James BeauSeigneur - In His Image James

"Oh, that was last summer. He was here with Secretary Milner for a meeting of world bankers." At that moment Maria announced Jack Redmond's arrival.

"All hail the Prince of Rome," Redmond said, addressing Christopher and bowing in mock obeisance as he came in.

Decker had no idea what prompted Jack's greeting but assumed it to be a joke; the look of mild annoyance on Christopher's face indicated there was more to it than that. "Okay, I'll bite," Decker said. "What's going on? What's this 'Prince of Rome' stuff?"

"Haven't you seen last week's issue of Epoca?" Jack asked Decker, referring to the Italian magazine that is the equivalent of Time or Newsweek.

"No," Decker answered, looking back and forth from Jack to Christopher, hoping for an answer.

"Here," Jack said, as he opened his briefcase and handed the Italian magazine to Decker. On the cover was a very complimentary picture of Christopher with the words "Christopher Goodman, Il Trentenne, Principe di Roma" boldly displayed underneath.

Decker examined the photo for a moment and then asked for a translation of the caption. Christopher just sat silently, looking a little embarrassed, as Jack answered. "It says, 'Christopher Goodman, the 30-Year-Old Prince of Rome.'" Decker looked proud enough to burst. He couldn't read a word of Italian but he quickly flipped through the magazine trying to find the accompanying article. "Will somebody please tell me what this is all about?" he asked impatiently.

"It seems our boy Christopher has made quite a name for himself around these parts." Jack's voice was laden with an exaggerated Cajun accent – something he did whenever he wanted to do a little friendly ribbing.

"It's nothing," Christopher protested. "The editor o fthe magazine came up with that to insult the Primo Ministro della Repubblica. Uh, the prime minister," he added in translation. "They've had a running battle for months. Apparently the people at Epoca thought that it would serve their purposes to build me up while tearing down the Primo Ministro. The article right after the one about me calls the Primo Ministro a useless, ineffective bore." Decker flipped to the article about the Prime Minister and found a most unflattering picture of the man. He wondered if the photo had been altered to make him look so bad.

"Me thinks the prince doth protest too much," Jack said, intentionally misquoting Hamlet.

"I just think the whole thing is a little silly. I called the Prime Minister as soon as I saw the article and let him know that I had no idea they were going to use the story as they did. Fortunately, we've had the opportunity to establish a very affable relationship over the past several years. He took the whole thing very well. Now, could we please get some work done?"

"Okay, okay," Jack said, still joking, "I'll behave."

"Wait a second," interrupted Decker. "I want a copy of this and an English translation."

"You guys make it awfully hard to be modest," Christopher protested.

"Listen," said Jack Redmond, donning his political advisor's hat, "you can be damned proud of that article. It's not often that a U.N. official other than Hansen gets that type of recognition in the press. I mean, after all – and not to belittle your job – you are just a bureaucrat. Normally that means you do your job behind the scenes and no one ever notices, except possibly other bureaucrats. From what I saw in that magazine you've done an outstanding job, not only as a bureaucrat, but as a representative ofthe United Nations to the people of Italy. You keep playing your cards right and there'll be no stopping you."

Christopher accepted the compliment graciously. Decker was too busy smiling to add anything.

"Oh, and speaking of the people of Italy," Jack continued, "the article says you're an Italian citizen. Whose idea was that?"

Decker was sure he knew the answer. "Secretary Milner's," Christopher answered. "He recommended it back when I first took over FAO. He thought it would be popular with the Italian people. With the liberalization of citizenship requirements over the past ten years, it only required a ninety day residency before I could apply. I've been an Italian citizen for nearly five years now. It's really just a symbolic thing."

Jack Redmond nodded approvingly. "Like I said, there'll be no stopping you."

"Now, can we please get started on this?" Christopher pleaded.

"Not quite so fast. There's one other thing in the article that Decker might find interesting." Christopher sat down, folded his hands and looked up at the ceiling. It was useless to try to stop Jack when he was on a roll. "According to the article, you and the Italian President's daughter are quite an item. Rumors are that marriage may be in your future."

"What?!" Decker said. "You and Maria?!"

"No!" Christopher answered quickly. "They're talking about his oldest daughter, Tina."

"Wait a second," Jack interrupted, "who's Maria?"

"Nobody!" Christopher blurted before Decker could answer and thereby give Jack even more to speculate about. "Look, there's nothing to that business. Tina and I are just friends. I needed a date for a few political functions and so we went together. That's all there is to it."

It took a while longer, but the subject finally got around to agricultural quotas. The meeting went on well into the evening and had to be continued on the flight to Pakistan where they were to meet with Secretary-General Hansen and his party.

Through a Glass Darkly

Wednesday, July 3,2019 – Sahiwai, Pakistan

A dark figure moved quickly along the dry river bed, checking each low-lying area for any sign of water. If he did not find it soon, death would surely overtake him as it had all the others. Up ahead, a tree, still green despite the brown that surrounded it, gave shade to the end of his search: a small pool of water. It was there; he knew it was. He could smell it. Running to it, he put his face down to the water and drank until he was satisfied. He would stay here until the water was gone or hunger drove him on. It was possible that the water might draw some small animal he could eat, but he couldn't wait for food to come to him. He would have to scout out the area and hope for the best.

It was shortly after dawn but the sun already beat down on the dry plain as he emerged from the river bed and peered cautiously through the dry thicket. A motionless form lay about thirty yards away. The week without food and the days without water had dulled his senses or he surely would have noticed it earlier, so close to him. He paused only a moment to examine the area for danger; he was too hungry to expend much caution. As he approached, it became apparent that it was dead. There were two more smaller ones lying nearby.

In the distance, he heard a roar that sounded like a large herd of hoofed animals. It was a long way away but it seemed to be coming toward him. Fear grew as the sound drew near more swiftly than he could imagine possible. Quickly he grabbed one of the legs and tried to drag his meal to the river bed, but his strength was not up to the task. With insane determination born of unbearable hunger he decided to make his stand. Soon the sound was almost upon him and it became clear that it was coming, not from a herd of any sort, but from a single huge bird like none he had ever seen before.

Overhead, the Secretary-General's helicopter slowly approached the famine relief camp, as those on board got a close look at the surrounding conditions. The drought had been devastating. For twenty miles the helicopter had followed a dry river bed, but they saw no more than a few pools of water. Just below, about two miles from the relief camp near one of the pools, they spotted a lone emaciated wild dog looking up at them. It stood over the carcass of a young woman who had died of starvation or thirst before reaching the camp. Nearby lay the bodies of her two small children.