The field was black. A cutaway of a tent was present against the ether, like the backdrop for a play. Two puppets fell down into place, a red-headed woman inside the tent, and an over-exaggerated Sahle on the outside. Some very swanky kind of American music played in the background. The Sahle puppet started to knock on the tent-flap, moving his hip to the song. The red-headed puppet opened its wooden hinged mouth when the singing started.
You better get back to your used-to-be
'Cause you're kinda love ain't good for me
I hear you knocking, but you can't come in
I hear you knocking, go back where you been
Their motions stayed constant, but stilted and creepy. The Sahle puppet took up the next verse.
I begged you not to go but you said goodbye
And now you're telling me all your lies
Both puppets flapped their mouths for the chorus.
I hear you knocking, but you can't come in
I hear you knocking, go back where you been, oh yeah
The puppets took off into the sky as if yanked up by their strings. Sahle opened his eyes.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
June 5th: Yerga Chefe, Sidamo Province, Ethiopia
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Sahle woke up before sunrise. He was lying under his cot, feeling his breath blow back from the canvas. Birds chirped outside. He stayed like that for nearly an hour, hoping he could get some extra sleep. He gave up on that when he saw the first red glow of early sunlight. It was time to get up.
He was dressing when Desta Getachew came in. The Minister of the Pen wore his robes of state, but Sahle put on a safari suit again. "Are you ready for breakfast, you're majesty?" Desta asked.
"Yes. Give me a moment."
"Good." Desta left. When Sahle was dressed, he went outside. The morning air was pregnant with the cool humidity of a summer morning, and dew washed his boots. The Imperial party was eating outdoors near their circled vehicles, a long table and stools provided, making them look like the Last Supper turned camping trip. They had eggs, a mixed bread and beef dish called fir-fir, and sourdough pancakes cooked Ethiopian style served with fruit. The Ethiopians stood up and bowed as soon as they saw him, and the startled foreigners followed suit. He motioned for them to sit back down and approached the table. Desta shot him a telling look. Sahle stopped, cleared his throat, and spoke.
"We hope you all enjoyed the night."
"It was absolutely rugged." Bradford Carnahan spoke up, "Like a weekend in Vermont."
"That's good." Sahle approached Rudolph von Lettow-Horbeck, put his hand on his shoulder, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "That shit's still to crazy. Why did you bring it?" Rudolph grinned impishly. The Emperor sat down and ate.
"What's on the agenda today, brave leader?" Bradford said to Desta.
"I have a plantation south of here." Desta said, "It's bigger then the one we saw yesterday."
"Capital."
Sahle wasn't excited about another day looking at coffee shrubs with a bunch of foreigners dressed like Stanley and Livingstone. He'd only went on this tour in order to pursue Livy Carnahan, and that wasn't turning out the way he'd wanted to. His attempts at conversation were meeting with awkward half-responses.
They finished breakfast as the drivers and Imperial Guardsmen packed up their tents. When they were done, the table was packed, and they were back on the road. They were no longer on the War Road. Ethiopia's back roads received no attention from the national government, kept up instead by local officials and the farmers themselves. These were little better than dirt trails beaten and cut into the Sidamo forests. Bridges were too expensive to maintain, so crossing a river involved finding a ford. It was early enough in the wet season that the fords were still easily crossable. In another month, rushing waters would claim lives. They bumped slowly over a dry river bed. Rudolph took out a flask of Wine, drinking a little before offering it to Sahle. "From home. Juisi." he said. Sahle took a swig.
They reached a coffee farm and climbed out. The tall shrubs looked like hedges along overgrown country lanes. Farmers were at work, dresses in thread-bare shirts and pants, pruning excess growth before the rainy season came and drove them indoors. The Emperor and Desta walked in front of everybody, and when the farmers saw him they turned around and bowed.
"These plants, like the ones we saw yesterday, will produce beans later this year." he said. It was a short version of the speech he'd given at the smaller farms up the road. They came to a bluff, a fifty foot muddy drop beneath them, where they could see the valley open up. It was framed by hillsides heavy with verdant forests, but the valley itself was cleared and planted with row upon row of young coffee shrubs. All together it was a vision of an agriculture Eden.
