The rain punched the town till the town was drunk with rain, drunk as the river, which, having drunk more than its fill, now lurched and spewed and spoke dirty words. The rain entered the house of Lydgate (and various other ill-caulked dwellings) in laughing person; in mansions on the hill it was happy to wall in the heat, send emissaries of mould, and sit disguised as sweat on the skins of the white. But in the State Council Chamber it was as if there were no rain. The conditioned air purred like a doctored cat that never went out, licking itself endlessly clean of the Caliph's endless cigarette smoke.
The Caliph smoked so much that he was as good as a tobacco cure to the assembled councillors. Even the U.N. Adviser had a sour-lemon look as he sucked his empty pipe. Where his brothers of the Middle East had harems, the Caliph of Dunia had cigarette-tins. Smoking was his only vice. It was doubtful if his meagre body could have supported more substantial vices, but he affected virtue because of the sins of his ancestors. They had been Berber pirate-kings and had called themselves Sultans; he was a Sultan and called himself Caliph. There, of course, in the pretension to that title sang the braggart blood of the pirate, and, in the claim to be the only living spiritual successor to the Prophet, there was a sort of arrogance of black flag and cutlass. He was lucky to be able to indulge the dream of a pure primordial Islam (realisable in time, when his people had learned enough from the infidel) which should be a macrocosmic image of himself: uranium earned money for him while he thumbed the Koran. His ancestors, on the other hand, had had to work hard for their gold moidores, religion being as much a luxury as sleep. He spoke now to the hereditary chamber about the great Mosque which, when the marble inlays had been fitted, would be opened with prayer and trumpets in the presence of Islamic leaders from all over the world. He spoke quietly, so that all had to strain their ears and incline their bodies to hear: here again was a kind of arrogance. And the U.N. Adviser was a little deaf.
"I didn't quite get that, Your Highness," said The Honourable Mr. Tomlin in the National Language. He spoke the National Language with a minor public school accent.
"Would you mind – ?"
Smoke came from the mouth of the Caliph and, with it, words. "I visited the Mosque. There seemed to be a sort of strike. The men were sitting around, smoking. There was a young man who looked like a European. He was doing a sort of dance, almost naked. The dance seemed to involve pretending to strike repeatedly at one of the pillars. It was perhaps more boxing than dancing. The young man alleged that the pillar was his father. The workmen clapped and cheered. Is the young man mad?"
"Oh, yes, Your Highness," said the U.N. Adviser. "I have every assurance that the work will be completed in time."
"The young man was almost naked except for his shoes. The Mosque is not yet completed but it is still holy ground. He should have taken his shoes off."
An ancient councillor spoke loudly. "Why does the work have to be entrusted to Christians? Are there no Moslem marble-workers? Moreover, I learn that the marble, like the workers, comes from Italy, which is a Christian country. Is there no marble in Moslem countries? After all, a mosque is essentially an Islamic structure." He champed his bare gums, nodding vigorously.
The U.N. Adviser heard every word and spoke confidently. "There is no marble, as far as we know, exported from any Moslem country. The best marble seems to come from Italy. And the best marble-workers come from the marble-producing district of Italy." An illiterate councillor, scion of a noble house of illiterate river chiefs, said he did not know where Italy was. He was told by his neighbour, in-accurately. "And," smirked the U.N. Adviser uneasily, "presumably His Highness wants only the best for his new Mosque."
"If they are striking for more money," said the Caliph smokily, "let them be given more money. The terms of the contract are very wide. At this feast it is not seemly to count each rice-grain."
"That has already happened many times," said a councillor. "My brother-in-law was drinking the other night with the old Italian man – "
"Drinking?" said the Caliph, taking a fresh cigarette.
"Orange crush, O Father of the Faithful. But the old Italian was not drinking orange crush. He seemed to say that more money had been three times requested and three times granted. But he, the old Italian, said that the money was rightly his, and not the workmen's, for his responsibilities daily grew greater and greater. And so the workmen still strike."
"We should have workmen of our own people," said another councillor. "Good Moslems, aware of the holiness of the work. They would not strike."
