“Well, I’ve been using this new drug and it does seem to help a bit. But let’s face it, it’s only a matter of time.”
“You can say that again. That’s just what it is. A matter of time. And I’m in the wrong one! Also, this place isn’t so hot either.”
“Just where are you?” Dudley asked.
“In Southern Arabia, the part that used to be called Sheba. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I just met the Queen of Sheba. If I’m right, then I must be somewhere around 950 B.C. Now what are you doing about bringing me back?”
“I’ve spoken to Charles Putnam on the short-wave and told him what’s happened. He’s going to consult with experts on the problem. As a matter of fact, I’ve got him on right now. Just wait a minute.”
There was a long pause, then Dudley was back. “Gosh, is he mad,” Dudley told me.
“Mad! What the hell has he got to be mad about?”
“He says your passport wasn’t validated for Arab countries. He says you have no right to be there without checking with him first. He says it might have all kinds of international repercussions because our situation in the Middle East is very delicate.”
“Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him he can slap my hand when I get back. But tell him to get me out of here!”
There was another pause, then Dudley spoke again. “He wants to know if you’re Jewish.”
“This is a helluva time to discuss religion!”
“He says it could be very touchy if an American Jew sneaked into an Arab country. He says you could be jeopardizing our oil leases.”
“Tell him I'm not Jewish, but some of my best friends are.”
“He says not to mention them while you’re there.”
“Tell him I already have. Tell him the Queen of Sheba thinks I’m a messenger from the King of the Jews. Tell him that may be the only reason I’m still alive.”
A much longer pause now. Then—“He says the State Department isn’t going to like this.”
“I don’t like it either! Get me out of here!”
“We’re trying, Steve. But the old man refuses to cooperate. You’ll just have to wait until he gets through with the laundry.”
For the time being, that was that. I was stuck. So I soaked in the bathtub and then climbed into the Sheban duds Georgus had laid out for me. An hour later I was having dinner with the Queen of Sheba.
Balkis was a symphony in ebony draped in white silk counterpoint. She was a perfectly carved jewel of onyx balanced in a setting of opulence which shimmered with the intense colors of rugs and draperies from India. The scene was lit by flaming golden braziers from the African interior. The feast spread before us included wines from the Greek Isles, glazed fruits and nuts from the coast of what would one day be Turkey, wild boar trapped in the jungle and cooked to perfection, all manner of exotic side dishes reflecting Sheba’s strategic position along the trade routes of the world at that time. The delicacies were served by white slaves, eunuchs, and entertainment was supplied by jugglers from the East and dancing girls from the North; fire-eaters from the South and animal trainers from the West.
We lay back on a low couch, Balkis and I, and watched them. We sipped our wine at a leisurely clip and from time to time would pop one or another of the viands into our mouths. Behind us, at a discreet distance, Tabari supped. At first I could feel his eyes boring a hole in my back, but I soon forgot about him.
Nor was I really paying much attention to the entertainers. My mind was on Balkis. She was the most sensually compelling woman I’ve ever met. And she wasn’t even trying. She didn’t have to try. She was as naturally sexy as she was naturally queenly.
At first I tried to tell myself that my interest was professional. After all, I am a sex researcher. How many men in my profession ever get a chance to study one of history’s most famous sex figures at first hand? The opportunity was twofold. First of all, I might personally experience the sex patterns of the era. Secondly, I might do so not with any ordinary woman, but with one whose sexuality had become legend. It was an unparalleled opportunity.
Hogwash! All that was just the icing of rationalization on a cake I couldn’t resist. It was Steve Victor the man, not the scientific investigator, who wanted Balkis. Cool detachment was washed away with the third glass of wine. I blew my cool altogether and carve on like Gangbusters with a Don Juan complex. I purposely misfired a grape so that it landed on her bosom, reached for it, and left my hand there.
She’ glanced at the hand, and then into my face. “That’s what I call chutzpah!" she told me. But her tone of voice said she wasn’t angry, only surprised at the familiarity towards her queenly person.
“Who needs this mishagoss?" I waved my hand to indicate our surroundings. “Isn’t there some place we can be alone?” I squeezed her silk-covered breast to emphasize my meaning.
“You must be meshunginah!” She glanced over her shoulder at Tabari. “Do you know he would lop off your kopf for daring to touch his queen if I should protest.”
“So don’t protest.”
“You Israelites certainly come on strong. Tell me, is Solomon this aggressive?”
“You’ll be finding that out for yourself,” I told her, positive in my foreknowledge of the sizzling affair she and King Solomon would have. “But why are you hoching me a chahnuk? Don’t you want me to make love to you?” I’m not usually quite that bold, but the jug of wine was almost empty.
Balkis had drunk her share and it made her candid. “You bet your tookus!” she told me. “I‘ve. never had a white man before. I'd like to change my luck."
"Well then?"
“Tabari.”
“What about him? Tell him to leave. You’re the Queen, aren’t you?”
“It’s not that simple. There’s a lot of tsouris comes with being a queen. A queen has responsibilities. Tabari sees to it that I live up to mine.”
“What’s that got to do with us right now?” I wanted to know.
“In Sheba it is very common for the men to have a little white meat on the side. It’s sort of taken for granted. Many a boy goes down to the slave quarters to sow his wild oats. Many a married man makes up for having a frigid wife with a paleface woman. But it doesn’t work out in reverse. A colored lady doesn’t have anything to do with a white man unless she’s being raped. Even if she seduces him, she’s being raped. And then it’s a real tsimmis.”
“Even for a queen?”
“Especially for a queen. I’m supposed to set an example. If Tabari found out you and I made love, he’d have you punished for rape and there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it. I’d have to say that you took me by force.”
“And then I’d be lynched.”
“You would be castrated first, and then hung by your thumbs in the sun to fry to death. This is what would happen if they caught you with an ordinary black woman. But with me I think the punishment would be swifter and cleaner. Tabari would chop off your kopf.”
I took my hand off her breast. “Thank you for warning me,” I told her. “I’ve had a kind of strenuous day, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll gai schlafen now.” I smiled in the face of Tabari’s glare as I backed out of the room.
I went to sleep. The next day, mindful of Balkis’ warning, I avoided her. I was tremendously attracted to her and fearful that I would succumb to the temptation to express my desire further. So not wanting my head to be disconnected from my shoulders, I stayed away from her.
I passed the day sunbathing on a little patio outside my suite of rooms. It was secluded there, and from time to time I tried to raise Tibet on the wrist radio. The attempts weren’t successful. I could get lots of cigarette ads, but no word from Dudley Nightshade.