Aslan Norval Read online

  In addition, Holved was able to provide Indonesia with longer-term credit. He was also willing to offset a significant amount of the cost by accepting Indonesian products. Holved succeeded in convincing the Indonesian experts that his company had longer and better experience with such ventures. They would complete the entire project in a shorter time than any of the competing companies, and he would personally guarantee the excellent and durable quality of the building materials they would use.

  However, this meant that he was several times forced to spend six or eight weeks on various Indonesian islands during construction. He personally supervised the execution of the work, which seemed necessary since he had promised to employ only local engineers, technicians, mechanics, and workers as much as possible.

  He was in New York today, planning to fly to Jakarta on Wednesday. It was now Sunday afternoon. He wanted to spend this last Sunday before his departure in comfort with Aslan. He meant to talk to her in peace and quiet about the sorts of things that could occur while he was gone.

  “In many ways it is regrettable,” he said during their conversation, “that I have to be so far away at this moment. I assure you, as soon as you announce—and you should do it earlier rather than later—that the APTC plans to build a canal across the North American continent, you will be caught in the worst kind of maelstrom.”

  “I am prepared and don’t expect anything less,” said Aslan as she was drinking her coffee.

  “Most likely you will have Congress and the Senate jumping down your throat. You better believe it!”

  “I think I can handle the Senate, when things get really sticky.”

  “I like that. Don’t let them get you. Hit them back every time if they try to wear you down. I’ve gone through stuff like this.”

  “I believe you. Java, Kalimantan, Sumatra, Celebes, and who knows what all those islands are called—when you are on those islands, there will come a day when you are in so much trouble that you will be wishing you were dealing with the Senate in Washington.”

  “That’s possible, very possible. I will be happy if I return with my nerves somewhat intact.”

  “Indonesia is much more civilized than most Americans usually believe.”

  “You are right. Their society is two or three thousand years old. And what the people have done since their independence is more than they could achieve in sixty years under Dutch colonial rule.”

  “In any case, Holved, I wish you the best of luck.”

  “And I wish you the same, Aslan. Oh—by the way, how did you ever come up with the idea of building this canal? Even if I am now involved, sometimes during a sleepless night I still consider it a crazy idea.”

  “Maybe. Maybe it’s not so crazy. It depends how you look at it.”

  “But someone must have whispered the idea in your ear? Beckford maybe?”

  “Beckford? I could die laughing. Him? The ‘honorably discharged Marine Corps sergeant’ as he calls himself? Don’t be ridiculous, Holved. It was my idea. Without any help at all. It really was more of a rebellion against the calcified teachings I received from my female teachers. It was pretty simple. I was twelve and in geography class. The teacher was Miss Johnson. I remember her name perfectly. She showed us the great influence of the two most important canals, the Suez Canal and the Panama Canal, on the economy of many countries. On maps, she showed us how these canals saved the shipping business many thousands of nautical miles and therefore time and money. She pointed out that without the canals, many products would cost double or even triple in London, Paris, New York, and San Francisco. I got up from my seat and asked who owned the canals. Miss Johnson then explained that the canals belonged to the companies that had built and maintained them. Then I asked her whether the countries through which the canals were built, that is, Egypt and Panama in particular, did not have a greater right to the canals than foreign companies. Her response was: these countries receive part of the profit created by the canals and, in addition, certain predetermined sums of indemnization payments. I wasn’t satisfied with the answer. I wanted to know what would happen if one day these countries were to deny ships the right to use the canals to protect their sovereign property rights. Miss Johnson said that could never happen, since those countries were too weak in terms of military and economic power. They would never be able to defend themselves against the superpowers of the U.S., England, France, the Netherlands, Italy, and Belgium. She said that I was to sit down quietly and stop asking questions, as I was disrupting the regular lessons with completely useless questions.

  When I got back to my room, I took out an atlas and studied the maps more carefully. I specifically looked at them in terms of existing canals—and canals that still could and should be built. And you know, Holved, since then, geography has been the subject that has interested me most.”

  “And you never said a word about all this to me?” asked Holved.

  “Why should I have? You never asked me what interested me in school. You’ve also never asked me what I do when I’m alone at home.”

  “Sometimes, when I look at you, Aslan, I think I don’t really know you at all and that I don’t know in the least what goes on in your head,” said Holved, scrutinizing not only her face but her whole person.

  “You see, my reasons for doing this project are much deeper. Right now, we are helplessly caught in a messed-up and terribly confused ideology that deals almost solely with the possibility of war. Maybe once it goes public, this plan will shake up people’s convictions and give them new ideas.”

  “Aslan, you are wonderful, truly amazing. I don’t understand a single word of what you’re saying so eloquently. But I love listening to you. Go on, my dear. Continue. Your voice always enchants me. It’s so soft, such a melodious sound, like—just like—”

  “I know. It sounds like a gong made from pure bronze mixed with plenty of gold and silver and with quite a bit of crystal included for good measure. I know. I know everything. Tell me something new! I would prefer that. Something absolutely new. For example, that you love me more than life.”

