F O U R T H E S T AT E LondonBorderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 3 15/06/2015 16:31ForJessica,whohadtowaitherturnBorderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 5 15/06/2015 16:31Nothingthatmankindhasaccomplishedtothisdate equals the replacement of war by court rulings, based on internationallaw.AndrewCarnegie, USsteelmagnateandphilanthropist, August1913Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 7 15/06/2015 16:311Ifyouyoften,thismayhavehappenedtoyou.Yourestuck inEconomy,foldedawkwardlyagainstawindow,legstwined likepipe-cleaners,halfawake.Itsdarkoutside,thewindow blind has been pulled down, and youre where you hate being: vemileshigh,defyingthelawsofgravityandplaincommon sense.Theslightacheinyourfeet,whichhavebeenpressing upwardsintothebottomoftheseatinfront(someone,after all,hastodothehardworkofkeepingthismachinealoft), conrmsthisfact.Youarebitterlyawarethattheatmosphere insidetheplanehasturnedintoonetroubledcommunalfart. Andthen,quitesuddenly,ithappens.Withnorealwarning perhaps a brief bumpiness you assume to be high-altitude turbu-lence the plane makes impact. For a moment, you know that you are dying, because this mid-air collision, so high above the Earth, will leave no survivors, no body parts even. You convulse inyourseat.Yougaspaloudandyourneighbourgivesyoua worried glance. And then your brain executes a massive feat of intellectual recalibration. You ick up the blind with a trembling hand. Thats the ground outside the window zipping past you terrifyingly fast, its true, but in a controlled and orderly manner. This is a landing, you idiot. Sleeping, you missed the change in enginetone,thedippingofthenose,theminutesofwhatfeel likefreefall,theclunkoflandinggeardescending.Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 1 15/06/2015 16:312Landing in mid-air. A sobering exercise in shattered assump-tions, the shock realisation of ludicrously false premises. When IlookbackonmytimeinLira,itoftenseemslikeaversion of that heart-stopping mid-ight experience, extended over the spaceofayear.Well,whatcanIsay?Somepeoplearejusta bitslowtocatchon.Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 2 15/06/2015 16:313114November2005Bytwoa.m.theglarewasreallybeginningtobotherme. Africanairportsdont,onthewhole,goinforsoftlighting, and Lira International was no exception. I didnt need a mirror toknowwhatIlookedlikeinthegreenish-whitelightgiven offbytheuorescentstriprunningthelengthoftheceiling: baggy-eyed,sallow,prematurelyold.Ilayonthestiffacryliccarpet,mybagunderoneearasa makeshift pillow, hands between my knees, pretending to ignore myguard.Hewasactuallyinthenextroom,butthedoor had been propped open, and since most of the wall separating the two rooms was glass, he could see me without leaving his desk,wherehesatreadinganewspaper,occasionallysipping aglassofdarktea.Earlier, I had gone through the outrage, shocked innocence andI-demand-an-explanationroutinethatseemsderigueur when a young white woman is suddenly, mysteriously, diverted from a path leading to a boarding gate, the trundle across the tarmacinthewarmnightairandthen,aah,themicrocosm of Western civilisation that is the modern aircraft, a little bubble of agreed conventions and soothing yogic rituals. Id declaimed atconsiderablelengthonmykeyroleintheLegalOfceof Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 3 15/06/2015 16:314the President. Id dropped my bosss name, demanded to speak to the presidential adviser and brandished my les, to empha-sisehowvitalitwasthatIreachTheHagueintimeforthe announcement of a historic ruling that would shape his coun-trysfuture.GreenEyes,asIhadmentallytaggedhimlikeanygood lawyer, Id asked for his name but hed only grunted hadnt turnedahair.Theabsenceofreaction,infact,wasthemost terrifyingthingaboutthewholeaffair.Aninsincereapology, anattemptatintimidation,anythingwouldhavebeenbetter than the total lack of expression hed shown as he had turned on me his light, limpid gaze so disconcerting in this country ofdarkbrowneyesandsaid,Noightforyoutonight.Hehadtakenmetoidentifymyluggagesoitcouldbe