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Ana hovered outside the gates
to the Agdal Embassy, dressed in her smartest interview outfit, her makeup scrubbed
off and her stilettoes replaced by a pair of
comfortable soft shoes. Now she had actually arrived in Honey, having
disembarked off the bus and finally identified which of the palatial buildings
was the Embassy, her nerves were deserting her. The fear of disappointment was
greater than that she’d ever felt for a job interview. Not only her happiness
but that of Binta’s rested on the outcome of her endeavour. What would they do,
as Ana dreaded and almost expected, if they were not eligible for political
asylum? However, there was no turning back. She was trapped by her need to
report back on the outcome of her visit. She rang the brass doorbell, and stood
back, her heart thumping as it chimed. How long would she have to wait?
Not long at
all, as it happened, as a uniformed guard approached the gate. He scrutinised
Ana. “Have you got an appointment?” he enquired, looking at a list he had
attached to a clipboard. Breathlessly Ana nodded.
Azhnia had warned her that Agdal non-nationals like her were unlikely to be
readily admitted otherwise.
“Name?” the
guard asked. Ana gave her full name and watched as the guard studied his list.
The telephone call she had made to the Embassy had seemed so inconclusive. She
couldn’t believe that the brusque secretary who answered had actually taken
down her details, but all was fine. Her name was on the list. The guard ticked
it off with a pen and opened the gate to let Ana through.
“Amnesty
from Oppression, isn’t it? We get a lot of you political asylum people here. Right bunch of weirdos. You’re not one, are you?” Ana shook
her head. If there were so many others, how much chance did she
and Binta stand? “Anyway, we’ve got someone to see you. I’ll take you to
reception to wait for her. You’re very early, you know.”
Ana was
fully aware of this. In fact she was early by more than an hour. But after
taking a whole day off work, she really had nothing else to do all morning. Her
pacing backwards and forwards across the flat, endlessly rehearsing her case,
had worn her out. The only thing she could do to break out of this was to pack
her handbag and rush down the stairs to the bus.
She was led
into a waiting room just past the main reception desk where a small number of
people were sitting in comfortable leather armchairs, while efficient-looking
receptionists sat in front of monitors with small headphones in their ears. She
was sure those waiting were Agdal nationals, although there was nothing in
their appearance that distinguished them from anyone else, unless it was their
self-confident demeanour. They were not obviously naturists or homosexuals,
although there was no way of knowing what they might look like at other times.
In the
waiting room, unfamiliar magazines were stacked on a small wooden table
surrounded by beige leather armchairs. A portrait on the wall of the woman
president of Agdal peered down between two identical flags. She looked
refreshingly informal and relaxed in comparison to the countless portraits of
President Marmeluke in his military finery prominent in all the cafés and shops
of Alif. She would normally have found the magazines fascinating with their
unedited pictures and articles about life not only in Agdal, but also in Alif
and many other countries she knew nothing about. There was a freshness and
openness about them, not least in the ubiquitous presence of naked flesh, and
the unashamedness in which people of the same sex were portrayed as couples.
Her eyes darted agitatedly about. Every footfall in the corridor silenced her
breath, as she waited the door to open.
She wasn’t
alone. There was an elderly gentleman reading beneath a No Smoking sign, and a
mother and young child sitting together with some toys which the child kept
poking into her mother’s face. They did not stay for very long, however. They
were escorted out by one or other of the efficient receptionists, and soon Ana
was alone, pretending to read an article about a famine in a remote corner of
Alif of which she had previously been totally unaware.
Eventually,
just after the appointed hour, her turn came. A tall receptionist entered in a
very smart suit and with very short hair. Perhaps appreciating Ana’s
nervousness, she smiled quite warmly.
“The
Amnesty Facilitator will see you now.”
Ana
looked at her blankly.
“The Amnesty Facilitator. The
political asylum officer, if you like. Come on! She hasn’t all day.”
