II
Where can he be? His birthplace? Germany? The Bronx? Teaching at Harvard? Bolling Air Force officers club? The State Department? The Oval Office?
A Cairo Egyptian night club “nee North Hollywood’s hoinky tonk”, head lining a belly dancer, that’s where momma. You’ll find Henry, chasing an aphrodisiac.
Those swinging Maurice Ravel’s’”Bolero”hijinks had the former intelligence top dog and Secretary of State tapping his feet. He may not have been Madeline Albright’s soul mate but then again she was appointed by Bill Clinton.
In Henry’s case his nod of approval came from “Tricky” Dick Nixon.
But his role models Cordell Hull Dean Acheson Dean Rusk were in the Anthony Eden mold.
III
Yet sitting there in this Cairo belly wiggling club, contemplating Colonel Khadafi’s fate..”My son my son” playing out
Khadafi’s sons an extension of their father’s 4 decades of his grip on tribal Arabs. Nothing that Peter O’Toole could foretaste on his camel “Lawrence of Arabia”, a Sam Spiegel David Lean epic.
IV
The belly dancer no longer resting on her hippy hips,”The Bolero” classical energies ,Ravel’s arrangement bringing the body contortions to its culmination. Never having rapport with a belly dancer’s body&soul, it was imposs-iblee for the German immigrant from the Bronx to empathize with the perspiring “Gilda” hanging at the velvet rope, within his ring side vision..
“Princess you’re an exotic flower.”.....extending his hand, pushing out a chair.
“You are exquisite, “he said “Where did you learn all those moves? Not in the Libya no flight zone. I’m sure.”
V
Speaking in the same fluid motion as her hips “Monsieur. your face is familiar.
“No bull!. But weren’t you the head honcho.....?“Morris Evening High? In the Bronx?/”
“ I knew we met before on the planet” said the beauty as the former bureaucrat calibrated the brelly dancer’s vibes with his own visceral profundities in a”Five graces to Cairo” .
“ Divine providence A smal world,”said the Bronx educated statuesque dancer.
Maurice Ravel never anticipating how his rhythms went beyond the surface.
VI
“A dry martini,” the waiter responding to Henry’s cue beyond trhe velvet rope.
the diplomat extorting his tact.
“Monsieur,” said his guest demurely “What do you think of the no fly zone? Would it instigate a complexity beyond the refugee problem. The Egyptians pouring into Tunisia. Would it not exacerbate the problem. The Rebels retaining Ben Gazi, Tripoli ‘s wagons being encircled by the Colonel’s militia”.
“Tear gas heavy weapons Izzy made machine guns.”
The head master from Morris Evening High before he put his sights on Cambridge, Massachusetts, a mentor for undergraduates. “This lady is a Mata Hari in disguise,”said the former aide to Halderman&Erlichman of Ucla’s fraternity row,campus Gold Key..
“This Bronx educated belly dancer transcends Ravel’s “Bolero”.
Noithing meandering about the orchestration of the movements by this lady’s divine interpretation.
It was all in synch. Big serendipity, neighbor.
VII
A feat which no worldly man no less a Secretary of State could ignore. Not wanting to pry into her Cairo metamorphosis.
“What are you doing here”? He took it for granted this big souled human was stretching her ”You have to lose yourself to find yourself”.
Calibrating her Bronx reality to the riddle of the Sphinx and the pyramids. Who can deny her thrust unto the Pharaoh led Hebrew enslavement reality scene.
VIII
Our allies..NATO, nations like Italy, England, Germany, France and sanctions by the United Nations Security Council..Avoid staggering human losses.
“Unarmed rebels ,”said the former headmaster from Morris evening high school.
“Humanitarian cause de profundo.!”
“ But Henry vision didn’t mesh with the “no fly zone”, he said, sipping his martini, the olive spear headed by a toothpick.
”On land at sea, our carrier and choppers thru the canal. But the carnage is a no brainer. The bottom line .”
“Right? Right, neighbor.”
IX
Sharing their drinks like it was ye olde timers day, the aging bureaucrat thinking how this “Gilda like Rita Hayworth rehearsing her wiggling stance.
“I’m ready for my closeup, Henry”
“Reading your mind Professor, I learned my wiggle from my grandmother. She was a starlet six decades ago. Hanging out with Terry Moore. Her ex she said was “Slim” Howard Hughes. Her current boy friend was Glen Davis of Army gridiron fame...Davis and Felix Blachard...does that give you the Joe Friday information highway, Henry?”she asked..
X
“You come a long way since your granny's yesterdays,” said the former head master, supping his dry martini down to the olive. “But where do you stand on the no fly zone?. Isn’t hat what’s it’s about,” To stop Colonel Khadafi and his “My son my son” in there tracks before mayhem strikes the rebels in Tripoli?”
Henry Kissinger of German immigration ancestry from the Bronx and the American Egyptian belly dancer knew in their souls that time was running out...the seredntipity and the divine presence of the two humans was casting a long shadow on the Libyan rebellion to the east.
Could the belly dancer’s gyrations restore Allah back into the Libyan marketplace?.
Wasn’t that what Henry Kissinger was all about .neighbors?
“En garde..... Colonel Khadafi!”
A honky tonk in Cairo, the air raid sirens blaring in the Libyan distance,
March 4,2011.