removed from the pile. He had led me to Immigration to have mypassportsexitstampcrossed.Hehadwalkedmetothe kiosk where Id paid my airport tax to get the dollars returned. Each of these small transactions had been conducted in silence by the ofcials who had processed me twenty minutes earlier, thistimewithoutthefriendlysmiles.TheyknewnowIwas toxic,leprous.ThenGreenEyeshadbroughtmeupstairsto this room, where the only furniture was a desk, pushed against thewall,andaplasticchair,andindicatedIwait.Myrstreactionhadbeentogetoutmymobileandstart composingatexttoWinston.Iwasjusttypingdetainedat when Green Eyes held out his hand. I handed it over, unzipped myshoulderbagandtookoutmylaptopasiftostartitup. Heheldouthishandagain,thistimemorebrusquely,andI passedovermyweatheredDell.Nocomputer.Nomobile, saidGreenEyes.Allisforbidden.Over the next hour and a half, Id watched through the glass as the other passengers on the ight went through the routine I,too,hadbeenplanning:thepointlesstrawloftheairport shop in search of suitable presents (biography of Julius Nyerere, anyone?CopyoftheMinistryofHealthsve-yearplan?),a Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 4 15/06/2015 16:315beeratthebar,cigaretteontheterrace,theclusteratthe boardinggate,analcursorysearchbeforedisappearing throughthedoors.Afewthrewcurious,embarrassedglancesinmydirection. WasntthatthedeputydirectorofUNHCR,theUNrefugee agency? Id certainly met that blond young man Norwegian Embassy? Danish? One of the Scandies, in any case at some party.ButIdidnotcallout.Allisforbiddenhadsomehow done its work. I was already aware of a lm between me and my fellow expatriates, the gelatinous membrane that separates the innocent from the compromised. A strange shame held me back, the conviction that they would have walked on past me asImouthedmysilentappeal.Come,saidGreenEyes.Ifollowedhisbeckoningnger out of the room, past the caf-bar, now closing, and across to the terrace, which looked out over one of the least-used runways in Africa. Green Eyes pointed to where the Alitalia ight was turningonthetarmac,testingitsaps.Iknewexactlywhat theatmospherewouldbelikeonboard.Somedestinations specialise in jolly ights, others come tinged with relief, a few drenchedinheartbreak.FlightsfromLiraalwaysseemed infused with a certain grim pragmatism. No one aboard would beendingawonderfulholidayorladenwithsouvenirs.The airport was not the chosen port of departure for eeing locals: too visible, too monitored. The expatriates, banking generous salariesforwhatwasjudgedahardshipposting,wouldbe headingoffforbriengsbackatHeadquarters,shortbreaks withsemi-estrangedwivesandchildrenparkedatboard-ing-school.Theywouldbebackalltoosoon.Theplanehurtledpasttheterminalbuilding.Headingout across the plateau, it wheeled until its nose pointed north-west. I could almost hear the clink of the mini-bar bottles as the air stewardshandedouttherequiredanaesthetics,tuckingafew extras into seatbacks. A few minutes later, it was no more than awinkinglightinthecarelesssplatterofstarsthatwasthe Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 5 15/06/2015 16:316Liranightsky.GreenEyessavouredmyexpression,hispoint made.Iwasonmyown.Come, he said again. We walked back to my holding area, wheremyturquoisecasecrouched,likeagiantscarabbeetle. Funny how you can come to hate an inanimate object. In one of those side pockets nestled the passports, cash and academic certicatesthatIassumedlayattherootofthiswholesorry affair.Someone,itwasclear,hadblabbed.Icouldguesswho thatmightbe.For a while, I sat in the plastic chair. After an hour, buttocks numb,Imovedtotheoor,drapingmyselfstrategicallyover thecaseagirlneedsapillow,no?Iputmycoatovermy headtoshieldmyeyesfromthelightandunderthatscreen, my hands got working. At the very least, I needed to separate the money an aromatic wodge of hundred-dollar bills from the rest. I could claim personal ownership of the cash, even if thatmeantadmittingtobreakingcurrencyregulations.The passportsandcerticateswereanothermatter.Maybethere