friends and relatives, recordings of the frightened calls some of them managed to make before their phones were taken away. There were the expected angry condemnations by the president and the prime minister, who promised to use all means possible to retrieve the hostages. Will you go to war? asked a reporter. All options are on the table, replied the president, saying in effect nothing. Their political opponents on the other hand were howling for blood.
As the night fell, we lingered together outside, despite the growing chill, she stretched out on the lounge chair and I on the blanket on the ground beside her, the partly bare tree branches rustling overhead, the sky a clear black and the first stars in focus. Once more we soberly repeated the mantra, thanked our good fortune that we lived in the civilized part of the globe, the best in every way, and we wondered aloud why anyone from these parts would wish to visit those dangerous places, stopping short of saying, Serves those tourists right for their folly and arrogance. But then I was reminded of my own visit to Maskinia as a student. A lark in March was how it was billed, that carefreegetaway under a warm sun by a beach, where we were spoilt by luxury and excess. And then the reverse side to the heavenly—the shock and guilt of seeing raw deprivation, humanity degraded. The resentment, contempt, envy we saw in the locals during our sojourn into a village.
—Friendly looks too? she asked, just to test me.
—I suppose. Yes. But we felt vulnerable and scared. Even when we stopped and treated the kids to colas—which were not supposed to be safe but we all had them too—and they rushed at us happily, hands outstretched…That was youthful indulgence, and a long time ago. But we grew up and cured ourselves of our guilt and confused sentimentality.
The ensuing silence drew us into our own thoughts. Mine drifted towards Presley and Joe Green. The Department demanded. What had I got myself into? I thought of Radha. Rather charming, and how she had squeezed my arm. Beware of them, Joe Green had warned. Beside me Joanie stirred, and I became aware that we were being watched. From the hedge out front came a steady chorus of the night insects; in the distance somewhere down the road a girl shouted at a guy—students most likely; someone was listening to orchestra music. A figure passed beyond the hedge in the dark, and soon after a car door opened, then closed, and the car drove away. Was that my stalker?
She turned to me.—Do we have a responsibility towards them? Those people there, on the other side?
She had now put on her sweater, for it had turned decidedly chilly. Rushed by a tender feeling, I reached out and caressed the curve of her hip, mathematically smooth.It deserved an equation with exponentials. She put her hand on mine. It felt cool.
—Yes, Joanie, I answered,—but from a distance. We must preserve our well-being now or we’ll destroy human life on the planet—and everywhere else. All the culture and civilization, the civic and social fabric of our existence—a wonderful, complex construct that actually functions. Think about it…we’ve come to it after centuries of experience, history…much of it violent…
My voice almost cracked at this, and she gave me a quick look. Where did that emotion come from? I believed what I’d just said but had never articulated it this way, and so strongly, as though—now I think about it—I sensed also the tip of a reservation and had to push it back. If we allow doubts about ourselves, then where are we?
We became silent and perhaps she was thinking about what I had just said. Then she observed,
—This complex construct surely includes charity; surely it includes our relationship with them; surely we’re a part of them as they are of us.
—Of course. But a diseased part, then. An incurable part.
—I don’t agree.
Later, inside the house, this intimacy extended into lovemaking, and as I lay back I
As the night fell, we lingered together outside, despite the growing chill, she stretched out on the lounge chair and I on the blanket on the ground beside her, the partly bare tree branches rustling overhead, the sky a clear black and the first stars in focus. Once more we soberly repeated the mantra, thanked our good fortune that we lived in the civilized part of the globe, the best in every way, and we wondered aloud why anyone from these parts would wish to visit those dangerous places, stopping short of saying, Serves those tourists right for their folly and arrogance. But then I was reminded of my own visit to Maskinia as a student. A lark in March was how it was billed, that carefreegetaway under a warm sun by a beach, where we were spoilt by luxury and excess. And then the reverse side to the heavenly—the shock and guilt of seeing raw deprivation, humanity degraded. The resentment, contempt, envy we saw in the locals during our sojourn into a village.
—Friendly looks too? she asked, just to test me.
—I suppose. Yes. But we felt vulnerable and scared. Even when we stopped and treated the kids to colas—which were not supposed to be safe but we all had them too—and they rushed at us happily, hands outstretched…That was youthful indulgence, and a long time ago. But we grew up and cured ourselves of our guilt and confused sentimentality.
The ensuing silence drew us into our own thoughts. Mine drifted towards Presley and Joe Green. The Department demanded. What had I got myself into? I thought of Radha. Rather charming, and how she had squeezed my arm. Beware of them, Joe Green had warned. Beside me Joanie stirred, and I became aware that we were being watched. From the hedge out front came a steady chorus of the night insects; in the distance somewhere down the road a girl shouted at a guy—students most likely; someone was listening to orchestra music. A figure passed beyond the hedge in the dark, and soon after a car door opened, then closed, and the car drove away. Was that my stalker?
She turned to me.—Do we have a responsibility towards them? Those people there, on the other side?
She had now put on her sweater, for it had turned decidedly chilly. Rushed by a tender feeling, I reached out and caressed the curve of her hip, mathematically smooth.It deserved an equation with exponentials. She put her hand on mine. It felt cool.
—Yes, Joanie, I answered,—but from a distance. We must preserve our well-being now or we’ll destroy human life on the planet—and everywhere else. All the culture and civilization, the civic and social fabric of our existence—a wonderful, complex construct that actually functions. Think about it…we’ve come to it after centuries of experience, history…much of it violent…
My voice almost cracked at this, and she gave me a quick look. Where did that emotion come from? I believed what I’d just said but had never articulated it this way, and so strongly, as though—now I think about it—I sensed also the tip of a reservation and had to push it back. If we allow doubts about ourselves, then where are we?
We became silent and perhaps she was thinking about what I had just said. Then she observed,
—This complex construct surely includes charity; surely it includes our relationship with them; surely we’re a part of them as they are of us.
—Of course. But a diseased part, then. An incurable part.
—I don’t agree.
Later, inside the house, this intimacy extended into lovemaking, and as I lay back I
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