The Flag on Gorbachev Crater

4. To Class

On the second day of her arrival Beckwith drove her around downtown Alexandria, and she was enchanted.

“Christ Church,” he pointed out. “Jorge Washington worshipped there.”

“Jorge… Washington?”

There we go again, he thought. Even toddlers in distant Tibet know about George Washington, the Father of his Country.

There was one area, though, where history was irrelevant. “¿Tiene hambre?” Are you hungry?

“¡Sí!”

He pulled in to the parking lot at a nearby McDonald’s and they went inside together. He had already decided he was not going to try to explain all the myriad possibilities on the menu. Next month, maybe. He ordered cheeseburgers, vanilla milkshakes, and french fries. No knives, forks, or spoons would be needed. He took the trays and led her to a corner booth. After absorbing her surroundings with wide eyes, she turned her attention back to him. She watched him carefully and tried to imitate his actions. Open the little capsules of ketchup. Okay to lick the fingers. Some on the hamburger. Some for the fries. Now for the milkshake. Take the paper off the soda straws. Two straws are best. No, don’t blow. Chupe. Suck. Now, hold the hamburger carefully with both hands, like so. Ambos manos.

She watched him, and then she took a tentative bite. “Bueno,” she murmured politely. “Muy bueno.”

Afterward, as they were walking to the car, she declared, “¡Que almuerzo rico! ¡Muchas gracias!”

He smiled. So what if she was just being super-courteous? That was fine with him. “De nada,” he said.

He immediately engaged Mrs. Kuiper as a full-time housekeeper and companion for his new charge, and within the next couple of days he found English teachers for her in a professional office building a short walk from the apartment complex. As soon as her English was adequate, he’d have to find a private finishing school for girls, and start thinking about college. He was determined to get her into the mainstream as soon as possible.

During her first week in English class, Mrs. Kuiper walked with her to the professional building, waited for her in the office, and returned with her.

During that first walk az-Zahra had been awed. She had made Mrs. Kuiper stop in front of one of the first shop windows. Inside, a fully dressed mannequin was walking and talking. The robot would take a few steps, then would turn to show the back of the dress, then would face the window again, meanwhile talking, apparently explaining something about the dress. And she did this over and over again. Az-Zahra looked appealingly at Mrs. Kuiper, who knew neither Arabic nor Spanish, and could explain nothing. And so, mutually frustrated, they walked on.

She stopped Mrs. Kuiper several more times, generally in front of windows occupied by beautifully clothed life-size very thin holographic ladies.

Early in the second week she insisted that she was able to walk to class alone. Her English was still rough and sketchy (she agreed), but it was good enough to get her there and back.

After a long discussion with Mrs. Kuiper, Beckwith yielded. Mrs. Kuiper explained about muggers and not talking to strangers. Beckwith buckled an unobtrusive stun laser around her wrist and made an arrangement with the school secretary to call Mrs. Kuiper as soon as az-Zahra arrived.

“It’s only twenty minutes,” Beckwith warned sternly. “So don’t loiter.”

“Loiter?”

“Delay. Don’t waste time getting to class. Go straight there.”

“Twenty minutes not much time,” she said serenely. “Need more. Más tiempo.”

“Whatever for?” he demanded.

“To… see.”

“Mr. Beckwith,” Mrs. Kuiper explained quietly, “there are several ladies’ boutiques along the way.”

“Oh. I see. Well…”

Her English improved rapidly. She could stand in front of a shop window, watch the mannequins make their elegant affected circuits, and understand much of the oral and printed sales pitches.

She was especially excited by the animated demonstrations of one of the flimsier exhibits. It was all very beautiful and very enticing. What would Sidi Daniel think if perchance if he should see her… in those things? Did he ever think of her… that way? She tore herself away and walked on.

That night, back in the apartment, when they were engaged in their respective labors in the library, she looked over at the lawyer. “Sidi, permission to interrupt?”

“Of course.”

“What is bikini?”

“Bikini.” He looked at her dubiously. “Bikini? Hm. I guess you mean the Bikini Atoll, a circle of coral in the Pacific Ocean. They held a nuclear test there, many years ago.”

“I think not that, Sidi. Could it mean something else?”

Mrs. Kuiper stood in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. “Zahra dear,” she called in sweetly, “could you help me in the kitchen a moment?”

“Si. Dispense vuestra merced, Sidi.” Az-Zahra followed the older woman into the kitchen, where there ensued a clarification. “Mr. Beckwith is a good, decent man,” concluded Mrs. Kuiper, “but he is a man. There are certain things we do not discuss with him.” She sniffed delicately. “We don’t want to put temptation before him, do we, dear?”

“No, desde luego,” az-Zahra lied cheerfully. Of course not. Well, well, she thought. So that is how it is done. She would get some of those strange diaphanous things. For this she would need money. She thought of her bag of jewels. She would sell one or two. She had noted a jeweler’s shop in the professional building.

She spent much time thinking about him… Sidi walking, talking, moving about, driving the car, working at the library table in the parlor. Ah, Sidi…