Read Online A Hologram for the King by Dave Eggers - Free Book Online
Authors: Dave Eggers
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circumscribe contact. Alan hadnât figured out how to do that himself until recently. Email had been the key. He and Ruby had agreed to limit their communication to messages pertaining to Kit, and nothing over three lines. It had worked. Alan hadnât spoken to Ruby on the phone for two years and the break in battle had allowed his nerves to strengthen, his mind some respite. He no longer jumped at the sound of loud voices.
âAlan!
He turned. It was Brad. Alan was startled, but feigned calm.
âHowâre things going back there? he asked.
âFine, Brad said. But itâs almost three. You heading to the office?
Brad tossed his chin over his shoulder, toward the Black Box.
Alan looked at his watch. It was 2:52.
âYup, Alan said. Just running through my pitch.
He followed Brad back along the promenade.
âDonât worry about the food, Brad said. Rachel had some crackers in her bag. So weâre all set there.
Faint sarcasm. He did not like Brad.
When they passed the tent, Brad stopped. âGood luck, he said. His face was full of worry and wonder. Alan knew at that moment what it would be like, decades later, when he was feeble, unable to take care of himself, when Kit would first catch him soiling his pants and drooling. The look she would give him was this, the one Brad was giving him now â that of gazing upon a human who was more burden than boon, more harm than good, irrelevant, superfluous to the forward progress of the world.
XII.
M AHA WAS SIPPING an iced tea.
âOh, hello again, Mr. Clay.
âHello Maha. Is Karim al-Ahmad in?
âNo, Iâm afraid heâs not.
âShould I wait here? We have an appointment at 3 p.m.
âYes, I know. But he wonât be able to make it today. Iâm sorry to say that heâs stuck in Jeddah.
âHeâs stuck all day in Jeddah?
âYes sir. But he said he will be here tomorrow. All day, and you can name the time you want to meet.
âAre you sure thereâs no one else here I should talk to in the meantime? Just about the wi-fi and the food, things like that?
âI think Mr. al-Ahmad is your best contact for all those things. And anytime tomorrow will be fine. It will all get sorted, Iâm sure.
Alan returned to the tent, where he found the team in their separatecorners with their laptops. Rachel was watching a DVD, something involving cooking, a bearded chef. Alan told them all that Mr. al-Ahmad was not in that day.
The ride back to Jeddah passed quickly, the young people chattering throughout like summer campers. Alan watched the road, half awake, his ankle aching. When he got to his room, he couldnât remember if heâd said goodbye to anyone. He did remember entering the dark lobby, smelling the chlorine.
Heâd been in the sun too long and was grateful for the dark, for the cool, for the manmade and ugly. But when the heavy door to his room punctuated the end of the day, he felt trapped and alone. There was no bar in the hotel, no diversion that would satisfy his needs, whatever they were. It was just past six oâclock and there was nothing to do.
He thought of calling one of the three young people, but asking them to dine would not work. Not appropriate. He could not call either of the women. Lecherous. He could call Brad but he did not like Brad. If they were all eating, and he was invited, he would eat. If they called he would come. By seven, though, no one had called. He ordered room service and ate a chicken breast and salad.
He showered. He rubbed the knob on his neck.
He got into bed and hoped for sleep.
Alan could not sleep. He opened his eyes and turned on the TV. There was a story about the BP leak. Still no discernible progress. They had attempted a top kill, something involving dumping cement on top of the hole. Alan couldnât watch. The leak devastated him. It had beenunstoppable for weeks, and all he and everyone else could do was watch the plumes of
âAlan!
He turned. It was Brad. Alan was startled, but feigned calm.
âHowâre things going back there? he asked.
âFine, Brad said. But itâs almost three. You heading to the office?
Brad tossed his chin over his shoulder, toward the Black Box.
Alan looked at his watch. It was 2:52.
âYup, Alan said. Just running through my pitch.
He followed Brad back along the promenade.
âDonât worry about the food, Brad said. Rachel had some crackers in her bag. So weâre all set there.
Faint sarcasm. He did not like Brad.
When they passed the tent, Brad stopped. âGood luck, he said. His face was full of worry and wonder. Alan knew at that moment what it would be like, decades later, when he was feeble, unable to take care of himself, when Kit would first catch him soiling his pants and drooling. The look she would give him was this, the one Brad was giving him now â that of gazing upon a human who was more burden than boon, more harm than good, irrelevant, superfluous to the forward progress of the world.
XII.
M AHA WAS SIPPING an iced tea.
âOh, hello again, Mr. Clay.
âHello Maha. Is Karim al-Ahmad in?
âNo, Iâm afraid heâs not.
âShould I wait here? We have an appointment at 3 p.m.
âYes, I know. But he wonât be able to make it today. Iâm sorry to say that heâs stuck in Jeddah.
âHeâs stuck all day in Jeddah?
âYes sir. But he said he will be here tomorrow. All day, and you can name the time you want to meet.
âAre you sure thereâs no one else here I should talk to in the meantime? Just about the wi-fi and the food, things like that?
âI think Mr. al-Ahmad is your best contact for all those things. And anytime tomorrow will be fine. It will all get sorted, Iâm sure.
Alan returned to the tent, where he found the team in their separatecorners with their laptops. Rachel was watching a DVD, something involving cooking, a bearded chef. Alan told them all that Mr. al-Ahmad was not in that day.
The ride back to Jeddah passed quickly, the young people chattering throughout like summer campers. Alan watched the road, half awake, his ankle aching. When he got to his room, he couldnât remember if heâd said goodbye to anyone. He did remember entering the dark lobby, smelling the chlorine.
Heâd been in the sun too long and was grateful for the dark, for the cool, for the manmade and ugly. But when the heavy door to his room punctuated the end of the day, he felt trapped and alone. There was no bar in the hotel, no diversion that would satisfy his needs, whatever they were. It was just past six oâclock and there was nothing to do.
He thought of calling one of the three young people, but asking them to dine would not work. Not appropriate. He could not call either of the women. Lecherous. He could call Brad but he did not like Brad. If they were all eating, and he was invited, he would eat. If they called he would come. By seven, though, no one had called. He ordered room service and ate a chicken breast and salad.
He showered. He rubbed the knob on his neck.
He got into bed and hoped for sleep.
Alan could not sleep. He opened his eyes and turned on the TV. There was a story about the BP leak. Still no discernible progress. They had attempted a top kill, something involving dumping cement on top of the hole. Alan couldnât watch. The leak devastated him. It had beenunstoppable for weeks, and all he and everyone else could do was watch the plumes of
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