The Levanter (20 page)

He had lost me by then. Obviously, Abouti was not going to go to the trouble and expense of a move onto government land without the usual written directive from the Ministry. I did not see how Michael could possibly get one for the car-battery project at that stage. The joint venture with the Italians had still to be approved.

The conversation ended with expressions of mutual respect and goodwill and undertakings on Michael’s part to produce the directive within a day or two.

He hung up at last and smiled spitefully at the telephone. “Hooked and loving every minute of it,” he said.

“How are you going to get the directive?”

“Somehow.”

“From Hawa?”

“Who else?” He looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Teresa. I’m afraid it means having him to dinner.”

He knew that I disliked those evenings; he disliked them himself. Like many other educated Syrians, Dr. Hawa was ambivalent on the subject of female emancipation. In theory he approved; in practice it made him uneasy. Although Michael had been allowed to meet Dr. Hawa’s wife briefly he had always known that an invitation to the villa that included her would not be accepted, so none had ever been issued. Though I naturally thought that my presence and status in the household was the stumbling block, Michael had always denied this. Hawa wasn’t a prude, he said; it was just that he was an Arab and felt more at ease on social occasions in all-male company. He also liked to drink alcohol and in that sort of privacy could do so. Being Dr. Hawa, of course, he also liked the other guests to be of subordinate status so that he could dominate the proceedings. He was most relaxed, however, in solitary tête-à-tête with Michael, who would always respond to his genial bullying with the kind of subtle impudence that Hawa seemed to find entertaining. He was the king, Michael the licensed fool.

Sometimes on these occasions I used to do what the Muslim women did in their homes; that is, listen in an adjoining room through one of the decorated grilles which had been put there originally for that purpose; but the conversation was mostly so boring, or, especially when a lot of brandy had been drunk, infuriating, that generally I went off
to bed and left them to it.

This time, though, I was determined not to miss a word.

It was on the evening of the day on which we had received Ghaled’s approval of the fuse adapter ring sample, and the order had gone to the Beirut machine shop for a hundred more. It seemed to me that we had just made it possible for a hundred explosions to take place, and the thought was depressing. I desperately wanted Michael to succeed with Hawa. So far, all we had done was help Ghaled in his plan to kill a lot of people, and though our putting a survey team into the battery works wouldn’t be likely to stop him, at least it might hinder and obstruct him. It would be
some
thing. Besides, as Michael says, you never know about pressure. Just a little of it can sometimes do a lot - not perhaps directly, but by slightly changing the value of some small unknown in the equation.

The declared purpose of these evenings
à deux
was backgammon, to be played by two well-matched and practiced opponents; but Dr. Hawa’s real reason for coming to the villa was to pick Michael’s brains and pump him for information. Someone once said that if you want to know what is going on in Damascus you must inquire in Beirut. In a funny way it’s true, and not only of Damascus. Information is an especially valuable commodity in the Middle East, and Michael’s sources were not confined to Beirut The Agence Howell had fingers in a great many pies and representatives doing business in a great many places. Naturally, along with the credit reports, the trend assessments, and the accounts of competitors’ activities, came much news - and gossip and rumour - that was political as well as commercial in character. Sometimes Dr. Hawa would ask specific questions, but usually, as the dice clattered and the pieces clicked, he would hint vaguely at the area of current interest to him and leave Michael to do the talking.

It began like that on this evening. Dr. Hawa was curious about Iran and the latest proposals of a Soviet trade delegation. He scarcely spoke at all, giving only an occasional grant to indicate that Michael still had his attention.

From Teheran they switched to Ankara and from there to the newly independent Bahrein. It was at that point that Michael fell silent.

The next thing I heard was a short laugh from Dr. Hawa and an exclamation of disgust from Michael.

There was another laugh from Dr. Hawa. “I have never seen you make such a mistake as that before,” he crowed. “Didn’t you see your chance?”

“No, Minister, I
didn’t see it.”