was somewhere in the airport I could dump the incriminating evidence.Withinniteslowness,Iopenedthezipperintothe bagsside-pocket,closedmyhandsonthedocumentsand slippedthemupthesleeveofmysweater.WhenIremovedthecoatfrommyhead,GreenEyeswas staringatme.Hadhenoticedthewriggling?Ineedtogoto theLadies,Isaid.Come.Ifollowedhimdownthecorridor.Threesinks,dripping taps, the smell of bleach, more bad lighting and a wall-to-wall mirror,whichconrmedthat,yes,Ididindeedresemblea warmed-up corpse. Disconcertingly, Green Eyes did not make his excuses. I entered one of the cubicles, locked the door, sat downwithoutdroppingmytrousers.Think!WherecouldI stowthedocuments?Downthedrain?Thatwouldcausea ood.Howaboutthecistern,AlPacino-style?IfGreenEyes hadnotfollowedmein,maybe.Buthewouldcertainlyhear Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 6 15/06/2015 16:317thescrapingasIliftedtheheavyporcelainlid.Asforthe Papillonsolution,nooricewasgoingtoaccommodatetwo passports.Idrunoutofideas.Itransferredthepapersfrom my sleeve to my knickers and ushed the toilet. Then I walked pastGreenEyeswithmyfaceset.Hollywoodhadfailedme, asittendsto.Ifhewantedtondmycache,hewould.I resumed my previous position slouched over my bag. Green Eyes was playing it cool, so I would match him for insouciance. I would simply fall asleep from sheer boredom. But, of course, toomanyinternalvoiceswereclamouringtobeheard.One was near-hysterical, something approaching a banshee shriek: Oh, how could you? How could you how could you do this to your parents? And what about Winston? After all hes done? Youstupid,stupid,stupidcunt.Ibegancomposingaspeech,mylastpresentation.Ifully realise the mortifying position I have placed you in, and I can onlyapologiseforthat,itbegan.NotonlydoIexpectyou todisassociateyourselffromme,Idemandit.Ibetrayedyou personallyandputthecaseatrisk,bothunforgivableacts.I havesurrenderedanyclaimtoprofessionalism.Nooneelse shouldpaythepriceformyrashness.The other voice was quieter, grimly realistic: So, lets think thisthrough.Toanticipateistobestrengthened.Thisisa prettyseriousoffence.Winstonwillghtforyou,youknow that,whateveryoutellhim.Theembassymighttrytohelp, butthatcouldjustmakethingsworse.Theonethinggoing for you is your skin colour. No government wants the Amnesty Internationalpressreleases,theHumanRightsWatchreports that go with torturing or executing people like you. Even this government. So were probably talking, if youre lucky, a few years in a container on the coast. Can you handle that? Hottest placeonearth.Noprivacy.Malaria.Cholera.A girding of the loins. And the answer that came back was aslightsurprise:Yes.Yes,IthinkIcan.Butthenanimagecametomind,ofaroughsketchId Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 7 15/06/2015 16:318spottedonWinstonsdesk,drawnbyayoungmanwhohad compensatedforhislimitedartisticabilitywithacertain graphic brio. It showed someone lying on their stomach, back arched,kneesbent,handsreachingbehindtoseizetoes.In yoga,somethingsimilarisknownastheBowPose,agood way of stretching the spine. In the enemyprisoner-of-war camp intowhichthatyoungsterhadhadthemisfortunetofallit wasknownasthehelicopterposition.The accompanying text,writtenbyadoctorfromtheRedCross,helpfully explainedthatthesametechniquewasusedinIran,whereit wascalledthechickenkebab,andinLatinAmerica,where it was dubbed the parrots perch. It became intensely painful after a few minutes, the doctor wrote, and, if sustained, could cause deformed bones, deep sores and, in a few recorded cases, pulmonaryembolism. Thedoctorsname,Iremember,wasBoronski.APole?I couldrememberthephotospaper-clippedtothedrawing, showing the welts and scars. The ugly Polaroids ashed across my minds eye, like lurid prompt cards. If the other side used that technique, you could be sure our boys did, too. And how aboutrape?MaybeIcouldhandleitonce,butrepeatedly? Dayin,dayout?Whatwouldthatbelike?Iremembereda newspaper article about a hospital in eastern Congo that treated malesoldiersrapedsooftentheydhadtousesanitarypads. But, hang on, this wasnt Congo. What