A week goes by. Jacob learns how to get to the temporary embassy using service, the confusing blend of taxi and bus that’s the only cheap way to get around in Beirut. He stumbles through Arabic phrases and after getting a few quick tips from Agneta, he won’t be fooled by taxi drivers again.
For the most part, it’s just him and Agneta at the embassy. The rest of the small staff is in Stockholm or on other trips or at meetings.
‘It’s so stressful and chaotic right now,’ Frida, a young deputy secretary, tells him one afternoon, sitting on the edge of her desk in the corner.
Her blonde hair has dark roots that need dyeing, and the furrow on her forehead speaks to how stressful things have been for a while, maybe her whole life.
‘It’s not clear what’s going to happen to this embassy anyway, and I’m sorry you ended up assigned here right now. But we’ll find something useful for you to do, I’m sure.’ She nods encouragingly towards his desk. ‘In any case, you certainly seem quick and competent,’ she says, smiling tiredly, before taking off for the airport and a conference in Ankara.
Quick and competent! Jacob can live on that for almost twenty-four hours. There is hope. Everyone is busy right now, but his time will come when things calm down a little. Agneta has given him a couple of books about Lebanon, but he can hardly stay awake when he tries to read them. All he does is check his phone, waiting for Yassim’s call and avoiding Simon’s increasingly cold messages.
Yassim. The night in the garden won’t leave him alone, his frustration and anticipation and the electricity of it all, and that’s what he’s thinking about as he sits at his Scandinavian-style desk of blonde-coloured wood, beneath a filthy window that overlooks a dirty, trash-filled backyard.
He’s so absorbed by his daydreams and his indefinable longing that he doesn’t notice someone standing beside him until he sees a hand pluck up one of the unread books about Lebanon that sit on his desk.
‘The Tragedy of Lebanon,’ a soft, brisk voice reads aloud. ‘Still the only book you need to read on the civil war.’
In front of Jacob, flipping amusedly through the book, there stands a tall, fit man in his forties, dressed in a perfectly tailored, dark-blue suit. He’s wearing an expensive-looking light-blue tie that’s tied in an intentionally sloppy way. The man looks up from the book and stares at Jacob with piercing eyes. Jacob has never seen anyone who looks more like a diplomat than this man.
‘So,’ he says. ‘What do you think? Were the PLO trying to get Gemayel killed in the spring of 1975? Or was it some other militia? Maybe the Phalangists themselves?’
Jacob reddens immediately. Gemayel, Gemayel, Gemayel. Where has he heard that name? Why didn’t he read the book?
‘Gemayel?’ he says and his voice is so croaking, weak and uncertain that he wishes he’d just kept his mouth shut.
‘Yes,’ the man says. ‘Pierre Gemayel? The attack that led to the bus massacre on the afternoon of 13 April, which caused the whole bloody thing to explode? The PLO were suspected, but that always seemed a little too obvious. Don’t you think?’
‘Well…’ Jacob begins, searching feverishly through his memory for anything he might have learned over the summer, anything at all.
But his mind is completely blank.
‘It was a terrible war,’ Jacob says instead. ‘All those factions that…’
The man just looks at him as if completely indifferent to Jacob’s dodges. Jacob doesn’t know who Gemayel is, and now he’s worthless.
‘That what?’ the man says.
‘That were fighting,’ Jacob says.
He wants to die now, just sink into the ground and disappear. His career is going up in flames faced with a man whose name he doesn’t even know, but who is probably a diplomat and therefore influential, exactly the kind of person he needs to impress.
‘It was a terrible war because so many different groups were fighting?’ the man says. ‘Yes, that’s also one way of summing up Lebanon itself.’
At least he’s smiling a little now. Not in a friendly way, but still. And he stretches out his hand. ‘Lars Vargander,’ he says. ‘I’m the ambassador here. Or in Damascus, but we’re not there any longer.’
Jacob jumps up, his whole body trembling. Vargander. The ambassador. This can’t be happening. His hand trembles as he stretches it out. ‘Jacob Seger,’ he says in a wavering voice. ‘I haven’t had time to read the book yet. Agneta just gave it to me.’
The ambassador looks at him indifferently. But there’s a twinkle in his eye and a smile beginning to spread on his lips. ‘I’m just screwing with you, Jacob,’ he says, and gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘I don’t expect you to have read Randal’s book or know all the details of the civil war on your first week, okay?’
Jacob is overcome by enormous relief. Then hit immediately by another wave of humiliation at being played like that, like he’s a beginner. He knows he’s blushing again. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I…’ He stops himself, shakes his head.
‘Yes?’ Vargander says with a smile. ‘What is it?’
‘You know I did actually know that Gemayel was president. I just got flustered.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Vargander says. He turns his wrist to check his watch, which is steel-grey and compact. A Rolex Submariner, Jacob thinks, stifling a sigh. That’s where he wants to go. That’s where he’s been heading.
‘I apologize,’ he continues. ‘But I just got back from Stockholm last night, and I’m headed to a meeting in Ankara for the rest of the week. I think we’ll have to catch up when I get back after the weekend. Agneta can take care of you, right?’
‘Yes,’ says Jacob and nods. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s pretty dead around here right now, and it’ll probably stay that way for a while. Everyone’s busy. But you’ll just have to amuse yourself, discover the city.’
He looks around and when he realizes they’re alone he bends over conspiratorially towards Jacob. ‘You don’t have a girlfriend, right?’ he says. ‘I mean… Well, you know what I mean?’
He stares calmly into Jacob’s eyes. Jacob can feel himself blushing again, shocked by the turn in the conversation towards such a personal question. He’s heard there’s nothing unusual about his situation, being gay in the Foreign Service, and in fact it can even be an advantage, since it’s easier to move if you don’t have any children. But what is this about? Did he misunderstand?
‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’ He gathers his courage. Perhaps this is the moment to take some revenge on the ambassador for what just happened. He looks straight into Vargander’s eyes. ‘I have no partner at all.’
Vargander pulls back slightly and stares at him calmly. ‘A car will come and pick you up outside Saliba Market at nine on Friday,’ he says. ‘I think it’s time for you to see a part of Beirut that you might not discover on your own. That is if you want to?’
Jacob feels his excitement growing. Whatever this is, it’s definitely not something you say no to. He’s ready for anything. ‘Absolutely,’ he says. ‘Sounds exciting!’