The Foreign Service Journal, June 2005

all except Fang Fang. Klaus couldn’t tell what the khan thought of him bringing her along because all he did was stare; he never spoke directly to her or about her. “They were going after partridge, which is something the tribals like to do, since partridge are considered gen- tlemen — they don’t rise before nine.” Smitty paused, expecting at the very least a smile from the staffer, but he was disappointed. “They drove to the edge of a broken field, overgrown with tall grasses and stunted trees. The areas were divvied up, and the hunters all set off in the gray dawn so they could get to their lines before the birds started stir- ring. They were pretty scattered about over a large area, and Klaus and Fang Fang had wandered some way before they decided they must be where they were sup- posed to be. “Klaus was deathly afraid of snakes. He’d heard sto- ries, you see, of spitting cobras and two-step vipers. So he put Fang Fang out in front, thinking that if they were to stumble upon one of these nasty creatures Fang Fang would get bitten first. Klaus was not much of a hunter, or he would have known it’s the last in line that gets the bite.” “Telling tales is thirsty work, is it not, Smitty?” Sean interjected, smiling pleasantly at the staffer. The staffer flushed, and hailed the barman once more. “Another round.” “Han, sahib.” Smitty held up his glass and said, “Your health, sir.” “Yes, thanks, and yours,” responded the staffer, more to show he had been around than to be polite. “Your story does tie in with the kidnapping in some way, you said?” “Oh, you Yanks, always cutting straight to the heart of the matter. I was just setting the stage for you, as it were. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, there were Klaus and Fang Fang shuffling through the gorse, the morning well gone and no sign of partridge or snake, or, more impor- tantly, their host or any of the other Germans. “They had some water, and Klaus had a hip flask of whiskey, but both were gone by the time they decided they were well and truly lost. Fang Fang curled up on Klaus’ jacket under a stand of scrubby trees and announced she was going no further. He sat down with her, wishing he had more whiskey because for once her whining was getting on his nerves. “A rustling in the brush startled her to silence and Klaus jumped up thrusting the automatic rifle in the direction of the noise. Fang Fang whispered that if it was a partridge she could cook it and at least they could eat. She picked up a small stone and lobbed it into the brush. “Klaus was always uncertain about what happened next, but he swears a partridge went up as the jackal ran out. He let off a string of shots and the jackal dropped to the dust, dead. When she saw that he had hit the jackal instead of the partridge, Fang Fang screeched and howled and called him all sorts of names. The heat does that to you, you know, especially to women. He just turned his back on her and sat down. “After a bit, when he heard nothing more out of her, he looked around, and there she was skinning that poor animal and doing a bang-up job of it. Pretty soon, she had a haunch all cleaned and ready for a fire. Well, by then his stomach was rumbling since it hadn’t been fed since daybreak, so he helped her build a fire, thinking they could eat and signal to their group where to find them all in one go. “Fang Fang seasoned it with some wild herbs and some salt from a nearby salt pan, and roasted it till the meat fell off the bone. The smell about drove Klaus as crazy as her whining had, and he felt ravenous by the time she would let him eat. Nothing tastes quite as good as that first mouthful if you’re starving, and Klaus even- tually would have regained his good humor — if it hadn’t been for the tribals that showed up. “One minute they were alone in the dark (for it was night by then), with only their small fire and a bit of the jackal left. And the next moment there were four men on the edge of the firelight, silent and staring.” “Who were they?” the staffer asked, now caught up in Smitty’s story and unable to keep himself from inter- rupting. F O C U S 48 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U N E 2 0 0 5 Fang Fang used to come to the bar and stand in a corner with one drink all night. Watching, just watching.