------------------------------------------- [u][b]June 3rd: Prewitt, New Mexico[/b][/u] ------------------------------------------- Taytu sat at a picnic table and fidgeted with a soda bottle, her pointer finger on the cap as she used her thumb to spin it slowly. "Sun City Sasparilla" it said, and there was an image of a cowboy on the label, facing forward, winking one eye while shooting at an Indian sneaking up behind him. Across from her, Noh Mareko ate an oversized hotdog. "My friend says these are made of dogs." He said, unconscious of the mustard splatter on his over-sized tourist's t-shirt, "But the Americans say it isn't true. I do not know who to believe." He was fit, tall, and young; natural conditions for a soldier, and he was the body guard Gelay Hezekel assigned to her. She still remembered the day Gelay told her she should travel the west. It was the day after her disastrous date with the Congressman from Illinois. Gelay hadn't looked at her very much, obsessing instead with his own aging face staring back at him from a standing mirror. It was on his insistence that every room in the Ethiopian Embassy in DC have a mirror, and he could insist because he was the Ambassador to the United States. "They are not made of dogs." Taytu said, "They are pig meat." "Pork?" Noh's face dropped. "Don't bother, you're in America. God can't see you here." Noh was a Christian, but the Ethiopian church forbade pork. Taytu's own philosophy was [i]When in Rome[/i]. Noh swallowed the bite already in his mouth, but he didn't eat any more. A roller coaster rushed by in front of her, the image of a Vampiric Karl Marx painted on its front with blood dripping into his profuse beard. The imagery here at [i]Liberty Land[/i], a Rte 66 Tourist trap, was gauche to be sure. The coaster was art compared to the nightmare-inducing horses with grinning Presidential heads on the "Great Men Merry-Go-Round" "I don't think the west is as bad as you thought it would be." Noh said. He had the voice of a man talking through a blanket. "I don't see the Communists you were worried about." "I just saw Karl Marx go by. Behind you." Noh looked. "Oh, that is just a ride. I do not think the guy who owns this place likes Karl Marx." "No." she took a drink of Sarsaparilla. She was not a fan of soda, but America in its infinite brilliance were full of counties that scorned alcohol, and they didn't serve wine anywhere on the three acre premises of [i]Liberty Land[/i]. "I'm going to get popcorn." Noh said, "I do not think there is pork in the popcorn." Once he left, she sat alone, watching American families entertain their children. Why was she here? DC wasn't perfect, but a few bad experiences didn't mean she disliked the place entirely. Ambassador Gelay seemed to think she'd be able to clear her head on the coast, where the suffocating racial policies of the east had been resolved. But did that mean she liked the west? A world of outcasts and Communists? Those weren't her people. In truth, she understood the southerners better, even if they grouped her with their untouchables. Southern culture abandoned the presumptions of democracy, that all men were created equal. That made sense to her. "Try the popcorn." Noh came back, smiling, holding a striped bag. "Let's go." She stood up. He looked hurt. "We haven't rode the coaster." "I'm fine." She said, "Lets get on the road." They'd rented a Ford Franklin in Denver; a long flashy car with a retractable hard-top that worked perfectly in the desert heat. Noh drove. She climbed in, retrieving a pair of rounded sunglasses and a headscarf from the glove compartment. They pulled onto the blacktop and headed west as American big band music played on the radio. "What is your brother like?" Noh asked, speaking loudly so his voice would carry over the wind. He hadn't asked her much on the ride down from Denver where they'd met for the first time, but something about the amusement park made him feel more comfortable. "I have two brothers." "His Majesty?" Sahle. "He's too busy with work." she said. A non-answer. She knew him all too well. When she was a little girl, she was embarrassed by how he acted in public. At seven years old Sahle streaked naked through the palace. She'd been six at the time, but she'd known better, and she'd known that she knew better, and she couldn't wrap her little head around why he was to be Emperor. She learned how politics worked as she grew older, but those early frustrations were still there, somewhere, in her subconscious. "I bet he is busy." Noh said, "I do not know if I could do it." "I don't know how he does it either." She looked out at the desert, watching the red mesas go by, hoping this conversation would end. The world seemed so big here, the mountains too far away to wall it in, and trees almost non-existent, that she easily