Short Story: We are United

Scattered pages. Shuffling feet. The screech of sliding chairs.

The once empty hall is now being inundated with people.

The 15 all-men council, stood around the horse shoe table waiting for the instruction to sit down. It was ‘customary’ but one would question why grown men would require direction to sit, especially if they were so powerful and so important. On the table in front of each man lay a placard, with their country names, instead of their own, engraved on them. Behind the delegates stand their staff, a lanyard with a tag collared around each of their necks – they would wait until the council sat before they would dare to sit – it was ‘respectful’ for them to wait. Their duty was to assist the needs of the more important delegates, yet there was no frustration on their faces, or smiles for that matter, just blank expressionless looks.

At the back of the conference hall, a mural towered over all the members, a phoenix the central figure. It was pure white and stood above its previous body, reborn out of the ashes. It was to be a sign that the world would be resurrected, returning once more, slightly different, minutely changed. Above it, a vesica piscis, the centre of two spheres intersecting with each other. Inside, our tainted history was drawn – the tree that bore fruit, the snake that tempted and the man that betrayed. It was fear that generated the necessity of a reminder – for you only had to look at the division in the room to know that true unity could not exist regardless of the circumstance.

The left side of the horse shoe is curtained by a wall of red ties. The right is mirrored by a wealth of blue; on the left end stands the delegate for the USSR whilst the right end is spacious enough for the delegate of the USA.

Yet no one pays any attention to them right now, it is the man with a beret that has the focus of all the shifting, beady eyes. His moustache, which curls at both ends, bounces up and down as he speaks with a soft accent, “Honourable Delegates, you may sit. The Security Council session is now in order. Today we will continue the deliberation of resolution 1984 on the International Situation of Domestic Security, also known as Intersit Dosec”

“Yesterday we started with an un-moderated caucus. For those in favour of an un-moderated caucus of an hour, please say For”.

The delegates around the room one by one, as their country name is called out, echoes “For”.

“An un-moderated caucus is now in motion. You have one hour”

The screech of chairs is heard again; this time sharper than before.  

The Australian delegate knew who to greet first – their greatest ally. The man browned slightly by the sun, roughened by his country, approaches the other whom is larger and more significant than any other. They were friends and had gone way back to the colonial days – oh those were the times. Yet, no one could deny the balls of sweat emerging from the Australian man’s skin, or the outreached hand, that trembles for just a second.

The delegate for the USA glances at his friend’s hand and then away, murmuring “Go bother someone useful to us”. These words were all that were spoken in greeting. The bubble of a man wanders off, brushing past his friend’s hand.  No further word was spoken as he pushes into the crowd to make friends with the enemy, for friendships that existed required no forging. The delegate for Australia is not shocked, yet is not happy either; he is expressionless much like the delegate staff.

His hand, still outreached is not left there for too long, however. A man with squinty eyes and a wispy beard, which can only be described as a tuft of hair, plunges his hand into the gap. The red has made its first move.

With a thick Asian accent and in broken English, he asks “Good day… sir. You… vote...for?”

The Australian man replies with a nod and steps 3 spaces away. Mingling with them he could not understand. Did his friend not understand that they could all be corrupted by the red regime? Would it not be easier to walk away and converse with those more supportive of their cause? There is not  much he can do to question what the delegate of the USA wants, however.  It didn’t help, of course, that those 3 steps only moved him closer to the left.

He had bumped into the delegate for the USSR and is now frozen in his footsteps. A rather burly man turns around, his thick eyebrows raised for a slight second.

“Mate, didn’t mean to bump ya. Sorry if it hurt”

In a thick deep voice he replies “It’s alright my friend. You mean no harm”

A fresh scent of vodka lingers in the air.  

He was too nice, too kind. Their kind would never be so submissive to a westerner, he thought. They were commies; the brutes of the east. Aggressive and suspicious, they could not be trusted. He had to be cautious now; he would never win an assault on the alpha dog. He nods politely and steps back several spaces back but a hand clasps around his neck.

It squeezes, lightly at first and then much stronger becoming a firm grip as the delegate for the USA pushes his piece back into position.

“Ahh, my old friend”

The delegates for the USA and the USSR step forward to shake each other’s hands, smiling warmly to each other, their eyes disappearing from view. As they step back the American man glares back at his subordinate squeezing tighter than before; his nails digging deeper into his friend’s neck.

“It seems we’re all agreeing on passing this resolution. You know how much we all care about security and…making sure the people are safe” the Australian manages to say.

“DELEGATES, PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR SEATS”

The clutched hand releases its grip from his shoulder and the delegate from Australia, fearful of doing anymore wrong, quickly returns to his seat.

There was a clear absence of clocks in the council room. Had an hour really passed that quickly? It felt more like minutes, did it not? If only time could tell…
No one knew if it was day or night either, for there was a lack of any windows. Could the night have already claimed the city? They could not say for sure. Only when they were released outside could they wander the perils of darkness.  It was all under the command of France now.

“All those in favour of passing resolution 1984 on Intersit Dosec please say For”

“For…For…For…”

“The resolution has passed with 15 For and no Against”

The delegates arise from their seats, the reds following the delegate for the USSR and the blues following the delegate for the USA. Media has just gathered outside the hall and now is the perfect opportunity to show their resurrected unity.

His stomach reaches out as much as his hand does to the Russian delegate. The Russian delegate respectfully copies his gesture, the pungent vodka flowing back across. They both stood there united as one, smiling faces all round. With the entire council behind them they seemed to be overlooking their differences, for once. It was peace at last. A flutter of flashes and snaps ensued – then the press dispersed as fast as they had gathered.

As they turned away from each other, their smiles dropped. Their perked eyebrows flattened and the welcoming faces became rife with disdain. The smiles were no more than just the movement of lips; smug grins of deceit. It wasn’t warm but hotter. It was a smiling contest; their smiles burning into each other’s faces. The handshakes were no more than traditions that were despised as much as they glared at each other.

They separated into their halves of the room, dividing the council once again into two. If only the press had remained. Sitting back in their allocated seats, the screeching was heard once more. Like nails clawing at a blackboard the sound was just as irritating as the first time it was heard. They waited anxiously like children at the end of class. Where they wanted to go, no one would know but it was certain that everyone wanted to leave.

“The Security Council session is now over” announced the man with a beret.

It was a screech of sliding chairs. Feet shuffling. Paper left scattered. The hall is empty once more.

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