21
“Snakes?!” Jan said, both eyebrows raised, both hands on her hips. “A desert island with snakes? What is this, a B-grade horror movie? Will we be staying in a shack that has a shelf full of chainsaws and nail-guns?”
“There is a old guest house on the island, built a hundred years ago. Not a palace, but hardly a shack,” said Ephraim. He looked up from the duffel bag he’d been packing and cocked his head. “And why chainsaws?” He pulled out a pronged rod made of brushed aluminum. “A snake-pole is much more effective. Besides, snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them.”
“That’s so not true. Humans have evolved to notice and avoid any movement on the ground. For our ancestors, stepping on a snake was pretty much a death sentence,” said Jan, eyeing the snake-pole and shaking her head as she wondered for the millionth time what the hell she was doing here. Was she really about to go on a camping trip with two Arab kings who’d kidnapped her one after the other? Even those ditzy teenagers in the horror flicks weren’t this dumb.
She’d spent four days with Ephraim, but after that first savage night of lovemaking she’d stopped him from taking her even when he came at her half-naked, his cock leading the way, erect and heavy. There were a few occasions where she was sure he wouldn’t stop, but he stopped every time. It surprised her, actually, because she’d been clearly aroused in his presence, and they’d been close enough to understand that the attraction was there and it was real. But every time she said no, the Sheikh had backed off. Not just that, but he’d held on to his need in a way that made her own need rise: He’d stayed hard, refusing to pleasure himself, refusing to allow anyone else to pleasure him.
And Jan knew there were women in the Royal Palace of Habeetha whose sole function was to pleasure the Sheikh. She’d seen it in the way they looked at her when she passed them in the hallways. They always lowered their heads and covered their faces with their hijabs when in her presence, but they couldn’t hide what was in their eyes. Did they love him? Did they hate her? Were they simply worried about losing their jobs?
But Jan had other things to worry about, and it wasn’t the harem or the wildlife. Over the past four days Ephraim had showed her the capital city of Habeetha, where almost all the population lived. The streets were smooth and perfect, and the buildings were a wonderful mix of old sandstone bungalows and modern highrises. He’d taken her to the southern division of Habeetha, showed her the grand casino and gambling houses, pointed out the clean, well-lit brothels where well-paid women could safely choose to practice civilization’s oldest profession under the protection of the Sheikh’s city guard.
As for guards, Jan couldn’t help but notice the abundance of uniformed men stationed all over the city, at street corners, in marketplaces, outside mosques and prayer halls, near shopping malls and movie theaters, striding through the streets, patrolling the date-palm lined parks and playgrounds. And then Ephraim took her to the north of the city, to the banks of the Golden Oasis, where his army had their barracks.
“The military cantonment,” he said as their gold-plated Range Rover glided through the freshly paved streets lined with young date-palms, past rows of identical sandstone barracks, down toward the shoreline where groups of uniformed young men were being marched and exercised as if in preparation for war. “The result of my biggest mistake as Sheikh.”
Jan had stared wide-eyed at the scene, swallowing hard as a chill rose up from the base of her spine. She’d known about the opening of the borders, about the young men flowing in and joining the military to complete their five years of service. But seeing the extent of it was shocking. This was not a simple problem.
“So many men,” she said as that chill almost made her throat seize up. Suddenly she understood the position Ephraim had boxed himself into, and she turned to him wide-eyed. “Wait, how long has it been since you opened the borders?”
“Four years,” Ephraim had said grimly.
“So in a year their military service will be done. What happens then?”
Ephraim’s jaw set tight as they watched the men march along the banks of the Golden Oasis. “Then I am bound to fulfill my commitment and make them full citizens of Habeetha, give them a stipend, and allow them to live anywhere they choose.” He took a long breath. “Some will choose careers in the army, and they will remain here. But these are just barracks, with men living in dormitories. They will all want their own houses, families, lives. And so most will flock to the capital city, and the city center simply cannot absorb so many new people at once. Ya Allah, what a mess I have created!”