"Selling to America and Japan has made this all possible." Desta said, smiling warmly like a proud father. "These fields will slake the thirst of steel workers in Pennsylvania, and fishermen in Okinawa."
"Will these new plants produce cherries this year?" Miyagi Yakuga asked.
"It will be three years" Desta replied, "I'm afraid nature isn't very accommodating to capitalism, but we must make due."
"Is there a risk these farmers might unionize?" Bradford Carnahan came with the next question, eying around as if one of the poor locals could understand English and was spying on them for ideas.
"Unionizing isn't legal in Ethiopia, strictly speaking." Desta said, "If a farmers agitated enough to be a real union, they'd risk being called Shiftas, and laws against Shiftas carry heavy penalties. Possibly death."
"Very good. I'm pleased to come to Africa and find that you people are Republicans."
Desta paused a for seconds for questions before he spoke. "To get down there we need to follow the road. We'll stop at a warehouse where processing will be done at the end of the year." They followed him, loaded back into their vehicles, and continued their journey. When they arrived at the large metal warehouse in the middle of the forest, they were surprised to see a Landrover waiting in front of it. Two Ethiopian tricolors flanked the front of the vehicle, the characters "ምድሪ ባሕሪ" printed in black on the central yellow strip, spelling out in Amharic "Medri Bahri".
Desta's car was first in the caravan. When it stopped, Desta got out and slammed the door. He went to talk to a man in a light grey military uniform. Sahle hopped out and went to join his Minister of the Pen.
"He's inside." Desta said. He went around Sahle and addressed the rest of the group still sitting in their vehicles. "We've got government business to discuss. Take this time to stretch your legs. We brought refreshments for anybody who needs it, so help yourself." He went inside. Sahle followed.
The Coffee warehouse smelled close and dusty. Sacks of beans were stacked to the ceiling on either side of them. They went to a back office, where a confused foreman was holding the door open. He bowed when he saw Sahle. They went inside, and the foreman went out. That left them in the room with the man who'd came hunting for them.
Hamere Noh Dagna looked like a mocha bulldog, dressed in a light grey naval dress uniform, with his head appearing to be smashed between his peaked cap and his epaulets. "Your majesty" he said, testily.
"We didn't expect to see you so far from the sea." Desta replied. Sahle stayed silent, standing behind his Minister of the Pen like a faithful wife.
"I got your notice, that I am to sell one of my darlings to the American navy. I must lost my invitation to that meeting. So I'm here. Time to make up for my mistake."
"You were invited to Addis Ababa last month. You didn't come."
"To your birthday party, Desta? It seemed frivolous."
"Nothing is frivolous for people of our station, Hamere Noh. Wasn't it Adam Smith who said 'People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public'"?
"So you entered a conspiracy against me?"
"It's not a conspiracy against you." Desta sat down. Sahle stood in place, thinking if he should say something, frozen like a statue, a witness by default. Desta continued. "The American government has interests it wants to protect in the South China Sea without actually getting involved. Their public is too isolationist to support any direct support of eastern powers, but they want to bolster the Philippines as the dark horse candidate in the region. A ship is all they asked. One ship, and they'd reward us with money."
"Then you'll have to buy a new ship with some of that money, to replace the one you stole from me." Hamere Noh stared down Desta.
"Not enough money to steal a ship. Part of the payment is in preferential trade agreements. Ones that will benefit us."
"Let me guess, coffee." Hamere Noh said, pausing for effect. Desta didn't answer. "And here we are, sitting in a warehouse full of your coffee. How much of this beneficial trade agreement is going to arrive as money in your pocket, Desta?"
"The deal is done." Desta said coldly. Neither talked for a moment, maintaining a bitter air between them. Hamere Noh broke the silence, "Your Imperial Majesty, did you think about this decision, or did you trade your stamp for one of those whores he's always bringing you?"
"I'm his Minister of the Pen. It's my job to hold his stamp. Is it your job to speak treason?" Desta challenged. Sahle didn't feel angry, he felt cornered. "I talked to the American ambassador himself about the matter." he said.
