“
And if, you know, you need any references or anything moving forward, you know I
’
ll always be here for you.
”
“
That is so good to know. Thank you again,
Giff
.
”
~ * ~
Out of curiosity, as they continue to circle the flaming river, he checks his messages. Why not? Rachel heard about the fate of Happy Mountain Springs on the business news and wants to know what kind of package he got, how this will affect his standing in the profit-sharing plan. Warren in Bangalore sends his professional condolences and urges Henry to visit him in Mumbai before going home
“
to find yourself.
”
Then, from Meredith, the announcement that she is using her severance to go to India to have breast reduction surgery, because it
’
s much more affordable there and because, well, Warren is there, and he is really happy, and they are going to give it a go. Fucking Warren, Henry thinks, looking for stars through the thickening smoke. Warren with his fulfilling job and his unflappable ideals and now the company of a T. S. Eliot-quoting one-time big-boob web mistress who might be the most authentic person he has ever met. Good for him. Good for them.
The last message is a day-old video attachment from Norman that Henry never got around to watching. Titled
The Weight of Ma
k
e-Believe Water,
it opens on a group of malnourished, impoverished kids straight out of a Save the Children commercial squatting on a sunbaked desert floor somewhere in Darfur. But as the camera
pulls back we see superimposed just beyond them two impeccably dressed Western businessmen and a businesswoman laughing and standing around a five-gallon Happy Mountain Springs water-cooler. Just as one of the children turns to look at them, they flicker and vanish, cooler and all. The next vignette shows a battered well bucket being raised on a rope in a dusty African village. But when the bucket appears, it isn
’
t filled with well water, it
’
s filled with a half-dozen superimposed icy cold one-liter bottles of Happy Mountain Springs water, all of which flicker and disappear just before a desperate mother
’
s hand can grasp them. The same appearing/disappearing sequence plays out as fifty-foot bottles of Happy Mountain Springs water and HMS coolers and logos flicker on desert floors, in crowded refugee camps, at the edge of a foaming, chemically fouled river not unlike the one on which Henry is precariously floating. The sound track is Massive Attack
’
s instrumental
“
Two Rocks and a Cup of Water.
”
After the final sequence, which culminates with the powerful and sentimental propaganda of a match dissolve from a drop of HMS cooler water to the teardrop in a parched child
’
s eye, Henry closes the screen and stares at his captors. He raises a finger and gets the attention of the leader. The young man waves him forward.
“
Really, what are you going to do with us?
”
“
Hold you captive until we get our way.
”
“
And if you don
’
t?
”
The man shrugs, looks at his machete.
Henry stares at him for a moment and smiles.
“
What?
”
“
I have an idea. Are you the leader?
”
He begins to nod yes, then says,
“
No.
”
~ * ~
Upstairs in the pilothouse, the view is even more dramatic, because it provides a 360-degree panorama of the pyrotechnics. His suggestion for the three men gathered is simple:
“
If you kill us, you will turn the world against you and no one will want to do business with you, let alone give you an ounce of aid. If you make an example of us by showing us the door, by escorting
us out of your country for excessive greed, for an assault on your culture, your purity, the world will listen. Kick our asses out and make a show of it—film the fucking thing. Tell us to come back with a more humane and culturally sensitive business plan. If you do that. . . well, besides the fact that I would remain alive, it would be a lot better.
”
He watches them look at each other. He feels good, relieved even, because it seems to have registered to some degree. One of the men, presumably the leader, glances at one of the guards and gestures toward the door. As the guard steps forward, Henry realizes that he has seen him before. It is Maya
’
s friend. Her brother. Small world. Smaller country. As he nears, Henry smiles and begins to raise a hand to say hello, perhaps to shake, but his once and former girlfriend
’
s brother swings the butt end of his machete handle against Henry
’
s temple.