Ana nodded
shyly, stood up and followed the receptionist down a series of carpeted
corridors to an office hidden deep inside the Embassy’s labyrinth. She was
ushered in and introduced to a woman in her early thirties, dressed in an
open-necked blouse, seated behind a large desk and under another portrait of
the Agdal president. The receptionist disappeared, leaving Ana standing
awkwardly by the door, her handbag clasped to her front.
The Amnesty
Facilitator also had very short hair, with long earrings dangling from her ears
and a small stud in her nose. She smiled broadly. “Hello, Ana. My name’s
Wahata.” She proffered her hand across the desk. Ana strode forward and shook
it. “You can sit. How can I help you?”
“I’m ... er
... we’d ... We would like ...”
Wahata
smiled sympathetically, and glanced at a sheet of paper in front of her. “You
want to apply for assistance on our Amnesty from Oppression Programme, I
gather. What are your reasons? I note that you work for the State Brothel. Is
that the reason?”
“Well, yes.
Er ... no. It’s for me and my lover. We’re both at the Brothel ...”
“And you’re
both prostitutes are you? Is your lover male or female?”
Ana had
never been asked such a question so baldly before. It shocked her momentarily,
but she reasoned that there was no reason for pretence here. “Female. She’s a
prostitute. I’m not. Well, not really. But I am, as well. And we wondered if
... we wondered ...”
“You’re
both prostitutes. You have a gay relationship.”
“Gay?”
“Yes. It’s
an Agdal term for homosexuality. I don’t believe it’s current in Alif. Is your
lover voluntarily a prostitute?”
“No, not at all.”
“Is she a
prisoner, then?”
“Yes. For ... for ... sex crime.”
“What
category of sex crime? Practising homosexuality?”
Ana nodded. Wahata wrote down a few notes
on a sheet of paper. “Gay couple. One imprisoned in a
Brothel for lesbianism. And you? Are you voluntarily a
prostitute?”
Ana shook
her head. “No, not really. I didn’t want to. I work
there mostly as a secretary. But my boss ... the Director ... he ...”
“Would you
say you’ve been coerced into it as a result of your sexual preferences?”
Ana nodded. “Yes. Coerced.
I’m sure that’s the word.”
Wahata
scribbled a little bit more. “All too common in your country, I’m afraid. Particularly for women. And are there any other practices or
activities that you and your lover participate in which would make you eligible
for assistance under our programme?”
Ana frowned. What could she say? “What
kind of practices or activities?”
“Political ones, for instance. Have you
ever been arrested at political demonstrations? Have you ever circulated
illegal literature? Has either of you practised any activity which is perfectly
legal and acceptable in Agdal, but not at all in Alif?”
Ana blanched. “I can’t think of anything
that ...” She remembered Ketaba’s own peculiar enthusiasms for Agdal. “Binta’s
a naturist, though. That’s acceptable in Agdal and not in Alif.”
“It is
indeed. There aren’t many staff here at the Embassy
who consider themselves naturists and those who do are male. I’m not one
myself, but for those who practise it, it’s almost a religion. Are you a
naturist yourself?”
Ana felt
obliged to strengthen her case as much as possible. “Er ...
yes. Yes, I am.”
Wahata
scribbled another note. “It doesn’t make much difference in your case whether
you are or not. I think your case already sounds quite strong. However, every
little extra helps. There may be some among those evaluating your case who might be further swung on that basis. So, if I can
summarise. You are two lesbian lovers coerced into prostitution by the
Ana nodded without a great deal of satisfaction. It wasn’t exactly how she would have liked the complexities of her life
described.
“Yes. I’m
sure that’s exactly right. Do we really have a strong case?”
Wahata
smiled. “I wouldn’t say you have the strongest I’ve come across. Those who are
more public in their political activities always get the highest ratings. If
you had been tortured, imprisoned without trial or about to be expelled, then
you could probably expect priority treatment. I take it that you are not
politically active in any way?”
