are also in Mzee Tharaka’s employ, for our President-for-Life has many eyes and ears. He was quite impressed with you the day you visited the Weightlessness Simulation Incline. He considers you a brave man. Before you return to the United States, you will be made an honorary citizen of Zarakal in a private ceremony at the President’s Mansion. Do you begin to understand what you have to celebrate, Joshua?”
“The Grub is mine!”
“I would think you might wish to give her a more dignified name. Mzee Tharaka is sure to demand that much.”
“How do you think President Tharaka would like Monicah?”
“Monicah?”
“It’s a nice monicker, don’t you think? It’s the name I’ve had in mind, a decent English/Zarakali name.” When Blair did not reply, Joshua added, “What else does the President intend to demand?”
Nonchalantly sipping, Blair beaded his mustachios with tiny rubies of Chablis. He patted his mouth with a napkin and eyed the passing traffic. “I fear that I’ve misspoken, Joshua. The President hopes you will always consider this country a second homeland; that once you have left the American military you will agree to reside in Zarakal with your daughter for at least a portion of each year. To this end, he has determined that you should receive a small annual stipend for your part in solidifying relations between our two countries. Also, a high-rise apartment here in Marakoi. It would be a shame, he believes, for, ah, Monicah to grow up solely as an American, nourished on hamburgers and banana splits, educated by television programs and cassette recorders, uprooted from the soil, the people, and the culture of her homeland. The idea of such total deracination appalls the President, and he is sure that you, as an intelligent black man, will see the matter pretty much as he does.”
“A high-rise apartment in Marakoi takes care of the problem?”
“Not entirely, no. Mzee Tharaka wishes you to regard yourself as a bridge between two worlds. Marakoi is merely one of the anchors for the span. The other anchor could be Pensacola, Florida, or Cheyenne, Wyoming, or Wichita, Kansas. Wherever you like. But if you reject the high-rise apartment here in Marakoi, the bridge collapses for want of support, and commerce between your daughter’s native land and her adoptive one must necessarily cease, at least for you and your daughter. President Tharaka’s watchword has always been Let there be commerce.”
The wine he had drunk in the heat of the day had not made Joshua receptive to syllogistic argument. He felt that he had fallen into an intricate web. Now he was creeping along a filament leading deeper inward rather than out. What multi-eyed predator awaited him at the heart of this pattern?
Distracted, he muttered, “Persephone.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“He wants Monicah to spend a portion of each year in the underworld and a portion on earth with the living—like Persephone.”
Blair laughed. “Ah, yes. But which is which?”
“I’ve brought her out of the land of the dead, Dr. Blair.” He gestured at the crowd in the restaurant, at a strip of sky visible through a gap in the awning. “Everything up here is both. Not just in Marakoi. All over. Everywhere. There, too; even in the underworld.”
“You’re a trifle tipsy, aren’t you?”
“You’ve influenced President Tharaka in this. You want Monicah in Zarakal a part of each year so that you can prod and poke and measure and compare. Am I right?”
“That would be helpful. And no more harmful to the Grub, I would think, than a yearly physical examination.”
“She’s not one of your goddamn fossils!” Joshua was conscious of heads turning to track this outburst. He lowered his voice: “Not one of your goddamn fossils. A human being. Helen’s daughter.”
Blair put his glass aside, scraped his chair back, and stood. “Of course. And your daughter, too. The medical people at the base have confirmed as much. So she’s yours, and Mzee Tharaka has interceded to insure that no one disputes your claim to her. His intercession warrants a little gratitude, don’t you think? Please consider this, Joshua, when the time comes to make a real decision.” After paying for his share of the wine with several notes engraved with portraits of the President in his hominid-skull crown and leopard-skin cloak, the Great Man gave Joshua an affectionate pat on the shoulder and headed off down Tharaka Boulevard toward the National Museum, from which he had apparently come for his midday break.
Joshua gave the African wine steward and the Indian waiter extravagant tips. Then he