chapter 6

chapter 6 – A summit comity

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One night, while we set to watch the sunset at Gordon’s beach, the king of Badulina told me that we are going to Jerusalem the next day. “We have to do some arrangement: he said “four the summit comity.”

“Summit comity?” I asked

“Mine. With President Clinton. We have a meeting.”

“I read in the newspapers the agenda of the president’s visit in Israel I’m afraid they didn’t mention anything like that.”

“Of course not. No journalist knows or will know about that but you”

“I don’t doubt that but does Clinton know?”

“Did you know you are about to meet me before we did?”

Once in India. I was sitting with Badulina’s king on a rock above the village I lived in. The king pointed a distance tree: “What is that bird?” there was a little bird there, which I have never seen before, all bright fire colored. The king bowed his head. I searched my backpack for a manacles but he signed at me not to bother. The next second something happened that amazed me but didn’t impressed the king so much; the bird flew right to the three where we sit to the closest branch starched her wings covering each feather . then she whistled once or twice until her made arrived and both of them stood there few seconds showing chest, back and tail and flew away. The king nodded satisfied. I don’t know what came first: did the bird came because of the king will or that of the king will that always combine harmoniously with the common float of the events. According to the king approach as for Clinton you could have think that the meeting is set already and the king just have to go for it.

From security understandable reasons the historical documenting is becoming impossible from now on. I can only rest assures and say that the ability of Badulina’s king to penetrate the most tight security ring that was ever built in Israel doesn’t say there was any malfunctions. At no point there was any danger to the USA’s President’s life. As far as I concern the Badulina’s king doesn’t cross burials, he simply doesn’t see them, and they don’t exist in his reality.

If he want to meet Clinton, it doesn’t seem difficult more then eating a Falafel. He uses me only when he needs some easy things: like journal’s reports, some phone calls. As far as he concern he shouldn’t take more efforts then I do and so it accrued that on the first day, a new waiter appointed to the room service of the presidential’ suite in a hotel that every one knows his name but I’ll have to be a complete idiot mentioning it here.

Any how, If I wish to report the public about that historical meeting and survive, I will have to clarify: I deny retroactively any word that shall be written here from now on. It didn’t happen, I was misquoted etc…

“Good morning my lord”, greeted the green eyed waiter the president of the United States, “Breakfast”.

Clinton rubbed a per of red eyes, He was wearing a wool raw tied with a belt that had two black pompons in its tip “yes” he mumbled and yawn “live it here”.

“Did your honor heard about the ‘Mild and Honey Land’?” the waiter smiled and took of a silvered lead above the trailer like a magician. “There it is in front of you, all of it in one bowl, made by your size. We mixed original Granola from “Emek Ha Ella”, strawberries from “Hasharon”, raisins from the Golan’s grapes and banana-pecan flakes from the best glorified cornflake’s industry of cornflakes at the USA. I wouldn’t go meet Arafat on a less filled stomach.”

Clinton watched him. “You are not a waiter”.

“No. but I am pleased to serve you with breakfast.”

The president shrieked one eyebrow “You are not going to shoot me are you?”

The king reached out a hand dressed white glove “Badulina’s king. Glad to meet you.”

“Honey”, a female voice was heard from the other room “Who are you talking too?”

“Ah…” he called beyond his shoulder, his hand on the way for shaking, “with the waiter…. With someone who says he is the Badulina’s king”.

“Tell him to say something loudly” she requested.

“Good morning to you the first lady of the United States.” Called the king and collected warmly the paralyzed hand of President Clinton “The 36^th king of Badulina, nice to meet you.”

“All right” she said before she returned to sleep “As long as it’s a mail he can be Robinson Cruzo as far as I’m concern.”

Clinton lowered his eyes for a second and then returned angrily to the king: “give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call security.”

“I will give you couple” said the king with grace: “First so that you shall have on moment in all that visit, during all your service time where you will not operate out of duty but from a free will.” He was silence for a while and the president didn’t move “And the second one is I already purred your milk and you know how ugly can corn flax be when they become spongy.”

During breakfast Clinton interrogated the king about Badulina and the king replied willing fully. Clinton called one of his assistance and asked them to find out with the CIA whatever they know about that place and the king of that place. The reply arrived within 90 seconds as suppose to be in the best intelligence service of the entire world: “First, all details are correct. Secondary is that the only agent we ever sent there to check whether we can use this place for something resigned and stayed there”.

“Steve” approved the king “Nice guy he is selling goat cheese now. He knows how to drink.”

After a while the first meeting of the king and the president stopped. “I have to run, the show is waiting, I will ask my assistance to make a formal meeting for us I think it will be refreshing in all that jungle.”

“No need” said the king and served him with a napkin “I will bring your dinner”.

