Borderlines. Michela Wrong

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ photographs, maps were little more than explorers’ imaginings. But maps have an emotional impact that all the written text running alongside them – which is what really matters in court – just can’t match. Humans are very visual creatures. You can almost hear arbitrators heave a sigh of relief when they’re presented with a map, however suspect: “Oh, now I understand.”’

      The prettier the map, he claimed, the greater the impact. ‘I’ve built up a wonderful collection, which I’ll probably end up donating to Lira’s National Museum, once it exists. All thanks to our volunteers. We’ve got two youngsters sifting through the British National Archives in Kew, while Francesca de Mello, an Italian PhD student, is checking the Foreign Ministry’s records in Rome. One of your duties, by the way, is to liaise with Francesca – sweet woman but needy, very needy. They’ve been sending me the treaties drawn up by Italian and British cartographers in the 1880s and 1890s, when the European powers were divvying up the region, anxious to avoid misunderstandings with the Negus of Darrar. A shame we didn’t learn more from their example,’ he said, pushing his empty bowl away.

      ‘I thought the colonial powers were rather sloppy in that regard. The cuttings I read,’ in the nick of time I stopped myself saying ‘this morning’, ‘kept referring to “poorly delineated” colonial borders.’

      ‘Well, imperial powers are like one’s parents, aren’t they? The satisfaction of criticising them just never wears off. It’s true they don’t go into quite as much detail as we would like. And there are some developments the colonial masters couldn’t foresee. They used promontories, rivers and trees as reference points, and over a century rivers change course, trees die, coastlines dance around with shifting wind patterns. So it’s difficult to build a case on treaties and maps alone, though I intend to have a damn good try.’

      ‘What else, then, if you’re worried that won’t be enough?’

      ‘Basically, a track record of administration, or “subsequent conduct of the party in question”, as it’s called. The other side, you see, is arguing that supposed “facts on the ground” made a mockery of cartography that was little more than colonial wishful thinking. Whatever the maps showed, Sanasa and other contested border areas were actually run by their officials, inhabitants voted in their elections, local businesses paid taxes to their capital. Just like the law, a treaty, especially one drawn up by foreigners who didn’t speak the lingo, can be an ass, flying in the face of how residents actually behave. Or so the other side claims. We have to prove the opposite.’

      I was suddenly aware of a strange sense of floating, the table seemed to be heaving. Jet-lag was kicking in. I frowned, forcing myself to focus. ‘Presumably we also need to be planning Phase Two, the question of who started it.’

      ‘Yes, and the outcome of that will pack enormous emotional and political punch. Just think of a teacher pulling apart two scrapping children. The first thing the kids shout is “He started it!”’

      ‘But the teacher’s response to that is always “I don’t care. I just want some peace and quiet.”’

      ‘That’s never true, though, is it? The kid that gets its bottom smacked is always the one fingered as the aggressor. An obsession with justice is a human universal, or you and I would be out of a job. And the issue of who initiated a fight is particularly important in macho societies where loss of face is seen as unacceptable.’

      ‘They, presumably, are claiming North Darrar went first.’

      ‘Went first and then deliberately escalated the conflict, rolling a column of tanks into their territory in an uncalled-for act of belligerence.’

      ‘That rings a bell.’

      ‘CNN ran the images of those T-55s pounding away on the eastern and central fronts for weeks. Which doesn’t exactly help our case. There was a good tactical reason for that move, by the way. You can’t defend an area by keeping your troops down on the plains. You need to take the high ground. That’s what our army did.’

      I registered that ‘our’. ‘So the African Union inquiry is key.’

      ‘The international community’s not very good at shades of grey. The press, the diplomats, the aid industry and foreign investors will expect the AU to tell them which country is a testosterone-charged bully, which one a blameless victim. The reverberations of that ruling will echo through the decades.’

      I could see it all ahead: the nights in the office, the Styrofoam cups of cold coffee, the documents edited and re-edited until the English language seemed to lose its meaning.

      Winston saw my expression and gave me an impish smile. ‘Courage, my girl! Did you think you were coming on vacation?’

      ‘Sorry – it just seems a bit daunting.’

      ‘Relish the challenge, that’s what I do. Having discovered early on that I was both good at and immensely bored by most of the jobs for which I was qualified, the search for something more testing began. It’s no coincidence that all my pro bono clients have been involved in disputes in which the odds ran firmly against them. For an outsider who feels in his bones that he snuck into the legal establishment and could be ejected at any moment, the ultimate thrill will always be to pull off the seeming miracle. What is the appeal of representing Darrar, regional giant, friend of the West? I don’t know how the other side’s lawyers get up in the morning. Underdogs, that’s my thing. Takes one to know one.’

      He gestured to one of the waitresses, slouched against a wall, and made the air scribble that is recognised the world over.

       6

      And so I settled into my nest, like a dog turning round and round on a cushion, working the stuffing with its paws until it feels right.

      My new home was an apricot-coloured villa, one of a dinky, pastel-coloured set of five built around a tennis-court-sized patch of dry grass on the edge of Lira’s industrial district. It had been built so quickly that it was already falling apart, recently laid ceramic tiles cracking underfoot, light switches jiggling at the touch. I quailed inwardly as Abraham showed me around, registering the tiny bedrooms and a design scheme that had the kitchen opening directly onto the living room. The shelves in the bathroom were already crammed with lotions. There wasn’t going to be much privacy.

      My new housemate, Sharmila – owner of said beauty products – was a Sri Lankan-American using her time in Lira as the basis for a PhD. She was nominally in charge of three US student interns, the Braces-and-Barrette Set, as I mentally labelled them, who lived in the raspberry-painted villa next to ours. When we were introduced, Sharmila gave me a smile that showed perfect teeth but failed to reach her eyes. Her slim hands were smooth and manicured, making mine feel as rough as a butcher’s. I sensed that she resented my prospective presence at the breakfast table.

      ‘How are you finding it?’ I asked, as she leaned against the door jamb, watching me unpack.

      ‘OK, if backward shitholes are your thing.’

      ‘Oh.’ She’d succeeded in shocking me. We clearly applied different standards: I’d been struck by Lira’s sophistication. ‘What do people do here when they’re not working?’

      ‘I have a boyfriend, Steve, who works for the UN. We hang out. And you? Man on the scene?’

      ‘Nope.’ I pronounced the word very СКАЧАТЬ