Chapter 11: Omelas

“So, you are still writing a day before your surgery?” Miguel asked as everyone settled in around the ‘sala de puros’ (cigar room) a small area off the kitchenette with several comfortable easy chairs in a loose circle with a round table in the middle.

“What can I say,” I replied as I set my laptop aside with the cover page clearly visible. “The creativity is just alive in me down here!” I laughed as I reached for my coffee, “At this rate, I’ll be done with it and into the sequel before I leave! I should come down here more often.”

“And are we to confer that you will be writing about your experiences here at BASI in...” he paused to peer at the title screen, “Trouble in Paradise?”

I nodded as I swallowed. “Oh, all of my books are loosely based upon personal experiences,” I agreed. “Some more loosely than others. It would be kind of boring if I didn’t embellish things with some deep dark secret, eh?”

“For instance...?”

I pursed my lip. “You ever heard of Ursula Le Guin?”

He frowned and nodded. “She is an American Author of classic literature, No?”

I nodded, “was, sadly. One of her works is used in Literature classes around the world. It’s called: ‘The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas’. Now Omelas is actually her hometown of Salem Oregon, but in the story, Omelas is a Utopian society where everything is as perfect as you could imagine it to be. Except for one terrible dark thing that every citizen is aware of. The secret to Omelas is that the complete utopian package comes at a terrible cost. Far beneath the city is a dark room where a single child is locked away and deprived of any comfort or sense of belonging. The child gets no light, warmth, comfort, love, or joy. It only receives what it needs to survive. And only through its misery can Omelas exist. But there are those few who cannot abide by this cost and they choose to leave their utopia. They are the ones who walk away.”

“I see,” he replied sounding rather bored. I could see the panic in the producer’s face. “So, is there trouble in paradise?” he asked more directly.

“I’m not sure yet,” I said matter-of-factly, catching him and the producer off guard. “My maid-servant from last evening has up and disappeared without a trace and then a new girl who looks like she might be fifteen, showed up this morning as her replacement. The child doesn’t even speak a word of English either.”

“Interesting,” my interviewer mused. I could tell he was caught off guard by my candor. “I am sure there is a logical explanation. So, tell us, what do you plan to do on your personal day? Shopping, Sightseeing?”

‘Nice try amigo!’

“None of the above I’m afraid,” I replied refilling my coffee. “I’m not going anywhere until someone gives me that ‘ logical explanation’. Until then I am left to my own conclusions based on what I have inferred so far.”

“And what might those conclusions be?” he sighed knowing he was being pulled right back into it.

“Well Remi, who was my maid-servant last evening, is a purely delightful woman and when I realized she was Filipino I called my fiancé immediately. You see she is Filipino as well. And they got to speaking and getting along famously.” I sipped my coffee and waited for him to nod for me to go ahead. “Well, I guess it turns out that the ‘institution’ here doesn’t allow foreign visitors to speak their home languages or some such nonsense.”

“Hmm, yes.” He nodded with a severe frown, “They do prefer to keep everything in Spanish for clarity and transparency. Portuguese is acceptable as well but not favored.”

“Yet here we are speaking English...”

“Well, of course,” he hedged, caught off guard once more. I could see the Producer squirming uncomfortable and I was struggling to keep the grin off my face. These guys were amateurs. “It is because you do not speak Spanish. We will translate your...”

“You know,” I interrupted. “I could swear at the dinner the other evening I saw a group of Asian fellows gathered around a table speaking Japanese!”

“Well, uh...” he swallowed, “I’m sure they were contractors who were working with the 3-D printer labs...” He stopped speaking when he found me gazing back at him with my ‘Gunny’ stare.

“Y’know what we say in ‘Merica? If you want to get out of the hole, step one is to put down the shovel.”

There was a pregnant pause and then the Producer cleared his throat as he stood. “Um, perhaps this isn’t the best time for an interview.” There was an uncomfortable shuffling about as Miguel rose and the cameramen moved from under the light stands.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the screen with a smile. “Oh, it’s my buddies from the State Department,” I said freezing everyone in their tracks. I held up a finger, “this won’t take but a minute.” I pressed the speaker button: “OohRah, Semper Fi!”

“Semper Fi right back at ya devil dog! Is this Al Bishop?”

“The man, the myth,” I replied recognizing the gravelly voice on the other end.

“The myth more like it, you big bullshitter! This is Daniel McFadden at the American Consulate here in BA.”

“Danny ‘Froggy’ Mac McFadden? Now who’s bullshitting who?” I roared with laughter.

“I shit you not, Gunny,” he crowed back at me, “I read your fucking book Asshole! Didn’t mention me once. Not ONCE! And after all the shit we have been through!”

“Trouble we got into you mean,” I replied with a snort. “That’s gonna be in Book 2, and it’s Staff Sergeant now.” Fuck! Book 2 was already in print! “Might be Book 3.”

“Oh, Fuck Off!” he growled. “Word is the man in the house liked your book so much he brought it up over beers with the Commandant. He wanted to know if it were actually true that a decorated fuckup like you could really be busted for something so stupid. God if they only knew some of the shit we pulled back in the day!” He laughed so hard I think he sharted. “Anyway, the SecDef and a few other REMFs were there too. I think your jacket’s been pulled, buddy.”

‘Well, well, well ... I bet Shitwitz is about to throw a fucking clot.’ I mused.

“Anyway, you had better have a pen handy when I get there, I expect you to formally apologize for not putting me in your book when you sign my copy.” He snarled.

My eyebrows went up. “Oh? When you gonna be here?”

“Oh ‘bout an hour or so. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

I thought about it, there was one thing on my list if I went shopping today... “Cat food.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cat food! You got wool in your ears? I gotta cat here, I need cat food.

“You got a cat?”

“Yep. Sleeps on my butt at night. Watches my six.”

“You got it.”

“Well alright, buddy! See you then. Bishop out!”

“Froggy out!”

We disconnected and I took a drink of coffee. “Looks like we gonna get some visitors.”

“The State Department?” the producer stammered. “They are coming here?”

I could see the cameramen scrambling to get back in position.

“Yeah, I guess it makes sense. My visit here has captured some attention. Hell, you just heard the man say the President himself liked my book,” This was the first I heard of it too, but I was gonna spin the shit out of it for all I was worth. “With this new government of yours working so hard to clean up some of the corruption and such ... Who knows maybe they are working towards getting one of those ‘most favored nation status’ things. Don’t you all export a shit ton of oil to the US? Along with soybeans and meat?”

Another pregnant pause. My eyes lit up with a twinkle and I started reaching for my laptop. “Hey, there’s an idea! Maybe a gunfight or swords clashing in the OR while I’m under...”

“Oh, Heaven’s no!” Dr. Esposito exclaimed with amusement as he strode into my residence. Everyone immediately deferred to him. “No guns or swords in my operating room please, Mr. Bishop!” he continued dramatically. “Now if you want scalpels,” he swished his hand about like Zorro, “then I am your man!”

He turned to face the Producer and Miguel. “Gentlemen I am going to have to ask you to continue this another time. If you will please excuse us.” He couldn’t have yelled ‘vamoose’ with a snapping bullwhip and got them to move any faster. The room was empty in seconds.

He indicated the carafe and cups and I nodded. “I understand there has been some disquiet regarding your assigned assistant,” he began as he sat. “Please illuminate the situation for me.”