The Flag on Gorbachev Crater

12. Scheherazade

At ten o’clock on the night before the hearing Beckwith retired to his bedroom with the Notice, a shot glass, a bottle of brandy, and a copy of Les Miserables. Both the brandy and the great work by Hugo were mementos of events some six years earlier. He had been reading the book, but had laid it aside to cram for the bar exam. In a simultaneous burst of optimism he had bought the brandy with the idea that he would consume a reasonable amount if he passed the bar. He had indeed passed the bar, but in moving from his single room to this apartment the bottle had been stored away, and he had never done his duty by it.

He actually disliked alcohol. It befuddled him. In lunches and dinners with clients he always had ginger ale in lieu of a cocktail. So, he thought as he broke the seal on the bottle, I wonder what this is going to do to me?

At nearly midnight Mrs. Kuiper donned bathrobe and slippers and hurried down the hall to az-Zahra’s room. She knocked once, hesitated, then entered. Simultaneously the night light came on inside.

“I heard it too,” whispered the girl as she pulled on her robe. “Sidi?”

“Yes.”

“Come,” said az-Zahra. She glided out ahead of the other woman.

A moment later they were standing in the hall outside Beckwith’s door. Below the door a thin slice of light shone out. They listened to the singer on the other side. The chant rose and fell.

“What is he singing?” asked the girl.

“It’s something they learn in the military,” said Mrs. Kuiper. “When they do their duty year, you know. Except he’s changing some of the words. You ought not listen to this, dear.”

“He’s stopped.”

“Maybe he’s finally gone to bed,” speculated the housekeeper.

“No, he’s moving around. Listen!” Shouts and curses from inside made the door vibrate. They heard the sound of breaking furniture.

Mrs. Kuiper began wringing her hands. “He has a hearing in the morning. This is terrible!”

A shout vibrated the door. “Smerll, you foul rascal, I see you! Take that!”

They heard the shattering of glass.

“Oh dear god!” moaned Mrs. Kuiper. “He shot the mirror!”

“He has a laser?”

“Kept in the drawer in the night table. Oh, poor Mr. Beckwith!”

From inside: “Damn you, Smerll! You won’t get away this time!”

A hole appeared in the hall wall over the door.

“He’s going to kill us all!” shrieked Mrs. Kuiper. She turned away. “I’m going to call the police!”

She found that her wrist was locked within iron talons.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” az-Zahra said coolly. “I know what to do. I’m going in there.”

“He’ll kill you,” stammered the other.

“He will not harm me. He loves me.”

“He’ll… rape you,” faltered Mrs. Kuiper.

“We won’t call it that.” She released the older woman’s wrist. “Now listen, Mrs. Kuiper, you and I are going to get him to his hearing tomorrow, and we’re going to get him there bright and alert and on time. Here’s what we do. I’m going to put him to bed. He’s going to get some sleep. I’ll have him up by eight, shaved, showered, and dressed. I’ll bring him in to you. You will have a good breakfast waiting for him. Waffles and sausage. Coffee, very strong. A little glass of orange juice, with two aspirin at the side. And would you please call tonight and reserve a taxi. We’d like to leave here at eight-thirty.”

Mrs. Kuiper hstened to the calm imperious tones and looked into the regal gray-green eyes, and she realized that the past five minutes had brought a subtle shifting of the power structure within the Beckwith household. In a way, she was glad. It was a great relief to have someone take over. “Yes, miss,” she said quietly.

“Now go on back to bed,” said az-Zahra. “Set your alarm for seven-thirty. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She opened Beckwith’s door, slipped inside, and closed the door behind her. Mrs. Kuiper lingered a moment to listen. She heard a few words, then nothing. After a moment she shrugged, then padded off to bed.

Inside, az-Zahra surveyed the wreckage of man and room.

He was standing there, looking at her. The laser dangled in his hand. A chair lay at the bedside, broken in several pieces. The mirror on his bathroom door was shattered.

She said, “Sidi, may I come in?”

He grunted something unintelligible.

“Thank you.” She walked closer. “Let me help you with your shirt.” She began with the top buttons. “The laser, Daniel. You’ll have to put it down so I can manage the sleeve. There, that’s it. Now, you’d best sit down. Here, on the bed. I’ll take your shoes. Up again, now. Belt… trousers… There we go.”

“Zahra?”

“Yes, Daniel?”

“What the hell do you think are you doing?”

“I am undressing you. You are going to get into your pajamas, and you are going to bed, and to sleep. You have a hearing tomorrow morning.”

“Hearing?”

“A very important hearing. You have got to get to bed.”

“To hell with the hearing. And you can’t stay in here.”

“Daniel, dear friend. I am here, and I am staying. I know what I am doing. I have had the special training. I know all the things a woman should know. I was to enter the harem of the caliph, but it never came to pass. I never told you.”

“But you… you’re a virgin!”

“My hymen was surgically cut as part of the training. There will be no blood.” She made a graceful, almost nonchalant motion of her shoulders. Her night clothes dropped to a limp circle about her feet.

“Lordy!” muttered Daniel Beckwith, Esq.

An hour later they lay together in the dark, with her head nestled in the crook of his arm. “It doesn’t really matter,” he said glumly. “The hearing is like a chess game. You win… you lose… Robin had mumps… the Space Agency collapses… the universe rolls merrily on.”

“You must not talk in that way, Daniel my love. We will fight, and we will win.”

“Why should we fight, Zahra?”

“Because I am your woman.”

“You’re not making sense. I am twice as old as you. We will find a younger man for you.”

“I am nearly seventeen, and you are not much over thirty. I do not want to marry a beardless boy. I want you.” After a moment, she added with quiet conviction, “And you want me.” She waited, but there was no response. “Darling?”

He was asleep, and he was breathing slowly, deeply, rhythmically.