I met the king at lunch in a Bahrain restaurant next “Machane Yehuda” market. During all that day I was walking around Jerusalem accompanied by uncontrolled Paranoia waiting for the moment where one of the thousand cups or the undercover ones will leap and drag me into the police car.

“Well” I whispered to the king above the pickles stand “How was it?”

“I don’t know” said the king “He didn’t finish his Granola”.

“I’m sure that is very sad his royalty but I’m asking how was the meeting?”.

“It was just a promo we spend the night together, what reminds me by the way, I need you to get me something.”

The next royal request paralyzed my journalist veins. “Your royalty” I bagged “There is no way that I can report about what’s coming from now on without getting into heavy troubles with every possible agency her and around the world”.

“Why?” the king wondered. “Didn’t you write that everything is a fiction and you weren’t understood and all of that?”

“I wrote but I suspect it’s not enough.”

Well. After consulting with law factors (one of my friends that studies laws two years before he became a dogs babysitter), it is decided that from now on I will not write a word about Clinton. Instead I will write Climpton and about what I wrote already with the real name – what can I do? It’s done already.

When dinner time arrived Hillary went to bad already. Climpton himself looked exhausted. “An Amnon fish from the Sea of Galilee”, bragged the king in a tone of peddler. “Its ancient parent tickled Jesus legs. Baked in clay Jerusalem oven, with no cholesterol and next to it bedding of boiled vegetables, mini Cabbage and Carrot and Broccoli as well. The fantasy of any cardiologist.

Climpton pushed away the cart: “I’m not hungry. I can’t stand Broccoli and fish is boring.”

“How wired” said the king “They say at the kitchen that they got a specific list from you for every meal. Granola at mornings, non-fattening fish at evenings, fruits and vegetables.”

“Yes” moaned the president and dropped on the couch open buttons, “I must, I am the Granola’s president you know, that is how they sold me that is how I got elected. I really don’t need in these day, when all the news magazines following me to order burger and fries. You know two days ago it was decided to cut my hair. According to a statistic research I come out of Monica Lewinsky story better with a short hair. I loved my hair it warmed my head. Do you know how cold it is in Washington in the mornings? But who am I, what do I know about my hair? Look at this food at senior’s home they get better food.”

“I thought so” said the king and pulled a chair next to him “that is why I took my liberty to bring some spices for better taste.”

“You are a really big help” said the president dryly. The king just smiled and dogged a match box out of his pocket. In it there was a big fresh smelly bud of Marijuana. “Organic yes” he declared “Non fattening and you wont smell that flourish. The entire Izra-el Valley is spread at our feet” he grained a little into a wooden round pipe. The president just shook his head try to find the right words “You don’t have to inhale this time as well” smiled the king “But as far as I concern I wouldn’t see the point of that its like spitting food”. “Don’t remind me food” replied the president “Do you have a lighter?

At the next few moments they were silence and as it’s common to write in our zone – a light blue smoke crawled up the presidential suite. I have no intention in say who inhaled and who didn’t even that we are only talking about a guy named Bill Climpton and it has no public interest. Finally the president moaned, observed the pip and said: “In those good old days when Hillary use to return from her lawyer office we use to relax like that, together. Now days your royalty. I need to drink diet soda.”

“Your honor”, said the king refilling the pipe “what do you mean by saying I must? I thought you are the strongest person at the strongest country in the entire world. They decide for you what you will wear what you shall eat when are you going to have a haircut and what you will say to the journalists. What are you allowed to decide about?”

“That’s it” said the president “In order to make the big decisions you need to give up the small ones. A president in America can’t survive if he does what he feels like.”

“Is that a fact? The most beloved president at you history was Canady. Now let me see: he smoked drugs, drank beer. Slept with Marilyn Monroe. Canceled wars that bored him, pointed his clumsy brother to a minister and when a reporter tried to attack him for that he said: why should I want to be the president of United States if I can’t even appoint my own brother to a minister?”

“That is true” said Climpton “On the other hand – they killed Canady.”

“That is true” said the king and lighted the pipe “On the other hand you don’t look so alive to me.”

Climpton wanted to protest but instead collected the pipe. “I don’t know” he said and took of per of white socks throwing them into the garbage “Some days I feel very much alive: I lie on the coach at the presidential plain. Get massage at my feet. Champagne on the table, Mike Jogger at the stereo and I’m saying to myself: Jesus I’m the fucking president of the United States! I, the child that fought his father in the neighborhood where the biggest achievement is to attend collage – I am the USA President! Fuck you daddy, but at the next moment the black phone is ringing next to the champagne and they enter the room and start a big consulting when I’m spouse to guess wheat they want me to say and to say it and to pretend that it was my own decision.”

“And what happens if you try to decide by your own?”

