They Came to Baghdad Read Online Free

bitterly:
    â€œOut of touch. Not in the picture anymore. It was all right during the war—one could keep one’s end up all right—I got the DFC for instance—but now—well, I might as well write myself off the map.”
    â€œBut there ought to be—”
    Victoria broke off. She felt unable to put into words her conviction that those qualities that brought a DFC to their owner should somewhere have their appointed place in the world of 1950.
    â€œIt’s got me down, rather,” said Edward. “Being no good at anything, I mean. Well—I’d better be pushing off—I say—would you mind—would it be most awful cheek—if I only could—”
    As Victoria opened surprised eyes, stammering and blushing, Edward produced a small camera.
    â€œI would like so awfully to have a snapshot of you. You see, I’m going to Baghdad tomorrow.”
    â€œTo Baghdad?” exclaimed Victoria with lively disappointment.
    â€œYes. I mean I wish I wasn’t—now. Earlier this morning I was quite bucked about it—it’s why I took this job really—to get out of this country.”
    â€œWhat sort of job is it?”
    â€œPretty awful. Culture—poetry, all that sort of thing. A Dr. Rathbone’s my boss. Strings of letters after his name, peers at you soulfully through pince-nez. He’s terrifically keen on uplift and spreading it far and wide. He opens bookshops in remote places—he’s starting one in Baghdad. He gets Shakespeare’s and Milton’s works translated into Arabic and Kurdish and Persian and Armenian and has them all on tap. Silly, I think, because you’ve got the British Council doing much the same thing all over the place. Still, there it is. It gives me a job so I oughtn’t to complain.”
    â€œWhat do you actually do? ” asked Victoria.
    â€œWell, really it boils down to being the old boy’s personal Yesman and Dogsbody. Buy the tickets, make the reservations, fill up the passport forms, check the packing of all the horrid little poetic manuals, run round here, there, and everywhere. Then, when we get out there I’m supposed to fraternize—kind of glorified youth movement—all nations together in a united drive for uplift.” Edward’s tone became more and more melancholy. “Frankly, it’s pretty ghastly, isn’t it?”
    Victoria was unable to administer much comfort.
    â€œSo you see,” said Edward, “if you wouldn’t mind awfully—one sideways and one looking right at me—oh I say, that’s wonderful—”
    The camera clicked twice and Victoria showed that purring complacence displayed by young women who know they have made an impression on an attractive member of the opposite sex.
    â€œBut it’s pretty foul really, having to go off just when I’ve met you,” said Edward. “I’ve half a mind to chuck it—but I suppose Icouldn’t do that at the last moment—not after all those ghastly forms and visas and everything. Wouldn’t be a very good show, what?”
    â€œIt mayn’t turn out as bad as you think,” said Victoria consolingly.
    â€œN-no,” said Edward doubtfully. “The funny thing is,” he added, “that I’ve got a feeling there’s something fishy somewhere.”
    â€œFishy?”
    â€œYes. Bogus. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t any reason. Sort of feeling one gets sometimes. Had it once about my port oil. Began fussing about the damned thing and sure enough there was a washer wedged in the spare gear pump.”
    The technical terms in which this was couched made it quite unintelligible to Victoria, but she got the main idea.
    â€œYou think he’s bogus—Rathbone?”
    â€œDon’t see how he can be. I mean he’s frightfully respectable and learned and belongs to all these societies—and sort of hobnobs with Archbishops