He emptied the royal bowl. It resembled rusticated stone, which it wasn’t, being of the same material that composed the palace and the rest of the public works. A speckled snake in hollow-relief sinuously encircled the vessel; the blunt head met the tapered tail and swallowed it to close the ring in a self-perpetuating, self-consuming paradox.

He plunged back into speech: “Many alternatives are available—when the time comes. Grady…” he spoke the name like a malediction, “he thinks he’s so smart with his managerial know-how and his runaway skills—attributes which have propelled you Yanks into so many global messes. He talks about improving the lot of our people, but all he wants is a big piece of the action.” Again the smile. “Sorry to bad-mouth your…” his voice dripped disdain, “mentor, but what’s ironic—he’s so greedy it affects his sight. You follow me?”

Me. So deep was his concentrated hatred for Grady he had relapsed to the plebeian me.

“No, I don’t.”

“What we mean, his brains seem to small up, confronted by any potential beyond his immediate goal. Once he supplies us with two four-forty-megawatt reactors for electrification, what are we going to do with them?”

“Attract industry.”

“Suppose we develop our own? And tell Grady,” he added with relish, “to go shit in his ice-cream machine. What do you think?”

“Think you can do it yourself?”

“We can with your help. Interested?”

Before I could demur, Qazwini barreled in. At his waist were two guns and a knife with a nasty blade. In each ear was lodged a U.S. silver quarter. On his face were dark aviator glasses and the turbulent scowl of a Mescalero. Abdul’s attention was still riveted on my sweaty brow. “We’ve confided in you,” he said, “knowing you won’t betray our trust. Let us confide a bit more.”

From the square came the sound of the muted voices and shuffling feet of the people as they strutted in their hard hats at the end of the day.

“General Qazwini,” he said, “wants an army.”

“I see.”

“What do you see?” Qazwini asked belligerently.

“I see that an army would be something the General would enjoy.”

“We are not put on this earth to enjoy ourselves,” the General said in a voice that took me by the lapels. “We are here to be tested.”

I turned to Abdul. “What do you think?” I asked him.

He said nothing.

“There are threats of subversion,” the General said darkly. “We face tribal strife. Enemies are at our borders. Without an army we encourage them to commit acts of terror and aggression.”

I turned back to Abdul. “You think the Goths are at the gates?” I asked.

“We must make our fatherland safe from those cannibals in the north,” Qazwini insisted, “so nobody can come here and eat us. Have you forgotten what they tried to do?”