  “That is nothing new. That’s been going on for three years.”

  “But you know, Holved, a woman can’t hear it often enough. You say it five hundred times and then a woman will ask you to say it just one more time.”

  “All right, then. I’ll say it just one more time: I love you more than ever.”

  Holved used the same words as he said goodbye at Idlewild airport to fly to Indonesia. In the meantime, the Atlantic-Pacific Transit Corporation had been lawfully registered as the security act prescribed. Their shares could now be traded on the stock exchange. However, not many shares appeared on the market, since the initial public offering was largely taken. As long as nothing specific of the company’s plans was known you would not expect that the shares changed owners for purposes of speculation. Everyone waited in cases like this. For now, it was not necessary to have new shares registered to offer to the public.

  Then a short article appeared in the business section of several newspapers in New York, Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. It said that the APTC planned to build a great canal, which was expected to make shipping easier and would, most important, contribute to keeping shipping costs low in spite of increasingly expensive logistics.

  The people who read this article—mostly bankers and industrial executives—asked, for starters, who the APTC was, since the company was entirely unknown, and who its founders were. These people had little interest in the company’s plans. They were much more interested in finding out whether they could perhaps play the market with the shares of this new company.

  Whoever else read the article, thought—if they thought anything at all—that it was a canal somewhere in the interior of the country, probably in the area of the Great Lakes up north. No one paid any attention to the article, since a canal was built every few weeks. Such a canal was often only of local importance and mainly served the interests of a group of industrial enterprise
s. The article received so little attention that no companies even asked to receive contracts for building materials for the canal.

  Though Holved was well-known as a serious and trustworthy businessman in industry and banking circles, he never sought the spotlight. Neither in business nor in society did he try to be the center of attention. He had never been involved in a scandal. Even his divorces had not received any public attention.

  Aslan’s case was very different. Several times she had commanded the spotlight; for example, when she had inherited yet another huge fortune and was dubbed “the American princess of inheritances.” It cost Aslan a lot of effort to escape reporters and photographers, but she was always successful. In fact, she was so adept at avoiding the newspaper columns filled with boring society gossip that even her marriage to Holved had remained and would continue to be a secret.

  Therefore, it was understandable that more than seventy reporters showed up for a reception she had called in a small conference room of the Waldorf Hotel. The members of the press were greatly interested in the champagne cocktail, but far more excited to find out what Aslan would share with them. The reporters were betting among themselves—and they did not bother to whisper—that Aslan would finally announce the name of her fiancé, and that the lucky man must undoubtedly be one of the five hundred sons of deposed emperors, kings, dukes, counts, and earls offered for twenty thousand dollars on the open market. Not even ten reporters would have shown up had they known that her announcement merely concerned a business affair barely interesting enough to fill a hole in the general text of the newspaper. Meanwhile, the engagement of the “American princess of inheritances” would be enough for half a newspaper page.

  The reporters downed their cocktails like water, barely setting down their empty glasses before grabbing another from the server, who looked as sad and serious as an undertaker. You don’t get champagne cocktails every day, especially not made with Madame Cliquot. Not to mention for free. You could hear the reporters clamoring from miles away. It was not ten minutes before the hotel detective appeared in the doorway.

  As an answer, they offered him a cocktail, which convinced him immediately that he was dealing with decent human beings and not gangsters with drawn revolvers. Several of the relatively peaceful reporters began attacking each other with their fists under the increasing influence of the downright indescribably exquisite cocktails. They accused each other of having copied certain reports and articles and having sold them under their own names.

  At that exact moment, Aslan appeared through a door that had been completely overlooked. A uniformed servant opened the door, bowing deeply. Aslan entered with a smile that two reporters—male, of course, not female—described as “otherworldly.”

  To magnify the effect of her entrance, she remained standing in the open doorway for several seconds. Her large, dark eyes swept across those in attendance so cleverly that each reporter thought she had looked at them and no one else. As if everyone had turned to stone, deathly silence fell in the room. After the earsplitting clamor and chatter, its effect was uncanny.

  Then thunderous applause exploded. Nodding to all sides and maintaining her veiled, secretive Mona Lisa smile, Aslan stepped into the room. She was surrounded by seventy sensationalist producers and libel inventors, who held their notebooks, pencils, and pens as if God had appeared in a cloud to declare new commandments.

  Mr. Talker, of the gossip and smear column, moved so close to Aslan that he could cleverly press against her curves without her noticing, due to the pressure of the crowd.

  Mr. Barker, however, observed this cheap move by Talker and later said to him when they were alone: “Your specialty is the touch maneuver?”

  “We all do what we can,” Talker answered, “and if you wait too long to do things in life, you won’t ever be happy.”