Jan thought back to what she’d seen on the tour of Habeetha’s capital. The city was clean and beautiful, but it was also small and crowded. Everyone drove expensive cars, but the traffic was heavy despite the wide streets. Sidewalks and marketplaces were busy, and cafés and restaurants seemed to be packed at all hours. There were many tourists, of course—after all, this was the Vegas of Arabia—but that only made everything seem more crowded. Many of the highrises in the city were office buildings or hotels for the tourists, and even without knowing the exact numbers, Jan could tell there was no way the city had enough housing for the thousands of young men who would complete their military service in a year.
“Why not just build more highrises in the city itself?” she’d asked when Ephraim had explained that the desert outside the city was almost impossible to expand into. “If you can’t expand the city outwards, then just expand it upwards! Wouldn’t that solve any housing problems you might have?”
“The problem is, when you build a highrise, you need to have a foundation that goes very deep into the earth,” Ephraim had said. “And the land composition on the fringes of the city simply does not allow for it. The few highrises we have in the city center are already pushing the limits of what we can do.” He looked toward the shimmering waters of the Golden Oasis and shook his head. “The only way is that way. Across the shining waters. I know it, Darius knows it, and now you know it.”
Jan closed her eyes as her head spun, and she took a deep breath before looking at Ephraim. “OK. But war? An invasion? Shared marriages? Wasn’t there some middle ground? What about some agreement for Noramaar to take some of the immigrants?” She’d asked Darius the same question, but she needed to ask it of Ephraim as well.
Ephraim had smiled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “Do you think Darius can agree? Do you think he will simply tell the people of his kingdom that they will have thousands of new neighbors, military-trained young exiles from the sinful city of Habeetha? And to get my people to move, they would have to be exiled. I would have to force them to move to Noramaar, would I not? After all, many of them were seduced by the freedoms we offer in Habeetha, freedoms that are still against the law in the kingdom of the good Sheikh Darius.”
“You keep calling him that,” Jan had said. “The good Sheikh Darius. Like you’re mocking him or something. What is it with you two? Clearly you know each other, and there is some kind of a strange bond. Yet you exchange public threats and hostilities, and I do believe that you would in fact go to war against him if it came to it. I just don’t get it, Ephraim.”
The driver of their car turned his head and glanced back at her just then, and Jan frowned when she saw his eyes. She blinked and stayed quiet as Ephraim pressed a button and raised the frosted glass partition between the front and back seats of the custom designed Range Rover.
“What did I say?” she’d whispered when Ephraim turned and grinned at her.
“You called me by my first name without addressing me as Sheikh,” he said. “It is considered an insult. I have had people flogged for less.”
“You’re kidding. You’ve actually had people whipped in public for insulting you? Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“OK, I am kidding,” Ephraim had said deadpan, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowing. “Do you feel better now?” He shook his head and smiled. “Ah, Jan. You are still looking at my world with the eyes of an American, a self-proclaimed savior. I may be a king, but I am still a savage, yes?”
“If you’re having people flogged in the town square, then yes, you are a savage. I’m not going to apologize for being disgusted by that!”
“An insult to the Sheikh is not an insult to me as a person,” Ephraim had explained. “It is an insult to the people of the kingdom. In America you have many symbols that people take pride in: Everything from the great victories of World War II to the dominance of Hollywood to the supremacy in sports and the longest list of Nobel prizewinners. You are a scholar of psychology and biology, Jan. You understand how identity and self-image is fundamental to a person’s well-being. In a tiny kingdom, identity and self-image is dictated by the king, Jan. By me! Do you understand? There is a burden of responsibility to display strength and dominance so that my people feel strong, so they may raise their children with pride. Is that not what the people of America take their greatest pride in? Strength and dominance? America dropped two nuclear bombs on Japan, killing millions of men, women, children, and their dogs, cats, and goldfish. Yet the victory in World War II is a source of pride for Americans. Do not misunderstand me—I believe it should be a source of pride for America! What angers me is that you call me a savage for demonstrating strength and dominance in ways that are in line with the peculiarities of my own history and culture.”
