Hatchet, Buried? (Czechoslavonic-Istkalenic Summit)
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Summer had turned sour, the air too thick, too hot, the sun burning. The calm of June had been more than made up for by the sticky hell that August, in but seven days, had proven itself to be; for the peace they had felt, for the peace they had deluded themselves into believing they would feel to the end of summer, they would pay a thousandfold.
It was not weather for a summit, at the very least, thought Elizabeth Íkrat as she leaned against the wall, the only source of cool anywhere around, even in the relative, air-conditioned respite of the old Imperial Palace. You simply could not think in such weather; the dull heat numbed your mind, made it slow down, left you nothing more than a sprawled out husk of a person, staring out, gasping like an idiot. Not even "like an," really - you were, in the moment, in fact, an idiot, gasping, staring, whatever. That was the effect it had on you.
No, not weather for a summit at all - and rude, too, perhaps, to have held it now, to have forced dear Mother Reiserová - why, oh, why, had she ever thought of her as anything else? - to come to this country and expose to themselves to this seeping, insidious malaise. But what was done was done; she had made the invitation, they had accepted, and whatever further price had to be paid for that, she and dearest Istkalen would pay.
She sighed, glancing briefly at her foreign minister, standing there, ramrod straight, unmoving, eyes fixed into the distance, waiting, dutifully.
Patriot, muttered Íkrat. What a damned patriot, there, stalwart in the heat. This was the show Írenet Isteresskemar always put on, for foreign dignitaries and colleagues alike, to play the role of the perfect servant of the holy nation, the dutiful, uncorruptible woman firm as iron, there on high not to usurp, nor to embezzle, nor to moralize, but only and always only to do the work appointed her, as it had to be done - with mechanical efficiency and precision and perfection.
Compensation, Íkrat supposed, for all the gifts constantly showered on her, the diamonds and pearls and caviar and thick stacks of EMUs that flowed out from the offices of her crony ambassadors into hers, to be quickly hoarded in some vault of disgusting excess Isteresskemar believed to be her own little, secret indiscretion but which everyone in Kirelesile knew all too well of.
Not even to sell, thought Íkrat with a little quiet chuckle, but just to keep, stuffed away, for vanity, for pride.
But that was simply the way things in Istkalen had become. Anyone in government with the slightest of connections to any part of the outside world, whether it was to some Kirelesile patron or to, yes, the foreign markets, could now be guaranteed to be corrupt to the bone. Everything had loosened; everything was now acceptable. Even someone like the Colonel Kuldar Loime, the new Minister of the Interior, now dozing off in a wicker chair in the corner but, normally, as violently principled as men in Istkalen could come, upon the slightest bit of exposure to the world outside the veritable monastery that government was would immediately start engaging in the most excessively decadent debauchery one could imagine. She had given him - and Irakemar too, although her morals had always been too modern and loose - an allowance, she remembered, to spend in Europolis, and he had used it all on caviar, ice cream, and other such ridiculous luxuries.
Everything and everyone was corruptible, had little cracks that quickly became big cracks - all, as it was said in the churches, fallen. All slowly rotting away, hidden behind the deteriorating mask of the old.
And the heat, she supposed, their last punishment; or, as in the words of Liris, the state of the country matching the state of its rulers.
And now it was the moral coming here, the moral she had believed immoral when, out of power, she had seen Istkalenic power as moral (black as white, white as black, mind so addled to see everything in inverse), to see and to judge.
Íkrat pushed herself of the wall and walked to join Isteresskemar, looking forward, waiting for Mother Reiserová's verdict to come down on her and all the rest of corruption. The end, she thought, here - only, now, to face and to embrace it.
-
"Apologies for the slight delay." Slavomír uttered, breathing heavily. The spiritual leader of the Rodnovery seemed a few years older than two weeks ago, his eyes full of pain. Over the last two weeks not a soul in the government or in the Prague Castle has seen him, yet now, the President herself has required his presence.
"Finally, Slavomír, you know how comrade Reiserová feels about these things. She... we believe Istkalen to be a space occupied by people of strong spirit and moral convictions. And we require your spiritual guidance to ensure that our wills are strong and resolute and our decisions... please... the gods." Lubomír Mejzlík started speaking, visibly slowing down when speaking about the Rodnovery gods and strength of the spirit. Over his course of yoga sessions with Albína Reiserová, he has learned that Albína was perhaps not a materialist in the strictest sort of sense. He has seen her talk about the possible existence of some forces beyond their understanding and he has heard her wandering how she could have survived the explosion in Prague Castle over four years ago. But he never imagined she would get this captured in a dead religion.
The spiritual figure stopped and caught loudly, leaning over slightly, his red face full of sweat, "My most sincere apologies to Albína, I've just... had to take some pills you know. It isn't getting any better I'm afraid, it might be getting worse."
"And meditating and sacrifices did not help?" Zuzana Saková asked, smiling at the exhausted man as she stood up from her chair.
Slavomír through her a nasty look with his blue eyes but did not say anything, instead finally catching his breath. "Karel is already here then? And where is Albína?"
"Comrade Reiserová is deep into meditation and Karel is getting updated on all the cultural news on Istkalen, both on the plane currently." Lubomír spoke of the President who was just in the middle of a nap onboard and Minister of Culture who was in the middle of an unexpected nap, with newspapers laying on his face, shielding his eyes from the light.
The three figures then all nodded and entered the plane, which departed with a further delay.
After a long flight the presidential plane lands and the government representatives, including the President, sit into their respective cars, Reiserová picking Šín to sit with as the two had very little time to chat in the plane, since after waking up from a nap she had to share her spiritual experiences with Slavomír, after not being able to share face to face for two weeks.
"They said it's supposed to be hot outside. Even the last update I have seen about the temperature here was suggesting this is a very hot day in Istkalen. But honestly, since landing here I feel like it's February, not August." The president says, shivering from cold in her summer dress.
"Probably because we landed a little late, it's dark outside now, so maybe the nights just get colder, resembling February more, even though it's August. If we didn't have to wait, we would be on time and you wouldn't be cold now." Šín responded, his eyes tired even after the nap.
"Oh shut it. You know having a spiritual guide here is important. But tell me all about the latest happenings in the country... and about their many beliefs! I've just gotten a really nice book about Istkalen, I just haven't got around to reading it yet... you know how busy I have been." Resireová spoke with a glitter of excitement in her eyes, staring at Šín longing at knowledge.
"Oh well... did you know that..." Šín stuttered, "It has been quite some time since Stereotypical Westener was mentioned in any capacity? There are rumors that he has died of heart failure after overeating in a sterotypical westener fashion on a stereotypical westener food.*" Šín smiled triumphantly.
Reiserová frowned and turned her face away from her Minister, "So you were sleeping instead of doing what I told you to do. And you made that rumor up. Ughh... fine! I will just have to find out everything, like I am always doing everything for all of you!"
The rest of the ride has been quiet, until finally the car has stopped in front of the old Imperial Palace and the two stepped out of the vehicle, followed by the other two ministers stepping out of their vehicles and Slavomír getting out of his. "I just hope we didn't make them wait for too long. I wouldn't want to not be accepted here anymore. Especially after I promised to come." Reiserová whispered, feeling guilty for all the delays.