Michael still called Dr. Hawa “Minister”, even in his own house; it was a thing that had always irritated me. He sounded now as penitent as a schoolboy caught out by a feared master.

“You were not concentrating.”

“No, I was not. I am sorry.”

“Do not apologize. The dice were kind to you and you ignored them. They do not like such impoliteness. Take care, Michael, or I shall go home rich.”

“Yes, yes. A little more brandy, Minister?”

“Ah, you wish to dull my perceptions. Very well. But you had better drink no more.”

“The truth is, Minister, that I am not myself this evening.”

“That is evident. The digestion perhaps? The liver?”

“I am, I must confess, a little worried.”

“You, worried?” A scoffing sound. “I have yet to see this. Unless, of course, there is a new woman. That must be it. You Christians make such fools of yourselves.”

“Not a woman, Minister. But I refuse to bore you with my troubles.” Bravely this. “You are here to be amused, not to talk business.”

“True. Then let us play. Let me see the score. Ah yes, this is very good. Now watch yourself, Michael. I am in an attacking mood.”

They played in silence for a minute or two. Then Dr. Hawa said casually: “This business that worries you - does it concern any of our cooperatives?”

“Oh no.” Michael spoke quickly and then seemed to hesitate. “That is, I am not sure.”

There was the sound of a dice cup being slammed down onto the table, by Dr. Hawa presumably and in exasperation.

“It is not often, Michael, that I hear you talk foolishly.”

“What I meant was that none of the existing cooperatives is concerned, Minister. What I fear is threatened is the battery transition plan.”

“That is quibbling. What is the matter with you?”

“The battery transition plan is still only a plan, Minister.” Michael sounded desperately unhappy; the Armenian bazaar trader was wringing his hands in anguish. “Paper, nothing more. There are no firm commitments, it is not yet a living thing. The child may be stillborn.”

“The plans are already with the Minister of Finance. What is this nonsense?”

“Alas, Minister.” He really said “alas.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I did not want to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” The game was forgotten. Dr
.
Hawa’s voice had a rasp in it now.

“The news I have had from Beirut, Minister. We are being betrayed.”

“How betrayed? By whom?”

“It is the Italian.”

“Which Italian? One of those to Milan you call your friends?”

“No, no. This is the one in Beirut. Remember, Minister, I told you. These people in Milan have long been trying to sell to our markets here. Unsuccessfully, but they have tried. They have a selling agent to Beirut, a scorpion named Spadolini. Well, this Spadolini - his mother was a Romanian - this scorpion has learned all about our car-battery project. How has he learned? Who knows? A spy to the Milan offices perhaps. Possibly, as a concerned agent of the Italian company, he was given some advance hint. We cannot be certain. But certain it is that the scorpion is preparing to strike!”

“Strike? Speak plainly, Michael, for God’s sake.”

“Fearing to lose this little agency of his, fearing to be bypassed, recognizing the business potential of this Joint venture of ours, he has put forward the proposal that the new plant shall be located not here at Der’a, not here to Syria, but in Lebanon.”

“But how can he succeed to this? The proposal from Milan was made to us.”

The Armenian, his duty done, shuffled off with a heavy sigh, and the Greek money-changer strode in briskly to replace him.

“These are hard-faced men, Minister. A proposal commits them to nothing. Production is all they care about because production is money. This little schemer in Beirut has found something to offer them that we as yet cannot - factory space.”

“We would build.”

“This is already built. Near Tripoli. Six thousand two hundred square meters of floor space and of recent construction. It was planned for production lines of typewriters and business machines, but there were licensing difficulties with the American parent company and the plan fell through. The buildings have never been used and are going for a song. They are not ideal for lead-battery production and alterations would have to be made, but the floor space is there and waiting. In Milan they are already thinking, already tempted.”

“You know this for a fact?”

They are sending a senior manager and an engineer from Milan this week to inspect the place. I know because I have good friends in Milan. But friendship will not override self-interest. We must show them that we have more to offer than this Spadolini and that we can move faster.”

“But how?”

