Ivan Vladislavic - 101 Detectives

Hotel where I had dinner (for future reference): The Diplomat!

Another thing: my suspicions about the lobby lighting confirmed. When I arrived back from my outing, I saw that Dutch chap Van den Ende who makes the jumpsuits checking in and would you believe the whole place was bright orange.

Please check for me: scoffeasy; nozzlefruit

To bed now. Mr Booty Khuzwayo is an early riser. I mean to rise even earlier to go through the catalogues, even if the meeting is an informal one. You are quite right to remind me that I am not a tourist but a manufacturers’ representative.

Sweet dreams, my dear.

DAY 2

09:00

How much clearer things look after a night’s sleep.

When I went down to the lobby this morning there were Papas aplenty! Lounging at the refreshment station, drinking tea on the terrace, going in and out of the Parrot Parrot Room. Three Papas checking in at once.

The impersonators have arrived for the Convention in numbers. Some of them resemble Papa quite strikingly even without the regalia. I thought there must be a few stand-ins among the entertainers, but when I put this to Mr Khuzwayo, he was adamant that there are no professional doubles left. The idea seemed to upset him. He hardly needed to remind me, he said, that Papa left us twenty years ago. It stands to reason that any double who outlived him would be impossibly old by now. All the Papas I saw were no more than stage artists. The Department (of Trade or Forfeit?) was entitled to leverage the heritage product.

Mr Khuzwayo was waiting for me in a booth with two platters of breakfast protein steaming on the table. I took the liberty of ordering for you, he said. We’re famous for our protein and I believe you enjoyed your meal last night very much. (!)

And then he squeezed my hand and said: You must call me Booty. Mr is very cold and we are warm people, very warm people. Like our climate. (His hand was in fact hot to the touch — almost as if he were running a fever.)

More surprisingly, he declared his intention to call me Booty as well. Henceforth I am to be ‘Booty Wu’. There was something in your notes about familiarity and foreigners, but I cannot remember the details. Is there a protocol there on honorifics? Please take a look when you have a moment.

Naturally, I concealed my bewilderment from Booty Khuzwayo and said I was honoured by his gesture.

An even greater honour awaits you, he said, squeezing my hand again. I am here to invite you to an audience with the King.

The King? I was greatly surprised, as you can imagine, having had no inkling until then that the destination was a monarchy, but of course I said yes immediately. And concealed my further astonishment by lavishing praise on the breakfast protein, which was a little sweet for my taste (swimming in syrup) but undoubtedly tasty.

I waited until the platters had been cleared away, mine still laden despite my best efforts, his wiped clean, and we were sipping a selection of exotic fruit punches from the buffet, before asking: What is the purpose of my meeting with the King?

All in good time, Booty Wu, he said, all in good time.

Business obviously. The meeting is tomorrow evening at the Palace. The existence of which surprised me greatly. I had thought, from your thorough briefing documents, that the only palace in the destination was the Palace of Justice, but apparently we were mistaken. Our information-gathering capacities may have been outpaced by developments. Any further guidance you can offer, diligent Fei, would be welcome. Upload to my memory. I understood that Papa was the Father of the Nation i.e. Democracy. Have I missed something? Time is short, which is why I have paused in my room to file this interim report.

To the Fair!

18:10

Busy day. I trust the orders are reaching you? I can safely say that our merchandise is universally admired. It scarcely needs to be sold. Among the new lines particular interest in salad servers, kitchen thermometers, salt and pepper shakers, kebab skewers, bathroom scales, scatter cushions. Focus on kitchenware as you see. Should be reflected in the orders.

Van den Ende has a new line of Papa leisurewear on a guerrilla-warfare theme. Shoddily made as ever. Not our core business but tempting to make it so, if only to show up the ‘competition’. All-weather poncho looks interesting. Have packed sample.

Hardly a spare moment at the stand. Pressure relieved mid-morning by a formal procession of Papas through the exhibition hall on their way to a plenary session of the Convention. A comical profusion, I must say, every shape and size. We exhibitors gathered to applaud.

Gratified to find our merchandise in situ at the Convention Centre: hand driers and soap dispensers in the restrooms. Have noted proposal for small design adjustment to homburg handle. Also doorstop in the exhibitors’ canteen. Plaster Papa with arms akimbo. Thus far and no further! Delightful and functional.

Got an intern to watch the stand in the mid-p.m. lull, with strict instructions about pilferers, and slipped up to the second floor to attend a session of the Convention. Interest piqued by ‘When Impersonators Intermarry: Type and Taboo’ but missed start so caught instead ‘The Ethics of Impersonation: A New Approach’. Wordy elaboration on basic dos and don’ts. Very lifelike Papa at the lectern. ‘It takes more than a hat and doublet.’ He had neither.

Sensed animosity between ‘professionals’ and ‘amateurs’ in the questions from the floor, especially on the subject of surgery. Some jibing about stand-up versus stand-in which I could not follow. Wish you were here to puzzle it through with me. You know the second of the languages so much better than I do. Sure you might have enjoyed: ‘Where are the Mamas? Challenging Patriarchy.’

Meanwhile thanks for the clarification on ‘Bhuti’. How silly of me! Now that I know it means ‘brother’ I shall wear it more comfortably.

23:00

Did I mention that I was going to the theatre? Old-fashioned place but newly constructed, accessed by skywalk. The development has retail, sport, hotel, office and residential components and there’s no need to go wandering off into the jungle to take up the leisure offerings.

The story of Papa’s life. Few surprises: goatherd, guerrilla, prisoner of state, Father of the Nation. Convincing leading man — but no more convincing in make-up and costume than many an audience member. Papas in every row from the royal gallery to the stalls. His famous victory speech sounded in a hundred voices. They knew it by heart!

Suddenly exhausted. Heard talk over lunch of a sedative in the complimentary nightcap.

Please confirm orders.

DAY 3

23:45

Thank you for your exemplary briefing on the monarchy received this morning. An elected king. Interesting idea. I hoped to quiz Bhuti Khuzwayo about it before my audience at the Palace, but our Convenor was nowhere to be seen. This despite the crush in the exhibition hall. Everybody and his brother allowed in today. A pickpocket’s paradise. Hardly came up for air, as you will have gathered from the orders, which please confirm.

Forgive me if I skip the day’s business and go straight to the Palace. It’s a long story, but you must hear it in full.

A limousine came to fetch me at sunset. My hopes of seeing more of the destination dashed by shaded windows. I cannot say where we went, but it was not close by. Drove for more than an hour. Piped music the whole way, military marches and lugubrious hymns, and cocktails on tap, although I did not indulge. Had one only and could barely hold my head up afterwards.

At last, the driver stopped and let me out. I was bearing the nutcracker that you gift-wrapped for just such an occasion, but the driver took it from me. We were in an underground parking garage. He ushered me to an elevator and pressed a button that sent me upwards.