His acceptance speech was rich in political mantras. He promised peace and goodwill for the fief but warned that state stability would not countenance adventurism from the tribes of the north. He gave his sacred pledge to preserve the country’s terrain and topography, but he pointed out that bringing unprecedented plenty to the people would require a bit of geographic surgery. He looked into the future and saw an age of unparalleled prosperity for his people, but warned that they might have to tighten their abas in order to achieve it. He said the old world of tradition and the new world of technology would coagulate to create a wondrous political and social order that would become a mirror for all mankind. He said he would not appropriate any power other than that traditionally accorded to the sheik but he would become director of the energy and strategic-resources program, just to speed things along. He thanked the spirits that the augurs had been propitiously interpreted and he thanked the people for their faith in him. He said he was humble, and proud of it. He said they would always have direct access to his presence, but they must remember that he was a busy sheik. He described himself as the Carrier of light and power, Devourer of time and space, Greatest Servant of man. Thou hast put all things under our feet, he concluded.

The people clapped elbows. The wheezy band played “Anchors Aweigh” again. The young women danced to the music, weaving and gliding among the young men, who darted and leaped on grasshopper legs. They all got shitfaced on beer and so did most of the foreign legation, myself included. I fell to musing about that last, galvanic encomium Abdul had lavished on himself, “Carrier of light and power. Devourer of time and space”—strong stuff. It had a familiar ring, and, recollecting in drunken tranquillity, I remembered what it was: the inscription on an emblematic statue extolling Electricity in Union Station, Washington, D.C.

Abdul walked among the celebrants, who greeted him warmly, clutching his genitals nimbly to avoid stepping on his shadow. He made his way toward me. “Come back to the palace,” he said. “We have to talk.”

He eyed me in my aba, not as he would the Carrier of light and power, but as if I were a carrier of smallpox or a damn fool gussied up for Halloween. “But first,” he said, “get out of that clown outfit and into something civilized.”

“What’s he want?” Val asked, back in our shack.

“Let you know when I find out.”