~ * ~
Last Drop
An hour and a half later, two rust-pocked school buses appear at the boat slip at the edge of the village. A dozen men in red bandannas lead the fallen front men and women of industry down the gangway and onto the idling vehicles. Henry takes a window seat in the back of the first bus and looks out the window. The river is still burning, but with less intensity. He hasn
’
t seen the flash of explosives or tracers for a while. Some of the villagers are shouting and banging on the side of their buses, but most are more intent on boarding and looting the royal ferry. He watches Madison Ellison and then Audrey stumble past, both sobbing, both, thankfully, headed toward the other bus. And there is Madden, his face bruised and matted with blood that wasn
’
t there when he came on board. Two men hold him by the arms and a third walks behind him with a half-cocked riot stick. Madden looks up at Henry
’
s somber face as he passes, and winks.
~ * ~
On the black empty road to wherever they
’
re taking them, he closes his eyes, thinks of a song,
“
Step Right Up
”
by Tom Waits, and sleeps.
~ * ~
Bright lights, a film crew, and several thousand angry Galadonians greet the buses at the airport. As he walks a gauntlet of red-clad guards, he is shoved and tripped and spat upon. Lying on the
concrete sidewalk, waiting to crawl into the terminal, he is frightened yet exhilarated. Certain that this is all for and because of him. The spectacle. The sparing of questionable lives. The public banishment of the greedy interlopers, chronicled for posterity.
Inside the airport it is silent. The demonstrators are kept outside, and only a few dozen rebels stand guard as the soon-to-be-released hostages shuffle toward the terminal
’
s lone gate. They stop and form a line, waiting to be processed at a makeshift customs desk. He notices Maya
’
s brother standing guard several spots ahead of him.
“
Excuse me.
”
Her brother looks to see who is watching, then approaches him.
“
What?
”
“
What happened to the Australian?
”
“
Madden?
”
Henry smiles, nods.
“
Yes. He
’
s leaving too, right?
”
The young man stares at Henry but doesn
’
t answer.
“
You know,
”
Henry says,
“
he did some good here too. He wasn
’
t all bad.
”
The man smiles.
“
No, he wasn
’
t. I imagine no one is. But apparently he was bad enough.
”
~ * ~
The line moves slowly. Henry
’
s mind drifts. At one point a man taps his shoulder. He says he represents the largest Coca-Cola distributor in Asia.
“
A friend of yours pointed you out to me earlier, before . . . well, you know, before this. Big Aussie.
”
“
Madden?
”
“
That
’
s it. He told me that you had some admirable ideas.
”
Henry stares at the man.
“
He was a good soul.
”
The man smiles.
“
If by
‘
good
’
you mean full of life, then you are correct. Anyway, here.
”
He hands Henry a business card.
“
Call me when and if your life regains a bit of normalcy.
”
~ * ~
A few minutes later, he
’
s tapped on the shoulder by Maya
’
s brother.
“
Follow me.
”
Henry sighs and follows him across the terminal to the entrance to a small office. Outside the office stands Shug, who nods and jerks his head for Henry to go inside.
When she sees him, Maya hugs him and touches her hand to the most recent rising bruise on his temple.
“
I
’
m sorry this happened.
”
“
I
’
m sorry too. But for the best, right?
”
She looks through the doorway at the line of foreigners.
“
My brother said this was your idea.
”
“
Sometimes they actually work out.
”
She smiles.
“
The other thing, the way it turns out, it wouldn
’
t have mattered.
”
“
I thought everything mattered. Every gesture. Even my presence in this room.
”
“
You
’
re right. It does. It did. They won
’
t let you stay, you know. Legally. I tried.
”
He nods.
“
But perhaps someday you can come back.
”
He nods again, hugs her, and says,
“
I
’
d like that.
”
~ * ~
She doesn
’
t walk with him back to the line. They won
’
t allow it. At the desk a small man who reminds Henry of the prince looks at his papers and asks him what his final destination will be.
He touches the bruise on his temple and answers with another question.
“
What are my choices?
”