  “Talker, you are such a pig,” said Barker.

  Talker pursed his lips and grunted: “Pig or not. That’s just a name. A pig is more decent than a human being if you ask me.”

  Cruel fate had made a hotel waiter out of the dignified descendant of a count. The latter presented Aslan with a silver tray, bowing so gallantly that she had only to lift her fingertips slightly to take a glass.

  Aslan lifted her filled glass and glanced around the room. She lightly toasted the reporter who stood closest and downed her entire drink. The aristocratic gentleman, who looked more dignified than all of the reporters present taken together, approached Aslan and passed her the tray in such a way that she had only to open her fingers this time and the glass slid onto the surface.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press.” Aslan now addressed her guests in such a calm voice that it appeared as though she spoke in front of such crowds daily. “Ladies and gentlemen, the information I wish to pass on to you is short, clear, and definite. As some of you might know, I am president of the recently registered Atlantic-Pacific Transit Corporation. In addition, you might know that due to the number of shares I own, I have decision-making influence on the plans and activities of said corporation and intend to make more use of this than ever. Based on my proposal, the corporation has decided to build a canal that is to connect the Atlantic Ocean across the North American continent with the Pacific Ocean. This canal will make the Panama Canal redundant, at least where the United States is concerned. I would like to invite everyone interested in our project, whether they are Americans or not, to participate morally and financially by supporting this plan, which is necessary and useful for the common good. Ladies and gentlemen of the press, that is all I have to say. I thank you for your kind attention—please enjoy your cocktails. Thank you very much!”

  With those words, Aslan disappeared soundlessly and unexpectedly. The reporters stared at one another in astonishment. The photographers grew antsy when they realized that they had forgotten to take photos of Aslan. Everything had happened too fast, because everyone had been busy thinking about whom Aslan would name as her fiancé.

  Three men jumped acrobatically to the door, tore it open, and yelled after her: “And the engagement? When is the wedding? Who is the lucky guy, Miss Norval?”

  Miss Norval was already sitting in a taxi that was driving away at that very moment.

  10.

  Aslan’s name and her canal project ran in capital letters across the front pages of the evening and morning papers. Several articles reported on Aslan’s project. Up until now only a great catastrophe with hundreds of victims would have managed to get as much attention from the media.

  For six consecutive days, one could not read anything about a rebellion in the Ukraine, nothing about the impending overthrow of a man named Khrushchev, about a conspiracy against the Egyptian prime minister, nor about Mexican student unrest influenced by Russian spies. One could not find anything about a supposed sighting of a Russian submarine fifty miles off the coast of New York, nothing about workers’ unrest in Poland, Latvia, Hungary, and East Germany, artificially spurred on by fascist traitors, nothing about the unavoidable collapse of China, nor about the American president’s cold, which shook the New York Stock Exchange.

  Instead, the newspapers had something incredibly important to report, something tangible, something utterly useful, even if it seemed quixotic at first, which excited the readers even more. For a week, the newspaper directors forgot to sling mud at other countries and their governments for daring to have different opinions and for cultivating their land as they saw fit.

  Letters addressed to the very honorable editor flooded the newspaper agencies. Half of the letter writers declared Aslan’s idea crazy and demanded that the authorities commit her to a psychiatric institution immediately to prevent further spawning of her delusions. The other half praised Aslan as the twentieth century’s most notable genius, whose plan had to be implemented immediately, preferably tomorrow, even if it were to push the United States into bankruptcy. All week, the newspapers discussed the pros and cons as well as the feasibility of the project. The initial result
was an increasing demand for APTC shares. While the canal project captured the public’s imagination, the daily reports prophesying the political and economic collapse of the U.S.S.R. stopped, as if they had died of old age.

  During the next board meeting, Aslan proposed to increase capital by another billion dollars and to issue a second set of shares on the market. She was sure, she assured the board, that the shares would sell like hotcakes.

  “Isn’t that a little risky, Miss Norval?” asked the banker, Mr. Brady.

  “Not at all, Mr. Brady. If General Motors could successfully expand their program by a billion dollars six years ago, then we can do the same thing.”

  “Don’t forget General Motors has immense assets, Miss Norval.”

  “I am not forgetting that. However, you must admit that not all assets are material. An invention is also a real asset. We can realize our idea with energy and unshakable determination.”

  The board approved Aslan’s proposal unanimously. The newspapers took note of the board’s decision, of course, and as Aslan had expected, the canal project again received much public attention.

  Up to that point, no expert had determined with certainty whether building such a canal was even feasible. What’s more, it was unclear how the company was to obtain the many billions of dollars necessary for the construction of such a long and wide canal. Certain circles, motivated by envy and self-interest, tried to stop the project. They saw the lack of satisfactory answers to these questions as an opportunity to launch a smear campaign. In tactful but no uncertain terms, they accused the APTC of fraud against their shareholders.