, and then, finally, the door opened, and a man in his fifties walked through it. He was dressed in an immaculate suit, with a white shirt, and a fine blue tie, his thick black hair brushed elaborately back from his forehead. He had small eyes, thick brown jowls, and he was laughing at something the general had said. When he saw me he nodded pleasantly.

General Said followed, also smiling. He was dressed as he had been before, in khakis, as if he might be required to go on maneuvers at any moment. I watched as Said shook the man's hand, then whispered something to him that made him laugh again, and eased him out the door.

“Doctor,” Said said, as soon as the man was gone. “I did not know you were waiting. I am very sorry. Once again I have inconvenienced you.”

He shook his head, as if with deep regret, and then he extended his hand, smiling warmly, and I took it. His handshake was neither firm nor limp.

“Please, come into my office. Would you like some tea?”

“All right,” I said.

He turned and spoke quickly to the soldier. The soldier picked up the phone.

Said ushered me into his office, and closed the door behind us. “I am sorry,” he said. “These businessmen. They are always asking for concessions. What am I to do?”

I didn't answer. Instead I looked around the office.

The only sign of luxury was a heavy antique desk, carved from dark wood, and a modern leather executive chair. The rest was battered bookshelves, the same peeling paint and worn red carpet, two identical overstuffed chairs, and another coffee table. The room was windowless, and seemed more like a colonel's office than a major general's. Part of me had expected antlers, or the feet of elephants, or humidors, but there was none of that. It was a place where business was done.

Said read my thoughts.

“Ah, yes, perhaps you were expecting something grand,” he said. “But no, no, I am sorry to say. We do not spend our budget on finery. Only on what is necessary.”

“That's very commendable,” I said.

On the wall behind the desk were perhaps a dozen framed photographs. Most of them were of General Said shaking hands with someone else. Some of the faces were famous, faces that I recognized. But the rest were strangers.

“Please, you must sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of the overstuffed chairs.

I did my best to smile politely, and did as he asked, expecting him to return behind the desk. But instead he sat down on the other overstuffed chair, and moved it to face me.

“Thank you very much for coming,” he said. “I am sorry to impose on you in this way, especially after what you have been through.”

He shook his head wearily.

“I can assure you that this has been a very unpleasant surprise for us. That area has been quiet for a long time. I am extremely sorry, Doctor, for what has happened. And I especially regret that the young lady was there. You are a man of experience, of course, but she is only an innocent girl. It must have been a terrible shock to her.”

He paused, looking at me.

“I understand that you were both in the tent during the action?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Where is she, if I may ask?” he continued.

“She's feeling unwell,” I said. “She's resting in the hotel. It's been very traumatic for her. She's afraid to leave her room now.”

“Of course,” he said, his expression serious. “I do not know what I can do for her. But if she needs anything at all, you must tell her that we are at her disposal.”

There was a gentle knock on the door.

Said rubbed his hands together with pleasure.

“Tea,” he said. “It is a very simple thing, you know, but it is one of the joys of life.” He looked at me, and smiled.

“Please,” he said, gesturing, as the soldier put down a battered tray on the table between us, then filled two cups from a thermos.

“This is army tea,” Said said. “It is the best. There is already
sugar, and there is already milk, and so you can take both and feel no guilt at all.”

I picked up the scratched cup, and sipped. The tea was strong, sweet, blonde from the milk.

“It's very good,” I said carefully. “Didn't you tell me that offering tea was an obligation, like giving water to travelers?”

“Ah, yes,” he replied, smiling broadly, the skin crinkling at the corners of his brown eyes. “You remember.”

“And what about the refugees? Aren't they travelers?”

He nodded seriously.

“I see your point,” he said. “It is very troubling, I agree. We are doing what we can, but unfortunately it is never enough, and there are other considerations, as you know. I wish this were not true, but sadly it is.”

“Why did you want to see me, General?”

“To offer my apologies, of course,” he said.

I put the cup down.

“And now that you've apologized, are you going to tell me what happened up there?”

