Haiti was a useless beachhead. It would not advance the cause of the global supernation that Anwar Anwar-Sadat envisioned in his One World of the future.
It was after the debacle in the former Yugoslavia, now a jigsaw comprised of shattered Bosnia, Serbia and Croatia, that the sleepless nights began to steal Anwar Anwar-Sadat's all-important sleep.
No pills would help. Not Sominex. Not Nytol. Not Excedrin PM. Not the new thing called melatonin. Nothing.
So Anwar Anwar-Sadat had had a computer terminal installed in his Manhattan high-rise apartment and taught himself to turn it on and manipulate its complex commands, whereas before, various functionaries performed that duty during working hours.
Anwar-Sadat was too private a man to allow a staff functionary to remain on call during his leisure hours. So he learned to use the mouse and a simple program called Bob and in time became quite proficient in manipulating them both.
In time he became truly glad to have expended the effort to master the computer.
Thanks to Mistress Kali.
The Secretary-General had never met Mistress Kali, but that day was approaching. She had promised him so. Promised many times. Twice they had agreed to rendezvous. But the first time Mistress Kali had canceled. The second time it was UN business that had interfered.
The delays only made Anwar Anwar-Sadat itch with a mighty itching for the golden day he would at last meet his golden goddess.
He knew she was a goddess because she had told him so.
"Please describe yourself to me," Anwar had written those many weeks ago.
"I am golden of hair, and my eyes are as green as the Nile. When I walk, I am like a desert wind sighing through date palms. I am the wind and the palms both. My breath is warm, and my hips are supple and sway lyrically when I move."
"You sound ...enticing," Anwar had typed, feeling a strange warmth he had not felt since he was a young man back in Cairo.
"I am a goddess in womanly form," Mistress Kali had replied.
And Anwar had believed. For who would lie about such a thing?
"Are you ...voluptuous?" he typed.
"My shape is very pleasing. My features are delectable. My skin, flawless."
In those few words, Anwar wove a mental image that had yet to be modified by photographs or videotape. Left to his own imagination, he took the vague description of a blond-haired green-eyed enchantress and filled in the blanks with the woman of his dreams.
Since he had created most of the mental image, of course he fell in love with it. Mistress Kali was the personification of his deepest longings, the embodiment of his most denied desires.
"I worship you, Mistress Kali."
"I exist to be worshiped."
"Am I your only worshiper?" he typed, fear in his heart.
"You have the opportunity to earn that distinction, my Anwar."
"Command me," Anwar found himself typing.
"You must prove yourself worthy of my commands, my Anwar."
With that, Mistress Kali had signed off for three days. Three tedious, hateful days in which his e-mail address and his real-time computer-chat calls were haughtily ignored. Three endlessly sleepless nights in which he tossed and turned, thinking the worst. She had died. She had fallen in love with another. She was married and her husband had discovered her infidelity. For three nights he could not tear his eyes from the always-running blue computer screen with its burning white letters.
When on the fourth day an e-mail message popped up on the screen, Anwar leaped for the terminal.
The letter was brief, to the point, but pregnant with meaning: "Did you miss me?"
His reply was even briefer. "Damnably so."
"We should chat."
Eagerly Anwar Anwar-Sadat logged on to the chat line they used when their difficult schedules coincided.
"Where have you been?" he demanded.
"Away. But I am back."
"I thought the worst."
"Never fear. There will always be a place for you in my life, my darling."
Anwar's heart thumped. It was the first time she had used an endearment.
"My Pharaohess..." he replied, his eyes misting over.
"So how has been your life, Anwar?"
"Difficult. Things do not go well."
And he poured out his woes and ambitions and frustrations, divulging more about his schemes and goals than even his most trusted Coptic aides were told.
To his utter dumbfoundment, her replies were intelligent, insightful and very much on target.
"What is it you do that gives you such a mind?" Anwar Anwar-Sadat demanded.
"I am Everywoman. You need know no more."
"I ache to know all about you."
"Woman is mystery. Once you know all, I will cease to attract you."
Anwar Anwar-Sadat had to be satisfied with riddles. And he was. For a time. Nightly he told her of his day. And each night she advised him on the day to come.
One day he lamented the receding blue tide that was the seven continents.
"I cannot control the nations of the world. They are like mischievous children. If only they would cede some control to me. I could solve many of the world's problems. But the blue nations are reverting to green. In Bosnia my UNPROFOR has given way to a NATO thing called IFOR. If the tides continue to ebb, the only blue that will remain will be the seven seas."
To that, Mistress Kali made a reply that Anwar Anwar-Sadat at first dismissed as childish.