"They would not do a stroke," amended the Caliph realistically. "Besides, the time is not yet come for my people to work. The time will be when the infidel is no longer with us." He bowed slightly to the U.N. Adviser. "When the Australians have built their roads they will go back to Australia. When the Europeans have shown our people how to do their office jobs the Europeans too can go. Then there will be no need of the Chinese with their drinking-shops and pork-markets. The lesser breeds of the State will be given an opportunity to enter Islam. If they do not wish to, they too may go. Then our people will have the State to themselves. But in the meantime it is not seemly for them to work. It is seemly for them to think on their immortal souls. Work can come later."
The U.N. Adviser cupped his deaf ear but could hear little of this speech. He nodded, as in sage agreement, and fiddled with his silver pencil. It had been given to him by his office staff when he had retired from the post of District Officer, Number Four Division, Shurga. It was not solid silver. Much of the plating had come off.
"All right," said a councillor. "We have foreign workers. Right. We let them into the State. Right. They do their work. Very well. But when they have done their work, what then? Eh? Can they do what they like? They are our guests. Is it right for them to abuse our hospitality? Eh? Answer me that."
"Who is to answer that?" asked the Caliph.
"Anybody can answer it for all I care. Let him – "
The councillor pointed rudely at the U.N. Adviser. "Let him answer it. That's what he's paid for. To give us a bit of advice. That's why he's called the U.N. Adviser."
"What exactly is meant?" asked the U.N. Adviser.
"Getting drunk instead of spending the night in prayer. The Mosque is holy. Right. They don't consider it holy. They get drunk and go out after women. Is that right? Eh?"
"What women?" asked a young rather gangster-looking councillor. "Our women?"
"Any women they can find. If they have not found any yet it is not for want of looking. But the old man pinched the bottom of one, a good Moslem mother. And the young one has winked at our young women in the streets. He has also made signs at them. They must remember they are not in France now."
"Italy," amended the U.N. Adviser.
"It is all one. Frankistan, That is the old name of the faithful for the barbarous countries outside the pale. It is all one. Right. What are you going to do about it?"
"It does not come within my jurisdiction," said the U.N. Adviser. "What expatriates do in their spare time is not my affair. Not officially. They could be warned, of course," he said unhappily. "But they have already been warned several times. At least, the old man has been warned."
"Islam," smoked the Caliph, "is one and indivisible. No distinction can be made between the secular and the divine. No distinction can be made between the morality of work and the morality of leisure. In the true Islam there is no leisure. The soul is constantly at war with evil. The essence of Islam is the doctrine of unity." This speech was, save for its structural words, pure Arabic. The U.N. Adviser had to guess at its drift. He said:
"As U.N. Adviser I must point out that it is not in my province to help uphold Islamic law or custom. Islamic law and custom do not apply to everybody in this State. There are some Christians, for instance. I am one myself. Church of England."
"What has England to do with it?" asked a councillor.
"This is Dunia, not England."
"That is the name of the Christian sect to which I belong," said the U.N. Adviser. "If Christians want to be immoral that is entirely their own affair. I mean, it's something they have to sort out with their own consciences. Nobody can stop a Christian committing adultery or getting drunk. Unless, of course, he interferes with law and order when he does these things."
"So Christianity condones immorality?" asked a bright-eyed young councillor.
"No, no, no. He must settle everything with God. I mean – " The U.N. Adviser was embarrassed. He had used the name of God, or rather of Allah. He felt he was getting into deep water.
"Allah?" said a councillor. "And is there not also the question of Allah's representative?" Allah's representative took another cigarette. He blew numinous smoke.
"But it's not the same Allah," faltered the U.N. Adviser. "What I mean is – "
"There is only one Allah," pronounced the Caliph. "Moreover, I must remind the U.N. Adviser that according to the Treaty of 1951 no U.N. Adviser has any authority to interfere in matters of religion. It is not seemly for the U.N. Adviser to make heretical pronouncements of that nature."
The U.N. Adviser did not hear correctly. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said. "As long as we keep the idea of a division of function or authority in mind we've nothing to worry about. I'm glad we all agree on that. Perhaps we'd better get on to the next business."
