Florence of Arabia Read Online Free Page B

polymath-explorer who spoke thirty-five languages and dreamed in seventeen. One of the most daring adventurers of all time, B urton was a curious role model f or the agoraphobic George, who had managed to wriggle out of every foreign posting he had been offered, except for one eighteen-month stint in Ottawa, during which he learned Micmac, a complex native Canadian language.
    "I had the most vivid dream last night. In Turkish. I was on the Bosporus with Lord Byron and Shelley. We were each in one of those idiotic tourist pedal boats, trying to get from one side to the other, only the continents started moving apart. What do you make of that? You look awful. Did we not sleep last night?"
    "George, Nazrah H amooj asked me for asylum ."
    "If you think that's more importa nt than interpreting my dream, f ine."
    Florence told him what had happened, leaving out the detail about Prince Bawad's ride-'em-cowboy fantasy.
    "Hmm m. I knew something must be cooking. Cables between he re and Kaf fa have been living fast and furious. They scrambled a Royal Wasabi transport ou t of Jacksonville to Dulles. Oh, the humanity oh, the paperwork."
    George caught the look on Florence's face. "That was she on board? Oh, dear. I hear the sound of sharpening steel."
    "I'll call Tony Baze ll in Kaffa." Florence said. "Maybe he can—"
    "Wh at? Storm the palace? forget it, Maybe they'll let her off with thirty lashes." George peered at Florence. "Are we leaving something out? Are we not telling all? Out with it."
    "I... Nah ."
    "In Italian." It was the language they used for office gossip. She told him.
    "Mamma mia All four? Simultaneously? Well, I knew the prince entertained, but I had no idea. Filthy old goal. No wonder the poor thing wanted asylum. She probably dreamed of a nice, boring life in the 'burbs. Apron, ging ham frock, pies cooling on the windowsill, golden retriever named ... Brandy, stretching class on Tuesday, yoga on Thursday. Lord and Taylor's trunk show. Jeopardy! every night at seven-thirty during dinner with a husband named Cliff... no, Brad. Brad the Impaler. Who would ask for oral sex only on his birthday. Now she's on her way back to Wasabia. Land of fun and sun. Well, darling, you tried. God knows you tried."
    Two days later. Florence calle d Bazell at the U.S. embassy in Kaffa, who put her through to the embassy guy who kept the C hop-Chop Square tally. Nazrah H amooj had been executed that morning at dawn by sword, for the crime of adultery.
    "She was pretty calm about it, from what we heard. Sometimes they make a hell of a fuss. Last month they did Prince Rahmal's wife. Man. did she put up a light. Yelling, screaming, kicking. They finally jabbed her full of Valium so they could get a clear cut. Tomorrow's entertainment is they're stoning a w oman to death for schtupping—get this—the black cook. It's the Thousand and One Nights. They can't get over it. Is this a great country or what?"
    CHAPTER THREE
    I f Florence had an office with a door, she would have shut it and had a private cry, but she didn't, so she used the ladi es' room. She remained there most of the morning, until George sent someone in to get her. When she emerged, he said, "Frankly, you'd look better under a veil." and put her in a cab and sent her home.
    She unplugged the phone and went to bed and had a dream in which Nazrah was lying on the hospital bed with mascara streami ng down her cheeks, and Shazzik, dressed in a female nurse's uniform, was administering a lethal injection. Nazrah 's body gradually shrank and was sucked into the tube and up into the plastic drip bag. where she was imprisoned, screaming silently for help. Florence started awake, so drenched in perspiration that she got up and took a shower.
    She went to work the next morning and stayed at the office until past midnight for the next three days.
    When she was finished, she printed three numbered copies, placed them in top secret folders, gave one to Duckett's secretary, another to