had Winston once said, explaining why it was important never to shout in the ofce? This is a society where nothing is seen as more shaming than a loss of self-control. But now we were back to Winston again, andhowhewouldreact,myparentsandtheirfeelings,that tidalwaveofmortication. I briey tried the line of argument that had powered me so effectivelythroughthelastfewyears.Theonethatran: WithoutJake,thereisnothinglefttolose.Thereisnothing at stake. But despair no longer consoled. My anxiety scurried likeagerbilonawheel.Thepassportshadlongagoshifted Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 8 15/06/2015 16:319from pleasantly cool to clammily sticky against my skin. I tried somedeepbreathing,butmyheartwouldntstoppounding, andmymouthwassodrythatmylipskeptstickingtomy gums. At intervals, I lowered the coat off my face to ask Green Eyes for water, and once in a while, he ordered a colleague to fetchmeaplasticbeaker. At a certain point, though, the adrenalin runs out. And then you nd the peace of acceptance, the passivity of the internee. BythetimeInoticedthatdawnwasabouttobreak,golden shardsoflightpiercingthelonggrassesatthefarendofthe runway,IfeltValium-calmandasancientasthelandscape. There was nothing they could do to me now that would frighten or surprise me. I had done their work for them. I had disman-tledmyself.Therecameachangingoftheguard.Themorningshift arrived,ashorter,olderofcialtakingoverfromGreenEyes, who gave me a knowing, strangely intimate look as he headed outthedoor.Therewasawomanwithhim,smallandbusty inatightlyttinguniform,carefullymade-up.Hello,sister, shesaidcoldly,andgesturedtometofollow.Andinthis countrywhere,asIhadonceexplainedinanemailtomy British friend Sarah, no one ever allowed you to carry anything (Myarmsareatrophying),Whiteywasthistimelefttolug herownbag.Thenewdispensation.Iknewwhattoexpectnow.Idbeledtoacarsononde-script it could only belong to the secret police. Id be taken to an equally anonymous room and there my luggage and clothing wouldnallybeproperlysearched,thepassportsandcash immediately discovered. I would be professionally interrogated, mystorypickedoveruntil,inevitably,itfellapart.Andthen I would be asked to sign something, and I would be taken to a real cell, with bars, cockroaches and an open toilet, not the soft-focus version of internment Id been treated to up till now. Instead,thetwowalkedmeoutofthedesertedairportto thetaxirank.Inoticedawoman,swathedlikeamummyin Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 9 15/06/2015 16:3110whitecotton,sittingontheconcretekerb.Alittleboylay across her lap, fast asleep, saliva crusting his lips. The female ofcerrappedonthewindowoftheonlycabwaitingand what had looked like a bundle of linen stirred and straightened, morphingintoablearyolddriver,whoautomaticallypulled theseatforwardandgropedforhiskeys. The male ofcer turned to me. You will pick up your pass-portfromtheMinistryofImmigration,Room805. Oh, sweet Jesus, they were letting me go. Suddenly I redis-coveredmylostoutrage.Whatwasthisallabout?Room805.MinistryofImmigration.Thisafternoon. Indifferent, they turned and headed back towards the terminal.Loudernow.Whatsbeengoingonhere?Thewomanofcerswivelledandlookedbackatme.She had a half-smile on her face, and I noticed that her eyebrows had been plucked entirely away, then redrawn in black pencil. Wehadaninformationaboutyou.Iscrabbledatthetaxisdoorhandle,myhandssuddenly shaking so violently I could hardly open it. I gabbled instruc-tionsandweheadeddowntown.Lirawasbeginningtostir. In a night-chilled courtyard, a rst dog barked. The bark was taken up by the dog next door, and their joint yelping relayed fromoneneighbourhoodtoanother,awideningchorusof syncopatedalarmspreadingtowakethereluctant,befuddled city. Isathuddledinthecornerofthetaxi,tryingtocontrola judderingthathadnowspreadtomylegs.Onethought occurred. After all those months of velvet-glove treatment, Id nallybeenpaidtheultimatecompliment.PaulaShackleton hadbeentreatedlikealocal.Borderlines_Royal_FinalDPO_20150616_140LL.indd 10 15/06/2015 16:31