afghangirlscifi

Science fiction stories chronicling Afghan women and girls.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Romance Novella 3

On the other side of the world, a similar choice would be made, but in much more civilized manner. No battlefield Hobson's Choice under impossible time constraint with zero information. This one would proceed at leisure, with a multitude of reading material and a smorgasbord of choice.
At AAW (Association of Afghan Women) HQ in Peshawar, Amanda exited the Medical Officer's office. Stopped at the mess, got a pot of green tea, adjourned to her office, hung a sign "don't interrupt except in case of fire."
Staring out at the refugee schoolgirls playing in the compound yard, she saw nothing, so lost in thought.
Cancer. Inoperable. Dead in 6 months. Little pain for the first 3, then a nightmare.
A history buff herself, she reflected this wouldn't be like the American exit from Saigon, helicopter on the Embassy roof; but more like the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan.
She laughed in derision as she thought of the superstition-ridden western world. Christianity, not just Catholicism, had reacted to the rites by a total taboo on any public discussion, hence no research.
In their world, it was a naughty little secret you weren't supposed to know. God barely tolerated the White Rite, that is total randomness, no choice. Practice of the Black Rite was viewed as tantamount to eternity in hell.
And yet, every other religion had embraced the concept of choice. According to Muslims, Jews, Hindus and Buddhists, you were not usurping God's authority. Your requests were mere suggestions, not orders, and God was perfectly free to make the final choice. Though being a tolerant Being, he usually honored your choices unless there was some compelling reason not to.
There were endless media articles on this very topic, the key was balance. No rational person asked to be a 6'4" 34 year old white dentist in Sacramento. Paint God into too tight a corner where he can't provide and he'll make the choice.
So, down to serious work, Amanda decided. First absolutely must be male. They get all the fun, the fun jobs, anywhere in the world.
Second, must be western world. Despite their closed-mindedness on this and several other issues, by and large they were more tolerant of individual difference and preference. That and lots richer.
Make that English-speaking western world. First, she knew excellent English. Second, Canada, USA and Britain had smoother economies than hidebound France and Germany.
Must be professional, sub-professional or administrative. No way she wanted the lack of dignity of unskilled laborer or skilled technician.
Must be a job with authority, clout. Her mind wandered to AAW. As a Captain in Finance and Admin, she definitely had the ability to tell these clowns what to do and what not to. (Mostly what not to, as AAW funds were limited.) She imagined herself in the western world responsible for a budget 10 times higher, or 100 or 1000. Boardroom meetings, her with the financial clout, how sweet life would be!
Coming back to Earth, she realized it might be wise to be a little more subtle in future. For whatever obscure reason she could never understand, all other department heads hated her. Absurd! Surely they knew squeezing rupees was the key to success. Why didn't they just accept that?
Age meant little, she would take luck of the draw.
Ditto race. She did not need to be white. Any westerner with that clout, Black, East Indian or Chinese would be just fine.
Actual rank and salary was unimportant. To paraphrase the Navy saying, she'd rather be Captain of a rowboat than Exec Officer of a battleship. Anything providing average western world salary would be ok, she had no expensive habits.
Family status, no way she wanted to take over for a married man, especially with kids, too many complications. Nor a guy with tons of child support to pay. Lifelong single, widower or divorced without alimony or kids.
Religion was immaterial, even an atheist. After all, she could change that.
Satisfied with her choices, she set aside the pad of paper, got on with financial reports.
In the days to come, she pondered much, but changed very little, just minor detail.
She set a date, day after the big quarterly meeting, one last chance to lord it over everyone.
Basking in the afterglow of meeting, she read the chant thrice, which she had downloaded from the internet.
In her case the vomiting was over in a couple minutes. She practised facial expressions in front of the mirror. Icy smiles, sneers, this guy was good, perfect as a concentration camp commandant.
Exiting the bathroom, she spotted his ID card on the night table. Wow! Revenue Canada! God had indeed been in an excessively generous mood, she reflected as she headed for the kitchen. French Roast coffee - all right - this guy knows how to live.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home