"Perhaps," said the young gangster-looking councillor, "if these two Italians had women of their own they wouldn't want to interfere with our women. The Mosque must be finished on time. They must be kept out of mischief until it's finished. Then, of course, they can be booted out."
"Are you suggesting," asked the Caliph, "that we import immoral women to make a kind of harem for these two infidels? "
"No, O Father of the Faithful, not quite that. I merely meant – "
"I do not think," said the Caliph, "that our immigration laws are tight enough. We had the instance, a month or so ago, of some kind of Japanese stage show coming into the State from Naraka. It was not a stage show at all. At least, I understand that none of the members of the company, which was all female, had much talent for singing or dancing and did not pretend to have much. It was a kind of travelling brothel. What would happen if such a thing occurred again when our visitors were here for the opening of the Mosque? Our morality is in grave danger if we allow people of easy virtue into the State. Nobody should be allowed into the State at all unless they have a definite position to take up, sponsored by a person of high authority and proved morality."
The U.N. Adviser heard a great deal of this speech. A sort of indignation had swelled the volume of the Caliph's words to very nearly the level of normal conversation. "The immigration laws of Dunia," he said, "are, Your Highness, the strictest in the whole of Africa. I don't see how they can be made any stricter."
"Too many loop-holes," said the Caliph. He lighted the thirtieth cigarette of the forenoon. "Too many people creeping in, without jobs. And, when they've gone, creeping back again. Women especially. There are Australian road-foremen with imported mistresses. That lets down the State very badly."
"Only one," said the U.N. Adviser. "And she came from Naraka as an ayah. And he married her. It's perfectly above-board."
"Yes," said the Caliph. "Married in the eyes of the Registrar. But not in the eyes of God. Now, what is the name of the Passport Officer?"
"Lydgate, Your Highness."
"Ah, yes. He is living with a Potok woman. He has two children by her. Is that seemly? Is it seemly for a man whose task it is to control immigration to bring in wanton women from Shurga? Will not people say that he is taking advantage of his office?"
"I understand that they were together for a long time before he came to Dunia, Your Highness. And she came with him as his ayah."
"And one of the tasks of an ayah is to bear children for her employer? This is a strange world the Europeans are helping us to make."
"They cannot marry," said the U.N. Adviser. "He is married already."
"Has he never heard of divorce? Does a Christian state forbid divorce so that it might the better encourage concubinage ?"
"You have to have grounds, Your Highness." The U.N. Adviser felt miserable. He could have throttled Lydgate. He could have knifed the two Italians. Cheerfully. Why couldn't people live normal decent lives – a little tennis, a couple of pink gins before dinner, a little very mild flirtation? Why did they have to cause trouble?
"The Senior Establishment Officer," said the Caliph, "Mr. Mudd. He ought to have more control over immigrants who come ostensibly to work in the State. Especially now. Especially when we shall soon be having so many distinguished visitors. Holy men," he added. "Men of virtue and piety. Are they to take back to their countries stories of my allowing this State to be run as a brothel? Things must be tightened up." He put the lid on his tin of cigarettes. The councillors began to rise. The U.N. Adviser said, "There is more business, Your Highness. There is the question of the water supply. There is the question of building the new catchments."
"Ah, yes, catchments," said the Caliph. "Next time, I think. There seems to be plenty of water at the moment. Plenty." He looked incuriously at the streaming windows. "Some things are more important than water." He closed his eyes for a moment, though none could see him do this. This was because he always wore sun-glasses, even indoors, as though in pain of perpetual hangover. Here, presented binocularly, were the black patches of his piratical ancestors. His council stood about him, small black men whose race was Moslem and whose language was the National Language, not without cunning, some not without brains, waiting to hear what he would say. He said, “’And thou, Mohammed, seest the earth barren, but when We send down water thereon, it doth thrill and swell and put forth every beautiful kind of growth. That is because Allah, He is the Truth. La! He quickeneth the dead, and la! He is able to do all things.'" He turned to The Honourable Mr. Tomlin saying, "Catchments." Then he went out into the unconditioned air and the eager fingers of the rain on the open veranda. The State Umbrella-Bearer appeared from nowhere.
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