Ana shook
her head. “I don’t really know anything about politics.”
“It’s a
wonder anyone does in Alif. President Marmeluke’s government doesn’t believe in
keeping its citizens particularly well informed. However, your case is far
stronger than most who come here hoping to be eligible
for patriation. Some like you for their sexual proclivities, others because they,
well, feel that life would simply be better for them in a more liberal country,
and others I suspect who are simply attracted to the free access to alcohol and
other such soft drugs. Most such applicants are unsuccessful, however. And the
tendency in recent years has been for rather fewer cases to succeed. Agdal has
mostly resolved its labour shortage problems and there have been expressions of
discontent from a sizeable minority of Agdal nationals at the perceived influx
of foreigners - especially those who are most culturally distinct and don’t
speak the same language. Especially, I’m afraid, those from countries like Haj.
Not that this would present a problem to people from Alif like you and your
lover. Now, if I may take some more particulars which can be used by our
Amnesty Investigators in pursuit of your application ...”
Wahata then
proceeded to ask a number of formal questions about Ana and Binta, such as
where they came from, what relatives they might have in Agdal, formal
qualifications, their history of oppression, and their political and religious
views. Some of the questions relating to their sexual activities and past
partners were particularly embarrassing and awkward for Ana to answer, though
she tried to answer as fully as she could. No, she hadn’t contracted any
sexually transmitted diseases. No, she wasn’t a drug addict. Yes, she was
prepared to accept that none of her family could emigrate to stay with her,
unless they could be proven to be her own children. No, she had no children. Yes,
she was willing to abide by all the laws of the
At last,
Wahata was finished. She folded over the final page of the form, and replaced
the top of her pen.
“I think that
should be sufficient. Now, I can, of course, give you no assurance at all about
how favourably your application will be received, and it is fair to say that it
is not an immediate process. Our investigators will have to do some work to be
sure that what you have told me is honest and truthful, and that your continued
stay in Alif would be intolerable to an Agdal national. My opinion, for what it
is worth, is that your case will be assessed favourably, but I cannot say when
a decision will be arrived at.”
“How long
might we have to wait till we know?” asked Ana breathlessly. The suspense would
be terrible, and the longer the wait that much greater the possible
disappointment.
Wahata
glanced back at her form. “Your lover, Binta, is due to be released in, let’s
see, just two months. It’s not likely that she will have any remission for good
behaviour, is it?”
Ana shook
her head. From her capacity as secretary to the Director she was privy to the
fact that Ana had not been deemed to have earned a single day’s remission from
her sentence, unlike Ferhana whose term had been dramatically shortened for her
cooperativeness and the quality of the services she had supplied for the
Brothel. But then Ferhana’s original sentence had originally been considerably
longer than Binta’s.
Wahata
scratched her chin. “I think we will probably know the result, one way or
another, well within two months. Rather sooner, I’m afraid, if your case is
unsuccessful. Now, I needn’t have to remind you that we expect total discretion
from you regarding your application while we process it. The Alif government
has a very unsympathetic attitude towards its nationals whom it suspects are
applying for assistance under our programme. They have frequently made
complaints, often at the highest level, about what they perceive as an open
door to criminals and the antisocial element. They say that it undermines the
effectiveness of the justice system if criminals can just walk out of the
country for a new life. They also find it embarrassing that other countries,
such as Agdal, should express such a low opinion of their legal system to the
extent of extending sympathy towards offenders. Should word get out that you
have applied to us in this way, it would be extremely prejudicial to your
case.”
“How would
that be?”
“Well, we
would probably have to withdraw any offer of asylum that we may give or have
already given. You and your lover would probably be arrested for interrogation
by your less than sympathetic police department, who would probably find
grounds for imprisoning you. They don’t need an actual reason for doing so, but
they would do all they consider necessary to ensure you were not in a position
to leave the country. I have personally known some very distressing incidents
regarding applicants whose current whereabouts it is now impossible to
ascertain. I suspect they may even have been consigned to labour camps in the
rather more inhospitable corners of Alif.”