"It's nice that you had the time for him." Hamere Noh retorted. "We have three battleships. They are the jewels of my navy. You taking one of them from me is like you taking a child from a mother of three. I want you, your Imperial majesty, to tell me to my face. I flew here to hear it from your own mouth, so tell me now, are your going to take one of my children?"
Sahle tried to come up with the words to say, but they were tangled up in his head, and he couldn't pull enough free to make a sentence. Desta spoke for him. "The paperwork is signed. You can chose which one the Americans pick. His Imperial Majesty expects you to treat the American naval delegation with courtesy."
Hamere Noh's eyes didn't move off the Emperor. Sahle only managed a dry "Yes." The meeting broke up, and Sahle spent the rest of the day desperately wanting to get high. Luckily Rudolph had the goods.
The toured more farms. By dinner he was in a cannabis blur, his conversation with the Bahr Negus a dull and distant pain. They were going to eat outside until it started raining. They fled inside a different coffee shed, rain pattering on the tin roof, the roads outside being churned into a sticky muck. He and Rudolph went first, eating more than their share, taking a window seat so they could watch the weather. The rain let up and a rainbow appeared in the cloudy brown sky. Somehow, he'd managed to forget about Livy.
They camped again, off in the grass to avoid the worst of the mud. It took longer this time for their servants to set up their tents, and it was dark when they were ready. Sahle slipped into his cot almost immediately, but he had trouble staying asleep, finding himself staring at the dark canvas. He heard his name called, a wraith-like voice to his sleep addled mind. He heard it again. Awake this time, he identified it.
"Your majesty." Livy Carnahan called out. What time was it? Sahle hopped up, realizing he was still fully dressed. He met her at the front of his tent.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Eleven. Have I offended you?"
"What?" Sahle scratched at his eyelid.
"You were distant, and my brother thinks I offended you, and he said it'd be bad for business, so I had to check."
"I thought you weren't interested in me."
"I'm not interested in you that way. You being... you're majesty... that's too big for me. But I don't want to offend you. We can be friends."
"Okay." Sahle said, letting her see him smile, but inhaling air into a body that felt empty from the thought she wouldn't love him. Had he ever expected that from the girls he pursued before? Or had he always expected it? "You like music?" she asked, "Come with me, I have something to show you."
He followed her into the night. The moon was their only source of light, and for the first time he noticed she was still wearing her khaki safari dress, though she'd eschewed the hat and let her red hair flow free. They were in a clearing cut through by a muddy road, both sides walled in by the night-blackened woods like a room with two exits. Unseen creatures serenaded them as they approached the parked caravan of cars. Livy lead him to the landrover she'd spent the last few days in, went to the back, and started to unlatch the tarp placed over their luggage. Sahle helped. When it was uncovered, he was surprised to see a portable turntable.
"Why do you have this?" he asked in a sort of astonished yelp. Livy pulled a record. Gershwin. "My brother was going to play music when we traveled, but after he saw the roads..." she swallowed the words she was going to say and reached into the small collection of records, pulling out a pure white sleeve. She slipped the record out. The front said "I Hear You Knocking - Plump Poker"
"What's this?"
"You like American music, right?"
"Is Plump Poker a type of Jazz?" Sahle asked.
"Plump Poker is a person." she said, "Here..." she set up the turntable, put the record in, and it started to play.
You went away and left me long time ago
Now you're knocking on my door
I hear you knocking, but you can't come in
I hear you knocking, go back where you been
It was different than what Sahle knew. Different than Jazz certainly, and that was the most exotic music he could think of. He felt like the first human to ferment grains and discover alcohol, introduced to something he had no words to describe, stuck instead with a collection of feelings and sensations that were not necessarily new in their parts, but when put all together were too primitive to explain.
I begged you not to go but you said goodbye
And now you're telling me all your lies
I hear you knocking, but you can't come in
I hear you knocking, go back where you been, oh yeah
She smiled at him, doing a kind of hip-based American dance that was incredibly sexy to him. "We're friends now?"
"Friends" he promised.
Timemaster