“They are being very polite about it but it doesn’t matter. It’s formalistic and they are professionals and then they guide me and dress me and put protection-vests on me and practice the mimics to the speech they wrote for me and fix my hair while we land. After 11 hours flight every normal person would like to arrive as quickly to his hotel and rest but me> as soon as I walk out of the plain they shoot thousand fleshes in my eyes, more then anybody else in the entire world. Do you know what its like? You can’t see a thing later and my face needs to be in full control not to allow even one non complementing picture for them to put on the front page of time magazine next time they report about the Monica case. And then the dame protocol right under the plain and the speeches and I have to behave like its all so wonderful and suddenly their priminister wants to give a speech as well and I am not allowed to yon but listen to this – I learned to nap with my eyes open and with a smiling face, no one suspects.”

“That’s very brave your honor.”

They observed each other seriously and then Climpton face blushed, the king shot a smile and both of them started laughing. “I show them” shouted Climpton laughing “I sleep with my eyes wide open! Ha!”
“Honey” a sleepy voice came out of the bad room. “Who is there with you?”

“Good evening to you first lady” the king greeted “I hope we don’t disturb.”

“Oh it’s you” she said “No you are not. It’s good to hear Bill laughing. Good night. Be good.”

Climpton inhaled and not to his lungs. “I’m a good boy” he said and didn’t laugh any more “I’m a good boy.”

The king conveniently laid on few coach cushions he collected on the Chinese carpet and watched Climpton “Do you wish to talk about it?” “What about?” “What bothers you, Monica.”

The president moaned: “Its lost I can’t save it.”

“do you wish MacDonald’s with fries and ketchup?”

“I am not allowed”

“You may order for me”

“I guess so”

“So order for me a couple double burgers with fries and to big Cola drinks.”

The president smiled and did he gathered few cushions in front of the king.

“Would you like to save it?”

“I don’t know. Look, I was stupid. I did a mistake. Nobody is perfect. Every one commits a sin sometimes but I can’t, not only now as a president but retroactively along all my past.

I was a jerk with Monica and if it was between me and her I could fix it but now its between me and the entire states and there is politics and money there , whatever Ill do will not change it.”

“If it doesn’t matter what you will do “thought the king loudly “why don’t you operate any way you wish?”

“I don’t know already what I want”
“sure you do. You just told me how you really feel. Why don’t you say it outdoor as well? Say – listen I feel what happened with Monica years ago was a big mistake. I am not proud in it but I will not deny as well that I’m human as well just like any one of you. I am obliged to learn and improve and I’m obliged not to repeat mistakes and if you believe you can find a president who never went wrong say I should leave. If not I promise to do my best and pay attention.”

Climpton thought about it for a moment “But what for? What do I defend? Lets say I survive this that says I will be able to get elected for another four and a half year, freedom is getting farther.”

“your freedom is exactly where you are” a pleasant ring sounded from the door . a new waiter arrived with the bag from MacDonald’s. He left the bag smells like junk food and left immediately “Look at you now Bill. No socks, stoned, MacDonald’s, royal suite, Hillary loves you. If it’s really doesn’t matter what you do why shouldn’t you do what you want?”

They ate the burgers like children, washing it up with Ketchup and Cola. Climpton stared at the king’s food box “Are you going to eat this?” before the king nodded he jumped on it joyfully. “Munches” he laughed, “I forgot how good that’s feels.”

Once they done the king cleared all the napkins and packages. “Did you get nice presents this visit?”

“The gifts are not for me” said the president “tomorrow I will not see them any more. It’s a frustrating business. Antiques, Pots, Art. One cool gift I got from the hotel: they bought me Saxophone just as the one I played on MTV when everything still seemed possible, tomorrow they will take it away I cant start dragging along with Sax’s and I don’t have where and when to play.”

“Sure you do. Here and now. I always wanted to do one jam session with you. I don’t have my trumpet here but I have a bamboo float from Sinai. Where is the Sax?”

“But we can’t” giggled the president “It will wake up Hillary and Chelsea is in the next suite.”

“Hillary will be glad and Chelsea will get beautiful dreams.”

Climpton brought the Saxsophone and they went out to the balcony. It was a moonless night and million star dust sparkled above Jerusalem that always look at night comfortable like a Persian cat. The Badulina’s king played Arabic tones that he recently learned. Slowly the president recognized the tune and joined with blues saxophone. They played the song every one knows thanks to Walt Disney:

WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR

MAXES NO DIFFERENCE WHO YOU ARE

WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR

YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE

At morning Jerusalem woke up and she was a Siam nervous cat like always and all the advisors and photographers got back and everything seem the same but Climpton got a decision that could look meaningless to the outsider but on the other hand the most important revolutions started from little invisible events. Climpton made a vow. From now on, no one tells him what to do with his hair.

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