“How were
they found out?”
“I can’t
say. Even were I to know, which I don’t in most
instances, I am bound by the confidentiality of my position to say nothing
which could even indirectly identify anyone who has applied for Amnesty. What I
would say is that as soon as you even telephoned the Embassy you had committed
an offence in the eyes of your government which they would not treat lightly.
I’m afraid your decision to come has already set you down a difficult path with
regards to the Alif government which the success or otherwise of your
application will not effect. It is for that reason that I will issue you with a
wealth of information on tourist interest rates, five star hotels and visa
requirements. If anyone ever mentions anything to you regarding Agdal or this
Embassy you will say that you came here to inquire about holidaying in some of
our resorts. Not, as it happens, at all unlikely, because you are unlikely to
be able to gain any information about tourism in Agdal from any other source.
Alif’s travel agencies are notoriously unhelpful, I’m afraid. Most visits to
the Embassy from Alif nationals relate precisely to that. You will, of course,
tell Binta to be equally as circumspect.”
Ana nodded
her head. It hadn’t occurred to her that she had already put herself at so much
risk. “I’m sure Binta won’t say a word.”
“I’m sure
she won’t. Nor you, of course. Gay people in Alif are accustomed
to hiding information about themselves from other people, and this will be just
an extra secret for you to keep.”
Ana
examined the woman to whom she had so soon surrendered her entire future. What
was she like when she wasn’t working? Was she someone who in a different
capacity she could perhaps have got to know as a friend? Ana knew she liked
her. Even found her quite attractive. But these considerations were totally
irrelevant. Her main hope was that Wahata should use whatever weight she might
have in the processing of her case for it to result in her favour.
“Now, for
security purposes - yours as well as ours, I’m afraid - you must never return
to the Embassy again. You must not contact us either. We’re sure that many of
our calls are intercepted, and I hope you didn’t contact us from your work
telephone number.”
Ana shook
her head, although the reason she’d not done so was less from security
considerations and more from the fact she could never know when someone would
come into the office while she was on the telephone.
“We will
contact you. Don’t contact us, however much you feel like doing so. When you
hear from us, this will probably be an anonymous phone call, and whoever it is,
male or female, will use a woman’s name. In your case, it will be, let’s see
...” Wahata rummaged through some papers she had on the desk. “It will be ...
Kerhala. It will be in the discretion of whoever calls you how that word will
be used. The contact will inform you where to go and at what time. Ensure that
you can make it. If you can’t, for whatever reason, say so immediately and an
alternative will be promptly suggested. Do not prolong the telephone call and
do not suggest that you don’t know the person who is calling. Is that
understood?”
Ana nodded. These elaborate arrangements
were not ones she’d expected. “Kerhala,” she repeated.
“Yes, Kerhala. A common enough name, you
must agree. Now, Ana, our formal interview is over. I think I’ve gathered all I
need to know, unless you have some other piece of information you think is relevant.
Is there anything?”
Ana frowned. Was there? She reviewed her
situation as best as she could in the whirl of thoughts jumbling about in her
head. She shook her head. “I’m sure there’s nothing.”
“Sure?” prompted
Wahata. “Okay! In that case, perhaps I can tell you a few things about Agdal.
What do you know about our country?”
“Not very much. A friend of mine from the Brothel
goes on holiday there quite frequently and I met someone from Gharab who’s
travelled through it. I’ve seen photographs of the beaches and mountains. They
look splendid!”
