Ch.133Episode 7 – Daily Life

The night spent in one of the few remaining communist-socialist countries on Earth isn’t too bad.

Cola cheaper than water, exotic nightlife. Thanks to socialist dictatorship, public safety is decent enough.

In truth, someone might find it strange to see an Asian in civilian clothes watching cable TV in a U.S. naval base in Cuba—a base permanently leased to America with U.S. troops stationed there—while Fidel Castro is still alive with his eyes wide open. But that’s as far as the strangeness goes.

No one asks about affiliation or purpose of visit. The guard at the entrance didn’t, the non-commissioned officer passing through the corridor didn’t, and the soldier standing in front of the door now doesn’t either.

So I sit comfortably in a chair and light up a cigarillo sold on the black market by Cuban workers.

…Hiss!

Smoke rises.

As the pale breath of smoke disperses just before reaching the ceiling, fluent English from the TV in the corner fills the room.

There was the American President, quietly making his case to the audience.

[I have said repeatedly that America doesn’t torture.]

Oh, what a voice.

[I’m going to make sure that we don’t torture.]

His pronunciation was very fluent. Perhaps due to his time as a senator, his voice was smooth too. I took out a portable ashtray from my pocket and tapped off some ash.

While appreciating the well-dressed President’s response, I heard an exclamation in somewhat awkward Korean accent from behind me.

‘What the hell is that?’

A slightly chubby white man wearing horn-rimmed glasses asked, pointing at the TV.

‘Michael, you’re here? A few years in Pyeongtaek and you’ve become practically Korean. Even cursing. First time seeing this in Cuba?’

‘Mr. Kim, I’m so damn happy to see you. What’s that guy doing?’

‘What, Obama? That’s your president. Why are you acting like you’ve never seen him before….’

As if responding to those words, the President on television answered the host’s question.

[Those are part and parcel an effort to regain America’s moral stature in the world.]

To this, the American-born former USFK soldier muttered incredulously.

‘What’s he saying?’

‘Obama’s saying, “I’ve repeatedly said America doesn’t torture. We absolutely won’t torture. Anyway, we won’t do it, and as for the details, oh-ho-ho, I don’t know anything about that~”‘

‘…I’m a native speaker, you know?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure you are.’

With that small talk finished, my American friend extended his fist in greeting. It was our first proper greeting since he entered the room three minutes ago.

I smiled faintly and asked him.

‘So why are you here? The others are already inside instead of me. The Cuban team.’

‘That’s exactly why I came. They’re looking for you inside.’

‘Now?’

‘Yup.’

‘Alright, if they need me to work, I should go. Making me work before I even adjust to the time difference…’

‘That’s corporate life for you. They’ve rented out an entire building, so take your time.’

‘Thanks. It was urgent and hard to find a place.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

I tossed my cigarette butt on the ground as I opened the door. The wind scattered sand, and the Stars and Stripes hanging on the flagpole displayed its majestic presence.

I walked under that American flag, crossed through terrorists confined in cages wearing masks, blindfolds, and earmuffs, and reached a temporary building.

A building that looked like a cylinder cut in half and laid on its side. In this structure reminiscent of an airport igloo, there were my company colleagues and one communist.

The communist was hanging from the ceiling. Exactly the kind of visual you’d expect from some third-rate slasher film.

As I grabbed the iron door and half-entered, a colleague standing nearby greeted me cheerfully despite his disheveled appearance.

‘You’re here?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘That communist we caught in Venezuela. The bastard won’t give the answers we want and keeps talking nonsense. Can you take over and do something about it?’

‘Come on, I just got my entry stamp and you’re making me work… What nonsense is he talking?’

‘He says what we’re doing is illegal. Hugh, Hugh something? Some law, he keeps saying.’

‘The Hughes-Ryan Act.’

‘Hughes what?’

‘The anti-torture law, you idiot. How did you even pass the written exam? This is basic knowledge.’

‘Whatever. Look, I don’t know about all that. I just want to smoke, so somehow shut that guy up. I’m getting tired of this crap…’

‘Fine.’

‘Oh, right. Let me have a cigarette.’

I take out a new cigarette and light it with my colleague.

My colleague, taking the cigarette, gestured to the Cuban team to step out for a moment, and I took a few drags of my cigarette as I approached the communist.

‘Hey, Mr. Communist? Can you hear me?’

‘……’

‘Seems like you picked up some strange ideas… The Hughes-Ryan Act only prohibits torture within the United States. And Korean law only protects criminal suspects from assault and threats during investigation or in court.’

