known each other in the States, it had frequently been pre-party drinks in the evening on the Lower East Side with maybe tennis and beach barbecues over weekends at the Sharifs’ place in the Hamptons.
‘This is very different,’ he says. There is still, however, a smile in his dark eyes and he steers me to a comfortable sofa when his servant returns with glasses of mint tea. ‘I guess I have changed, Rudi … well, as you can see, I’m into tea now rather than beer!’
Carla Hirsch and Earl Connors are hovering like spirits in the corner and I’ve got a huge radiation sign hanging on the door behind Sharif. ‘ If we nuke you, Rudi, you won’t ever recover. Can you imagine what it would be like if we irradiated London? Where would everyone go? The economy would be ruined …you’d be like primitives scrabbling for water in an arid desert … ’ I’m already in role though, and there’s no way I’m giving the impression that we’re anything other than soul mates from the past.
‘We’re all evolving,’ I say with a shrug. ‘The world’s changing around us.’
He seems to like what I’m offering, although he does pause before coming back.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve reverted to my birth name?’
‘Not at all … I think I understand.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure – you’re unhappy with the way it’s going between Islam and the West … but you know where you are.’
You’re on one side and I’m on the other. We’re at war, Mike, or should I say Mohammed. I’m thinking of respectable Brits and Germans who could have been firm friends before 1914. Then, suddenly, instead of going off to the theatre or the opera together they found themselves fighting and killing each other in France and Belgium.
‘I don’t know how we got to where we are now,’ Sharif says. He’s looking out over the gardens, ‘but the differences between us are very real … and I’m not alone in the way I feel.’
The mint tea is a welcome distraction, but I’m batting covertly for my President and Her Majesty now. I’ve got to go for it, so I embrace Sharif with my eyes. ‘Iraq was a mistake,’ I tell him. ‘And Afghanistan … crazy, misguided adventures that have totally isolated us.’
I’m up against a solid block of Islamic conviction. But there are distant memories of good times we once shared together: Carefree days and nights when we drank too much and partied through the night with a whole swathe of fun friends.
‘It goes back a lot further than what’s happened recently, Rudi,’ Sharif says eventually. And I believe it’s going to get worse before we have any sort of resolution.’
Does he mean like Nagasaki or Hiroshima multiplied by 10 or 100? I feel this is what he has in mind. I’m praying for the mint tea to quickly change into whisky. I desperately need something to block out the implications of what I’m hearing.
‘How do you think it’ll go?’ I ask. I’m trying to pretend that we might still be knocking up before a weekend tennis match at the Hamptons. It’s getting heavy though and I’m trapped.
‘We’re a proud people,’ Sharif says. ‘We have a great sense of community, but now we feel we have been humiliated … and it’s not acceptable. You’ll agree, I’m sure.’
I’m nodding desperately. Is there a way of turning this around? Could we shake hands and make up before we get to Armageddon? There are already dark clouds over Iran and Pakistan. The Middle East’s in turmoil, but now the threat’s closer to home. ‘ We think your friend is funding a group that wants to hit London or New York, Rudi, ’ Carla Hirsch had suggested. ‘ And it could be nuclear … ’
‘Faria was a beautiful woman,’ Sharif says unexpectedly. Is this fucker playing hard ball with my emotions? I can feel the perspiration around my torso and on the palms of my hands. ‘I’m sure you must think about her a lot.’
Every day, you bastard, and frequently in my
‘This is very different,’ he says. There is still, however, a smile in his dark eyes and he steers me to a comfortable sofa when his servant returns with glasses of mint tea. ‘I guess I have changed, Rudi … well, as you can see, I’m into tea now rather than beer!’
Carla Hirsch and Earl Connors are hovering like spirits in the corner and I’ve got a huge radiation sign hanging on the door behind Sharif. ‘ If we nuke you, Rudi, you won’t ever recover. Can you imagine what it would be like if we irradiated London? Where would everyone go? The economy would be ruined …you’d be like primitives scrabbling for water in an arid desert … ’ I’m already in role though, and there’s no way I’m giving the impression that we’re anything other than soul mates from the past.
‘We’re all evolving,’ I say with a shrug. ‘The world’s changing around us.’
He seems to like what I’m offering, although he does pause before coming back.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve reverted to my birth name?’
‘Not at all … I think I understand.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure – you’re unhappy with the way it’s going between Islam and the West … but you know where you are.’
You’re on one side and I’m on the other. We’re at war, Mike, or should I say Mohammed. I’m thinking of respectable Brits and Germans who could have been firm friends before 1914. Then, suddenly, instead of going off to the theatre or the opera together they found themselves fighting and killing each other in France and Belgium.
‘I don’t know how we got to where we are now,’ Sharif says. He’s looking out over the gardens, ‘but the differences between us are very real … and I’m not alone in the way I feel.’
The mint tea is a welcome distraction, but I’m batting covertly for my President and Her Majesty now. I’ve got to go for it, so I embrace Sharif with my eyes. ‘Iraq was a mistake,’ I tell him. ‘And Afghanistan … crazy, misguided adventures that have totally isolated us.’
I’m up against a solid block of Islamic conviction. But there are distant memories of good times we once shared together: Carefree days and nights when we drank too much and partied through the night with a whole swathe of fun friends.
‘It goes back a lot further than what’s happened recently, Rudi,’ Sharif says eventually. And I believe it’s going to get worse before we have any sort of resolution.’
Does he mean like Nagasaki or Hiroshima multiplied by 10 or 100? I feel this is what he has in mind. I’m praying for the mint tea to quickly change into whisky. I desperately need something to block out the implications of what I’m hearing.
‘How do you think it’ll go?’ I ask. I’m trying to pretend that we might still be knocking up before a weekend tennis match at the Hamptons. It’s getting heavy though and I’m trapped.
‘We’re a proud people,’ Sharif says. ‘We have a great sense of community, but now we feel we have been humiliated … and it’s not acceptable. You’ll agree, I’m sure.’
I’m nodding desperately. Is there a way of turning this around? Could we shake hands and make up before we get to Armageddon? There are already dark clouds over Iran and Pakistan. The Middle East’s in turmoil, but now the threat’s closer to home. ‘ We think your friend is funding a group that wants to hit London or New York, Rudi, ’ Carla Hirsch had suggested. ‘ And it could be nuclear … ’
‘Faria was a beautiful woman,’ Sharif says unexpectedly. Is this fucker playing hard ball with my emotions? I can feel the perspiration around my torso and on the palms of my hands. ‘I’m sure you must think about her a lot.’
Every day, you bastard, and frequently in my
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