“Yes. Agdal
is blessed with beautiful scenery and a very pleasant warm climate. Slightly
less arid than Alif, particularly on the coast, and some mountains are
permanently covered in snow. Agdal’s tourism industry is very profitable -
quite the envy of Alif, which has never really fully exploited its tourist
potential. It’s also a much more built up country than Alif, which you probably
won’t know from talking to tourists nor indeed from
reading the tourist literature I’ll give you. Alif has only one city of any
size: Blad. Most of your other cities are rather tiny by comparison to those in
Agdal. The likelihood is that if you were successful in your application, you’d
be living in a town. Possibly one as large as Blad or even
larger. I see you are a country girl.
“I don’t
know. Both Binta and I would prefer to live in the country again. But, if there
were no choice, we would be happy to live in a city in Agdal. After all, in
Alif, there’s probably nowhere other than Blad we could live.”
“Indeed
not,” agreed Wahata. “Even in Alif, cities are generally more tolerant towards
people who do not conform in one way or another. I warn you though that Agdal’s
cities are much more congested and busy than Blad. That might be a little
difficult to cope with. In comparison, Blad is a dozy quiet place. I certainly
think so, anyway. My home in Agdal is in the capital city and I often miss the
buzz of Agdal urban life. However, where there are more people there are more
jobs, and I think you’ll find that the opportunities for employment are
somewhat better than they are in Alif, particularly for a secretary with your
qualifications. You got quite good grades in your exams, I remember you
saying.”
“Yes. But
there weren’t many jobs, though.”
“No. It doesn’t
surprise me you had to work at the Brothel. I’m sure prostitution and its
allied industries wouldn’t be nearly as prevalent in your country if Alif women
had more career opportunities. As you probably know, Agdal is a relatively
wealthy country. The change in government that took place in the revolution
when I was a child might have initially caused a great deal of chaos,
especially when your government so ineptly intervened under President
Marmeluke’s deposed predecessor, but Agdal now boasts a very comfortable GDP, a
widely envied balance of payments and a stable and prosperous economy. Your own
government will never forgive us for how much we have profited from our liberal
and open political system. That is why you will never be told very much about
Agdal and why your government is so concerned about our Amnesty programme. A
mass exodus of your brightest and best would not do your country’s benighted
economy any good whatsoever.”
“Doesn’t
having alcohol legal in Agdal cause any problems?”
Wahata
laughed. “Of course it does. When you allow a degree of freedom there are bound
to be problems. Yes, we have alcoholics. We have a problem with other
activities legal in Agdal and illegal in Alif. Sexually transmitted diseases among the promiscuous, particularly in male homosexual communities.
Drug addiction. Pornography. Pollution. Car accidents. Agdal’s not paradise. Don’t believe that for one minute.
Prosperity and liberalism bring their own problems, and there are plenty in Agdal
who argue for a return to a more conservative regime such Alif’s. My own
opinions are fairly irrelevant on these issues, but I wouldn’t say that people
in Alif are that much happier for being prevented from doing things than people
in Agdal are for having the choice. And anyway, I don’t think making something
illegal actually stops it happening. Alcohol is still drunk in Alif.
Homosexuality is still practised. And although pornography is illegal, Alif is
actually one of the world’s biggest exporters of the stuff as a sideline to its
profitable State Brothels.”
“Do you
have brothels in Agdal?”
“Oh yes. We
have them in Agdal. There may actually be more prostitutes in Agdal than in
Alif - but then there are rather more people. However, prostitution is not nationalised
as it is in Alif, and statistically very few people pursue it as a career for
more than a few months. It is scarcely the job for life that it appears to be
here.”
Wahata
glanced at her watch. “Well, I’m terribly sorry, but I have another appointment
in a few minutes, so I’ll have to close the interview.” She opened a drawer to
the desk and pulled out a plastic folder full of brochures and leaflets. “This
is the tourist information I told you about. Go to the reception desk, and you
will be shown out through a back exit which will rather lessen the likelihood
of you having been seen visiting the Embassy. Remember, don’t contact us. We
will definitely be contacting you. One way or another.”
She stood up, prompting Ana to do the same. “Well, goodbye. And give my best
regards to your partner.”
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