He composed his expression, carefully, to suit my tone.

“There are no secrets, Doctor. They fired on our forward base. And so we returned fire. And then they sent a team into our territory. Or perhaps several teams, we do not know. You understand the rest. That is what happened.”

He smiled, wearily, and sadly.

“I have been doing this for many years,” he said. “And that is always the story. It is never complex.”

“Why were they interested in us? A refugee camp? And why did they fire on your forward base?”

“I am speculating, you understand. I am only guessing. But I believe they saw the new camp from the air. They are always overflying the border, and now they have satellites as well, I am
sorry to say. They were not sure what it was, especially since the tents were empty, and the area is so quiet. Nothing goes on there, you understand. This may have confused them. So they fired on us to send a warning, in case we are up to something. A shot across our bows. That is how they think. Then they sent in a team to look more closely. The team saw nothing, but they grew careless, and were discovered.”

“Not just discovered, General. Shot and killed.”

Said stood up.

“I understand how it must seem to you. You are shocked, of course. Please, I would like to show you something.”

He led me to his desk, where there were several framed photographs. From the back, I assumed they were family portraits. He picked one of them up, and handed it to me.

It was not a family portrait. It was a close-up of three bodies, lined up carefully in a row. They lay in thick, luxuriantly green grass. The bodies were burned beyond recognition. I could make out gaping mouths, and teeth, and the bones of their faces. Their arms were coiled up against their chests, contracted by the heat. Their hands were like black mittens.

“They're children,” I said.

“Yes. They mortared a school. With white phosphorous rounds. This was only a few years ago. Within our territory, you understand.”

He smiled, his eyes eager, and studied my face, and in that moment I was certain that he had showed the photograph many times before, in the same way, to others. A trophy, I realized—he had one after all.

“I keep this photograph on my desk,” he said, “so I will not forget what we are facing.”

I handed it back to him.

“I've seen many similar pictures. Do you know who showed them to me?”

He shook his head, and for the first time I knew that I was irritating him.

“Scott Coles,” I said. “They were taken after the earthquake. He said seventy thousand people had been killed.”

“Of course,” he said. “I understand what you are saying. A valid point. But you must understand, this is a different issue. This is something else altogether.”

“How is it different?”

“When you are a doctor,” he said, “perhaps you deal with God. But when you are a soldier, you deal with men. I am a soldier, I am afraid to say.”

“And the earthquake was an act of God. Is that what you mean?”

“Here we take the long view. Many in your country believe that life is easy. But we know that it is not.”

“I don't believe that life is easy, General. Tell me what you mean by the long view.”

Said smiled, as pleasantly as ever, but this time he sat down in the executive chair and let me stand in front of the desk. He reached up, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He thought for a while, hesitated for an instant, but then he looked up at me, and his smile was gone.

“Let us stop this nonsense,” he said, as if he had come to a decision. “I will talk to you man-to-man. Scott Coles does not understand anything. He thinks that because he buys some tents, and some food, and tricks an American doctor into coming here, he will have a refugee camp and he will be a hero. A savior. He is very naïve in that way. Also he is not good at planning. He does not understand logistics. He does not understand anything. And
the people in the northern areas, they are like animals. That is the truth. You have seen them. If we send soldiers up there, we must send enough. They would kill us in our tents if they could. Perhaps you think I am exaggerating, but I assure you I am not. We do not govern them. And they do not want us there. When we give them food, they eat it, and still they would kill us if they could. There have been earthquakes in that region for hundreds of years. Each time it is the same. The villages are destroyed. But then, a few years later, everything is like it was before, and nothing has changed. That is what I mean by the long view.”

“Then why did you agree to the camp at all?”

“I thought it could do no harm,” he said. “It is a quiet area. The site is some distance from the border, not a strategic position. And Scott Coles is always coming to see me, asking, asking. He is going to the international media also, and sometimes he is saying unfortunate things. It is the only thing he is good at. So I gave my permission. I was mistaken, as you can see. The camp was too close after all, and they thought it was something else.”