“That is what concerns me. We have good arguments on our side, but nothing to back them up. When their representatives arrive here and we sit down at the negotiating table they will have questions to ask. Among the first will be-when do we start to get a return on our investment, when can production begin? And, as we try to answer, we will know that in their minds there is the vision of six thousand two hundred square meters of factory floor space, unused and waiting for them, in Lebanon.”

“You said that there would have to be alterations.”

“Minor changes, Minister. Nothing. If we had work already in progress to show them it might be different. But…” He left it.

“What sort of work in progress?”

“Something to impress. Land allocated and surveyed. Bulldozers already clearing and grading. Plans on the drawing board. Evidence that we are serious.”

“You know that is impossible, Michael.”

“With respect, Minister, difficult but not impossible.”

“You Know that I cannot authorize funds for speculative use. Finance would never approve this expenditure. Once the joint venture is approved, of course . . .”

“Of course. But by then it could be too late.”

There was a silence. One of them rattled dice and again there was silence.

Dr. Hawa broke it finally. “I think that you have something to propose, Michael. What is it?”

“Agence Howell could finance this preliminary work.”

“How would you get your money back? This cannot be a pilot project. You made that clear from the start. Do not tell me that you have become altruistic, Michael, for I shall not believe you.”

“I want this venture to succeed, Minister, and to succeed here, because I want the agency for its products. I am prepared to pay to secure that agency. Call it an insurance premium if you will. There is nothing altruistic about that.”

Short laugh. “I am much relieved. I would not like, after so long, to have to revise my ideas about you, Michael.”

“Never fear, Minister.”

“Then what you want from me is a directive, eh?”

“Yes, please. It should cover our occupation of three hectares of land adjoining the present battery works. The precise details of this parcel of land are set out in the supplementary memorandum I have already submitted. The directive should further authorize the Abouti Company to make a survey and carry out the preparatory work necessary for building, including the cutting of a new access road. In accordance with Agence Howell instructions of course.”

“And at Agence Howell’s expense?”

“Certainly. I cannot tell you, Minister, how much I would appreciate your help in this.”

“Help in spending your money?”

“In removing the source of anxiety.” The Armenian returned briefly to take a bow. “Minister, if this Lebanese scorpion, having injected his vile poison, had stolen this business away while I slept, I would never have been able to sleep again.”

Dr. Hawa burst out laughing.

“Minister?”

“You and your business ethic, Michael! You cannot bear to lose, can you? Winning is all that matters, not just money. After all these years I can read you like a book.”

“So easily, Minister? I must mend my ways.” I could imagine him pretending to smile away a nonexistent discomfort.

“You never will, Michael. You can’t.” He chuckled. “Well, I will look at the papers again and think about it. Come and see me tomorrow. You may bring a draft directive if that will make you sleep better tonight.”

“Thank you again, Minister. More brandy?”

After
a moment or two the dice began to rattle again and the backgammon pieces to click.

When Dr. Hawa bad gone, Michael poured me a brandy and looked at the one he had been nursing himself.

“Well, so far so good,” he said.

“This empty factory near Tripoli,” I asked, “does it exist?”

“Oh yes. A white elephant. We were offered it six months ago. When the price is low enough we may buy it for a warehouse.”

“And this man Spadolini? Does
he
exist?”

“Of course. He has the present agency. Hard worker. Not a bad salesman. If this car-battery business had been going forward with our participation I would have taken him into the Beirut office.”

“
If
it had been going forward? Isn’t it?”

He ignored the question. “Abouti will need copies of the factory layout and the specifications that I brought back from Milan. The land details, too. He should have it all in the morning.”

“Are we really going to pay him for this work?”

“Pay Abouti?” He finished his brandy. “Not a penny. Let the fat thief whistle for his money.”

It is almost unheard of for Michael to refuse to pay a debt, even when he believes that the creditor has cheated him. And there had been that “if.” I knew then that he had at last decided to cut his losses, and that, in Syria anyway, the days of the Agence Howell were numbered.