“Is anything the matter? Should I turn the air-conditioning up?” his host asked politely. He knew what was happening and he enjoyed it very much. The moment when an opponent or a business associate capitulated was one of the things he enjoyed most in life; there was nothing better than witnessing the other man’s fantasies of morality, self-importance, power, self-esteem haemorrhage at one’s feet. However many times he saw it, he never got tired of it. It was like a pugilist throwing a killer punch and watching his opponent’s eyes pop out of their sockets, his knees buckle, the gum shield fly out of the ring, his head banging the canvas. He wished there was a way of videotaping it or preserving it in another form, but, like the moment of orgasm, it is best preserved in memory.
“I am fine,” Bat murmured, gulping a glass of ice water and not feeling much better.
“You told me earlier that you love cars. Why don’t you and I take a spin? I have a few old tins in the garage,” the prince said, smiling at his own sense of humour.
“I would be delighted,” Bat said, hoping that, ensconced in a car, he would be able to relax, to regain his equilibrium.
In the hangar which housed the garage were a Cadillac, a Rolls and a customized Porsche 999, which, at first sight, looked too small to hold his host’s bulk, but had, in fact, been provided with a wider chassis to accommodate his barge-like girth. Seeing that Bat was taken by the Porsche, he touched it and said, “I love it very much. I didn’t change it much. I just provided it with a solid-gold gear lever and exhaust pipe.”
Bat whistled pensively. Such luxury, such obscenity. The 999 felt totally different from his XJ10, even though the only differences were that the seats were lower on the ground and everything was so compact. He liked the way it roared as he drove into the yard. He felt life flowing slowly back into him. Speed always did it. He liked the sensation of running, outracing ghouls, floating on a wave of air. For the moment he could forget the nasty decision he had to make, or which had already been made for him by the owner of this car, and the consequences. It was just a shame that there were no cars to overtake on this stretch of road, and however far away he went, he would have to return and face the man who had threatened his life if he turned down his offer.
Bat got out of the car fizzing with energy, his legs trembling. There was little else to do and he felt he had seen enough of his host’s ostentatious home. He wanted to get away and enjoy some solitude. There was a state dinner in the evening, a prospect he did not look forward to with any sense of joy.
“How will the other prince take the loss?” he asked resignedly.
“Don’t worry about him,” his host said, smiling smugly. “I will straighten him out myself. It has always been like that. It would be good though to hire a bodyguard back home.”
“I intend to hire ten,” Bat said to hide his unease.
“I would not worry if I were you. Everything is under control.”
Bat decided to make no further inquiries. What was the use? The deed had already been done. It was better to accept and if possible enjoy it. Suddenly, he was aware of a beautiful floating sensation, as if he were sitting on a very fast motorcycle. He also experienced the transparency of guilt, as if his secret were ringing bells. More than ever he became aware that great fortunes were made and lost in Africa. It was the biblical land where riches got eaten by locusts. The present did not last, the future got rancid before you touched it, blighted by the looming past: the stultification of slavery, the humiliation of colonialism, the debilitation of neo-colonialism, the raging war between capitalism and communism. The colonials, the Asians, the royals, the dictators, had all tasted the bitter truth. Amin and his cohorts knew it; they had their luggage ready. What will be my fate? Bat wondered.
After his return Bat met General Bazooka and handed him the briefcases stuffed with dollars and briefed him about the details of the deal. Separated by the vastness of a mahogany bureau on which stood the Ugandan flag, a battery of golden Parker pens, three telephones and in whose drawers were guns and bullet clips, Bat looked like a junior teacher reporting to the headmaster. There were enough guns in the General’s office to arm a hundred soldiers, and Bat felt that they were trained on him, ready to go off. The General nodded up and down with his handsome face, like a blue gecko sunning itself on a rock, appreciating the windfall, happy that his stash of dollars was going to increase spectacularly. There was a growing dearth of foreign exchange in the country, and anybody with dollars in cash was in a very privileged position. Now and then, the corners of the General’s mouth pointed downwards and, in harmony with the continuous up-and-down nodding motion, created an expression of supreme smugness of the school of “I am the king of this hill and there is nothing anybody can do about it.” The General, who had only recently put down a rebellion in the army, needed this cash reward to augment his sense of self-importance as a counter-measure to the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of Robert Ashes. As long as the General kept nodding with satisfaction, Bat knew that the rival prince had not sought his revenge by informing the General about his brother’s tactics and Bat’s role in the drama. The General was not very interested in the technical details, and Bat could see that whenever he started in that direction his boss stopped nodding. After half an hour of explanations Bat stood up to go, leaving behind the briefcases.
Bat’s anxiety expressed itself in his increased intake of alcohol. He also tried to steady his nerves by thinking about Babit who, when he really came to think of it, would not be able to help him if things came to a head. But the knowledge that she would be there for him calmed him. In the end, his conscience would not leave him alone. It fertilized his imagination with all kinds of threats: abduction, imprisonment, torture, blackmail. If he walked to his car and heard somebody coming behind him, he would stop, turn around and see who it was. If a car followed him on the road and he could not shake it off, he started to worry. If a car was parked at his neighbour’s house with people inside, he wondered if they were after him. If at night a twig fell on the roof or a bat knocked on a window-pane, he would panic, afraid that they had come for him. He asked the police department not to change the guard whom he was used to, but even then he wondered if the man had not been given instructions by the General to let killers in while he slept.
Bat had bought Babit costly jewellery, things which were no longer available in the country, most of the items in yellow gold, the most popular colour. He enjoyed the genuine appreciation Babit exhibited as she tried on the necklaces, the bangles, the rings, the watches. Spread out in heaps in the Saudi shops, they had been useless objects, baubles; sliding or fitting snugly on Babit’s neck or wrist, they were transformed into special objects, an enhancement of her beauty, a sign of the love between the two hearts. Her parents had welcomed him back with a feast, and the Kalandas and the Professor had come along to celebrate with him. Surrounded by his friends, who knew nothing about the deal, he felt safe. Even if something happened to him, they would not go under with him. It was the way one protected friends these days. On that day, Babit’s parents allowed her to move in with him, with the understanding that within a year they would get married. He was glad to have her around to share the big house.