Tanner’s Virgin

Chapter 4

Afghanistan consists of a quarter of a million square miles of mountainous terrain bordered on the west by Iran, on the south and east by Pakistan, and on the north by the Turkmen, Uzbek and Tadzhik Soviet Socialist Republics. The population is slightly in excess of fifteen million, a thirtieth of whom live in greater Kabul. The monetary unit is the afghani. Major languages are Afghan and Persian. The chief religion is Islam. Camels and sheep constitute the most important livestock. There is some gold mined in the extreme northeast in the Hindu Kush, in which area is located the highest peak in the nation, which rises 24,556 feet above sea level. Substantial amounts of coal and iron are also to be found here and there. Major rivers include-

If you care, you might check out Hammond ’s Medallion Atlas, which was my own source for all of the above information. Nigel had a copy, and I divided my time that night between it and the coal fire, which was not throwing as much heat as I thought it should.

By midnight, both Nigel and Julia had gone off to bed. Our conversation until then was forced and uncomfortable. No one much wanted to discuss what had gone on at the Old Compton Street flat, and it was difficult to put one’s mind to anything else, but we did make a pretense of talking over the barbarous notion of white slavery and the possible course of action I might take.

The former topic was limited to lines like, “Imagine that sort of thing in the twentieth century,” and so on. I didn’t find it all that hard to imagine, but then I’m not all that thrilled with the twentieth century, which may explain my feelings. The latter subject, just what to do about it, kept ru

So they went to bed, and I read the atlas and poked at the fire and tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do.

I’d have saved a lot of time if it hadn’t been for the silly atlas. But the more I concentrated on the precise geographical location of Afghanistan, the more elaborate plans I devised for working my way into the country. The best route, I finally decided, would constitute a close approximation of the course the girls themselves had followed. I’d have to omit Turkey, of course, where I am as non grata as a persona can possibly be. But other than that it wouldn’t be too difficult to get into Iraq, then move on to Iran, then make the final crossing into Afghanistan.

Would Iraq be a problem? I wondered about this. The Kurds have been in armed rebellion against the Iraqi government for over twenty years, fighting incessantly and heroically for autonomy, and theirs is not the sort of struggle from which I am inclined to remain aloof. This might well limit my chances of obtaining an Iraqi visa. Still, that couldn’t be too hard a border to cross, could it?

I studied maps.

This sort of thing went on for hours. I brewed fresh tea, added more coal to the fire (without adding more heat to the room), and wasted more time. I prepared for a variety of unlikely contingencies, none of which I’ll bore you with now. My mind went on and on, never hitting upon the basic geometrical postulate that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

Blame it on my past. When one is sufficiently experienced in the devious, one rejects the straightforward approach as a matter of course. It took me hours and hours before I realized that the easiest way to go to Afghanistan was to go to Afghanistan.

Quite so.

No one in Afghanistan had anything to fear from me. It was one country where I was as welcome as any other stranger. Nor was there anything at all clandestine or subversive in my purpose for going there. I wanted to repurchase a slave and take her home, and I intended to do this quietly and discreetly, thus constituting not the slightest threat to the peace and stability of the Afghan nation.

So why not fly to Kabul?

I closed the atlas and returned it to its place on the shelf. There was probably an Afghan embassy or consulate somewhere in London. I could go to it in the morning and find out what I would need in the way of visas and inoculations. Any of the travel bureaus I had previously haunted could find a way to book me straight through to Kabul. A direct flight seemed too much to hope for, but no doubt there was a way to make co

It was a few minutes past four when Julia screamed.

This wasn’t the first time that sounds had come from behind her door. Periodically I had heard moans and groans, and while these did nothing for my concentration, they came as no great surprise to me. She was a fine girl, strong and resolute and bright, an echo of those superb English girls who distinguished themselves during the blitz in movies of the Second World War. But it had been a hell of an evening, and the episodes of amateur surgery and murder were the sort that might disturb anyone’s sleep.

I thought the scream would wake Nigel. It didn’t. I walked slowly toward her door, listening for another cry. It didn’t come, and I stayed with my ear to her door for a few minutes, but she seemed to be sleeping again. I went back to my fireside chair and sat down.

An hour later there were more moans. Then, a few minutes after that, her door opened and she appeared. She was wearing a shapeless robe the color of an army helmet. Her feet were bare.

“I can’t sleep, Evan,” she said. “I’ve been dreaming like a small child with indigestion. I must look frightful.”

Her hair was snarled and her face drawn, but she looked remarkably fine in spite of this. I told her so, and she told me I lied superbly but she knew better. She went away and came back with her face washed and her hair combed and looked even better.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

I said she wasn’t, that I’d run out of things to read and had made all the necessary plans. She wanted to know about these, and I explained that I intended to go to Kabul by going to Kabul, which struck her as good sense all around. She drew up a chair and sat beside me near the fire. It wasn’t doing very well. She studied it for a few moments, then rearranged a few coals with the poker. Flames leaped almost instantly.

“When I do that,” I said, “nothing happens.”

“You want practice. Tell me about her, Evan.”

“Phaedra?”

“Yes. You must love her very much.”

“I did.”

“And don’t you now?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Were you lovers for very long?”

“We weren’t lovers at all,” I said. She looked at me oddly, and I went on to explain the particular relationship Phaedra and I had shared. She found this revelation quite extraordinary. Then her face went positively gray.

“A virgin,” she said. “And her first time must have been-”

“Yes. In Afghanistan.”

“That’s absolutely horrid. Defloration is dreadful under the best conditions, isn’t it? My own first time-” she colored very slightly, then suddenly gri