imagined herself getting lost in it. Swallowed up by forever, forgotten, like one of the scarce houses she saw falling apart far in the desert on some dusty trail. The American Southwest was more arid than the Ethiopian highlands, having more in common with the Rift valley or the dry deserts of Eritrea. It reminded her of a time her family visited Eritrea on state business, the year before her father died. Sahle was just discovering the other sex then, and uninhibited by the shackles of shame, he'd entered puberty sprinting. Their trip was ruined when he was caught deflowering a local official's daughter. The issue had been hushed up of course, but the process of hushing it up replaced their father's business. Everything once again had become about him: the heir, the profligate. They pulled into a small roadside inn at twilight, hoping to pass up the bar and find a room. A woman sat outside the parking lot wrapped in a blanket in front of a table of wares hard to make out in the setting sun. There were no cars here, only motorcycles. Taytu did not like this place, but she was tired, so she resigned herself to it and stepped out. The woman in the blanket called out to them. "Buffalo Soldiers." the old woman's voice cracked, "Don't go in there." Noh walked toward her, looking at her curiously. Taytu followed. As they got closer, they realized the woman was an Indian, her wares a variety of nick-knacks made of beads and cloth. What looked like a pile of extra blankets near by her turned out to be a makeshift tent. "The men in there don't like darkies" the woman said matter of factly. "We're not from America." Noh said, "We're foreign visitors. Diplomatic immunity." Taytu rolled her eyes. Diplomatic immunity didn't mean a thing to your average person. "They won't care about that in there." the old woman said, "They're Highway Rangers." "Who?" "They fought for the South in the last war. Got no home now. They travel the roads, hunting darkies. Commies. Whoever they don't like." "They let you sell out here?" Noh asked. "If I went in there, I'd be dead. But I sleep out here." Noh bought beads from her and thanked her for the advice. They pulled back onto the highway, watching the flashing beer signs fade away into a neon star behind them. The real stars were out when they arrived at the Petrified Forest Inn, on the edge of the Painted Desert. There were cars here instead of motorcycles. Still, Noh checked his concealed gun before they went in. The Inn was built from petrified logs used like rough stone, but its color was undetectable at night. Once the car had stopped, the desert seemed overtaken by a sacred silence, disturbed only by the buzz of a neon sign. They went inside. The cramped lobby was dominated by a single leather chair and the overpowering smell of cigarette smoke. "Can I help you?" an old woman said kindly, putting her smoke out in a tray. Noh started toward the desk, but Taytu went around him, surprising him into stopping. "One room, single bed please." "Ten dollars" Taytu took out a ten dollar bill and traded it for the key. "Room sixteen is on your right. If you need anything, I'll be here until midnight." Taytu smiled and went out. Noh followed her. Their room was small and smelled musty. She didn't like the feel of carpet, so she paused before taking off her shoes and putting them under the small desk near the window. A clock made out of a wagon wheel hung over the bed. She crinkled her nose. This wasn't the America she'd fallen in love with. "I'll sleep on the floor if you like." Noh started, looking down, "They've already made it soft like a bed. What an amazing country..." He stopped talking when he saw that Taytu had slipped her dress passed her legs. It stunned him, but when she reached to slip off her hose, he looked away. "This is not appropriate, your excellency." "I'll decide that." she said. In her underwear, she started undressing him, and she felt the bulge in his pants. Whatever he was professionally, he was still a man, and he didn't try to stop her anymore. Soon they were both naked, her body awkwardly thin to her, but his the figure of a warrior. She pushed him into bed and climbed on top. They both came before they were done, and he fell asleep. She stayed awake. The big loneliness of the southwest had swallowed her after all, she thought, as the tacky clock above her head beat the rhythm of time. Somewhere, sounding far away, she heard a car engine purr gently, and it made her shiver. At her side, Noh was dead to the world. She looked at him, reached over him, conscious of her nipples hanging just above his nose, and took the utility knife from his belt. It felt strangely heavy in her hands for something so small. She flipped it open, twisted around, and carved a notch in the bedpost. After returning the knife, she managed to fall asleep.