*Inhale*

‘This is Cuba, you bastard. Not American soil.’

Along with the exhaled smoke, the discarded cigarette butt traced a parabolic arc through the air.

After a brief flight, the cigarette butt landed behind the vinyl covering the floor. The room was meticulously lined with vinyl laid down by the staff.

The break time seemed to be over as employees filed in, and my American friend, closing the door, gestured for me to contact him when finished.

‘Let’s wrap this up cleanly and get out.’

The door closes.

‘This could take all day.’

Blackout.

It was a blackout.

Episode 7 – Daily Life

Time flowed on, and November was just around the corner. The time had passed so quickly, like the footsteps of a giant that never stops, that it felt almost cruel.

Lucia still remains at the Magic Tower, continuing her medical activities for emergency patients and the poor. The Church, facing the enthronement of a new Pope and the birth of a second saint, is preparing for the most magnificent canonization ceremony ever, but Lucia, the protagonist of the ceremony, seems uninterested in such affairs.

Veronica has been going back and forth between the Magic Tower and the Church to assist Lucia. Her ability to represent the Emperor’s position has shone in the complex political situation. As soon as Veronica grasped the turbulent currents of plots, terrorism, and political maneuvering, she quickly threw herself into the Magic Tower. She explained it was to expand her influence within the Church using the power of diplomacy and international politics, but seeing how Veronica looks at Lucia as if she were a child left alone by water, it seems she’s more concerned about Lucia’s safety.

Francesca Ranieri has completed her personal schedule and returned to the Secretariat. More precisely, she visited the grave of the deceased eldest son of the Ranieri family, spent a short time in Fatalia, and is now expected to enter the Magic Tower soon.

“Yes, I read the message, Sofia. So Ranieri is returning on the late-night flight today?”

-‘That’s right.’

“I’ve confirmed the gate and time, so I’ll send my people. She’s been away for over a week, so let your team get some rest and leave her to us. Good work.”

-‘Doing the hard work is our job, so no need for the formalities.’

I, stationed at the Magic Tower’s representative office, received this news from Sofia of Fatalia’s National Security Agency.

“Oh, and about Ranieri. Nothing happened in Fatalia, right?”

-‘There was a bit of commotion in her home country… but nothing worth worrying about.’

“What happened?”

-‘The Ranieri family tried to make contact with Francesca.’

I suddenly remembered what Leoni had said before. The condition that Francesca would sever ties with her family in exchange for studying at the Magic Tower. I heard she went to the National Security Agency building herself to sign, stamp, and even swear an oath.

But now her family initiated contact. Really now.

“They must know what an oath means to magicians. Are they really a prestigious magic family?”

-‘How would I know what they’re plotting? Anyway, the Ranieri side contacted her first through a servant, and headquarters is investigating the details.’

“I see. Pass along anything you find out. I’ll contact you if anything happens on my end. You’re working hard dealing with these civilians.”

-‘Want to grab a drink when I get back to the Magic Tower?’

I shook my head lightly.

“I’ll be back at my post by the time you return.”

-‘Oh, really? That’s too bad. See you next time then, Merlo.’

“Yeah, see you, Sofia.”

It seems Francesca is returning well despite the minor incident. Lucia, Veronica, Francesca—all doing their jobs well. Now there’s just one person left.

After hanging up the secure line, I looked out the window.

Outside, the dark blue sky of the Magic Tower stretched out. Under that dark sky, brilliant lights formed streams like rivers, and people moved busily along streets that branched out like blood vessels.

Sitting in the dimly lit office looking at the beautiful night view, I suddenly craved a cigarette, but remembering I’ve been quitting for 28 years, I just smacked my lips.

My hand, unconsciously searching my inner pocket, moved to pick up the receiver. This time it was a regular line.

After the connection tone, a moment later.

-*Clunk*

The sound of the receiver being picked up as the other person answered.

-‘…Hello?’

“Ah, Camilla.”

-‘Oh, Major!’

It’s Camilla.

-‘Are you still at the embassy?’

“Yes. And it’s not an embassy, it’s a representative office. Anyway.”

-‘Yes?’

“Are you eating something right now?”

-‘……’

An awkward silence briefly fell. About two seconds.

-‘…Uh, no? I’m not eating anything! You told me to watch my weight.’

“……”

I briefly covered the receiver with my hand and let out a deep sigh.

“…Haaah.”

I really can’t with this one.