The Foreign Service Journal, June 2005

night, and, being an Irishman, occasionally get a word in himself. “Gentlemen, let me buy you a drink,” said a young, fresh-faced congressional staffer coming up to the corner of the bar between Smitty and Sean. His khakis were clean and immaculately pressed, his blue, button-down, collared shirt starched and still crisp despite the heat. “What’s this I hear about Germans being kidnapped this afternoon?” The smoke was making his eyes water and a thin film of moisture was on his brow, either from excite- ment, or the humid Pakistani summer night. Smitty turned slowly to face the youngster, his grizzled beard jutting out in appraisal as Jock and Sean exchanged glances. “Here, take my seat; I was just getting a drink,” Jock said quickly as he slid off the stool and turned to move into the crowd, making good his escape. “A sorry end to a long, sad story,” said Smitty shaking his head and sighing deeply. “Oh?” “Yes, we all knew it would happen one day. It was just a matter of time, that’s all.” “Now, Smitty, you’re not going to ...” “Yes, Sean, I am. It’s bound to come out after today.” Both of them stared into their drinks for several long moments. “Well?” The staffer prompted eagerly, as he followed this exchange between the two men at the bar. Smitty cleared his throat and stared off in space. “It all began when one of the Germans got cozy with a Chinese woman who was here with a multinational con- struction company — Fang Fang was her name. “You’ll have noticed there’s not many expat females about, and his conquest did not sit too well with his fel- low technicians. The Germans are here to build radio towers; that was what they were doing out on the Dara road. Here to do a job, they were, and no mucking about. All business, in the usual German style, except when they loosened up after a night of drinking. But come the next morning, all business again. “Fang Fang used to come to the bar and stand in a corner with one drink all night. Watching, just watching. One night she picked out one of the Germans, Klaus, and the next thing he knew — the next thing we all knew — they were an item. “It was like they were joined at the hip. She was always wrapped around him and he began to take it as his due, arrogant bastard. Everyday she’d show up wherev- er the Germans were working and whisk him away in her little Datsun truck, leaving his mates to finish. No, sir, it didn’t take long for that to drive a wedge between Klaus and the other workers.” Smitty paused and quaffed half his beer, smacking his lips. Sean was smiling down into his glass. “Here, let me get you a refill,” the staffer said, waving some money at the barman to get his attention. “Decent of you,” said Smitty. He took another long drink before he took up the tale once more. “We all do work from time to time in the tribal areas, areas where Pakistani law doesn’t reach. That’s why it’s a frontier, the Northwest Frontier to be precise. You won’t find the police or the military venturing into those places. British tried to subdue them, you know, when they had India. Never were successful. They finally just set aside those border lands for the tribes and let ’em be. Thieves, robbers, brigands, smugglers — all of ’em. Some of the leaders of those tribes live right here in Peshawar. Well- educated, rich. Most of those large fancy houses in University Town belong to them.” “And Klaus and Fang Fang?” prompted the staffer. “Ah, yes, Klaus and Fang Fang. Strange pair, strange pair.” Smitty fell silent once more. The staffer fidgeted with impatience, afraid that Smitty was just having him on and he would have no story to tell for his investment of drink and time. “It all began the day Klaus and the other Germans were invited to go hunting by one of these khans on lands in the tribal areas. Now, hunting is a man’s sport. It’s what men do to get away from their wives, return to their primeval roots. Men go hunting so they can hawk and spit and tell dirty jokes and drink without feminine super- vision. Fang Fang had had her grip on Klaus for a few months by then but, still, when he showed up with her on the morning of the hunt, the others were surprised. So, when they paired off, Klaus, of course, had Fang Fang as his partner. “The khan provided them all with automatic weapons, F O C U S J U N E 2 0 0 5 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 47 Janice Smyth, an OMS, is part of an FS tandem and has previously published nine TV puppet scripts for a U.N. Year of the Child program. She and her husband Richard, and their two daughters, have recently returned from a posting in Jamaica for an obligatory Washington tour.