Jan had taken a long breath and glanced out the window as the car slowly pulled away from the lines of Arab men marching along the banks of the Golden Oasis. Darius had made exactly the same point when he explained why he could never simply make an agreement to open his borders and allow people to flow in from Habeetha. It had to be done in a way that enhanced the perception of him as Sheikh, made him look strong instead of weak, smart instead of foolish. And it was not about the personal ego of a king—though certainly that was part of it—but about what it meant to be king. Which meant that just like Darius would never agree to it, Ephraim could never ask it either! The end result might be the same—a joining of the two kingdoms—but the manner in which it happened was important. The symbolism was important. The symbolism was everything.
And she was the symbol.
That dizzy feeling of being in a made-up world where nothing made sense came back to her when she realized that these two men were in some way prepared to fight their own egos for the good of their kingdoms. After all, what king would step aside and hand the throne to his new queen?! Suddenly it occurred to her that perhaps they were truly reaching for the nobility in themselves, the ability to sacrifice ego for the good of the people while still making sure the perception and symbolism would not affect the self-image of their kingdoms. It was a delicate dance, a careful balance, an operation of great finesse. Oh, God, these men were truly royalty, were they not?
She’d remained quiet for the rest of the journey back to the city center and past the small cluster of highrises as the thought occurred to her that it was by no means settled that anyone was going to give up their thrones. The game was underway, but in a sense it hadn’t really begun yet, had it? Who knew what would happen when all three of them came face to face? Setting aside the question of how Darius and Ephraim would react, Jan didn’t even know how she would react! She’d shared one passionate night with each Sheikh, and without really talking about it with them, she’d held off from sharing a second night with either of them. Strangely, both Darius and Ephraim had backed off when she asked them to, even though she wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they’d advanced and pushed for it. Were all three of them instinctively trying to set a balance, dance this twisted dance of lust and emotion, politics and partnership?
Now it suddenly made sense as Jan watched Ephraim wave his ridiculous snake-stick as he packed a duffel bag with God-knows-what in preparation for their trip into the unknown. It made sense that they’d chosen this island in the middle of the Golden Oasis. It was symbolic that neither kingdom owned the island, just like neither Sheikh could claim Jan as his own. Their first meeting as a trio needed to be on this one piece of land that symbolized the delicate balance that needed to be struck in order for this to work.
Our first meeting as a trio, Jan thought as she wondered what to even pack. A trio. A threesome. A threesome?
Oh, God, that’s what’s going to happen here, isn’t it, she finally allowed herself to admit as the energy rushed through her in a churn that made her almost throw up. They’re both going to take me, one after another, at the same time perhaps. Oh, God, this is my last chance to back out, isn’t it. If I agree to go to that island, I’m agreeing to more than just sightseeing, aren’t I.
Stop freaking out and think of it as sightseeing, she told herself as she looked at the multiple sets of clean cotton panties she was packing like a good little schoolgirl going to summer camp. You’re a scientist and a scholar, and part of the reason you’re doing this is to understand and learn, to observe and record, to theorize and experiment.
But it didn’t ring true as she felt her body buzz in a way that made the sickness disappear just as quickly as it had arrived. The truth was the whole scientist-conducting-experiment was a way of tricking herself into taking things this far, a way of telling herself that it made complete logical sense to get involved in this scheme. But now it was time to drop the charade, to push the scientist away and let the human take over. The human woman.
Now’s when you learn what it was really like to be a woman a million years ago, shared by the men of the tribe, shared willingly, joyfully, with love and passion and violence and competition all rolled into one. Is that woman inside you? Are you that woman? Can you be that woman?
“We’re about to find out,” she muttered, smiling to herself and shaking her head as she reached into the travel bag and rifled through the stack of soft cotton panties.
And then Professor Janice Johansen, PhD, grabbed all those panties and quietly took them out of the bag. She was going all in, she decided. Into the unknown. Into the history of womankind. Into herself.