Ana hovered outside the gates to the Agdal Embassy, dressed in her smartest interview outfit, her makeup scrubbed off and her stilettoes replaced by a pair of comfortable soft shoes. Now she had actually arrived in Honey, having disembarked off the bus and finally identified which of the palatial buildings was the Embassy, her nerves were deserting her. The fear of disappointment was greater than that she’d ever felt for a job interview. Not only her happiness but that of Binta’s rested on the outcome of her endeavour. What would they do, as Ana dreaded and almost expected, if they were not eligible for political asylum? However, there was no turning back. She was trapped by her need to report back on the outcome of her visit. She rang the brass doorbell, and stood back, her heart thumping as it chimed. How long would she have to wait?

Not long at all, as it happened, as a uniformed guard approached the gate. He scrutinised Ana. “Have you got an appointment?” he enquired, looking at a list he had attached to a clipboard. Breathlessly Ana nodded. Azhnia had warned her that Agdal non-nationals like her were unlikely to be readily admitted otherwise.

“Name?” the guard asked. Ana gave her full name and watched as the guard studied his list. The telephone call she had made to the Embassy had seemed so inconclusive. She couldn’t believe that the brusque secretary who answered had actually taken down her details, but all was fine. Her name was on the list. The guard ticked it off with a pen and opened the gate to let Ana through.

“Amnesty from Oppression, isn’t it? We get a lot of you political asylum people here. Right bunch of weirdos. You’re not one, are you?” Ana shook her head. If there were so many others, how much chance did she and Binta stand? “Anyway, we’ve got someone to see you. I’ll take you to reception to wait for her. You’re very early, you know.”

Ana was fully aware of this. In fact she was early by more than an hour. But after taking a whole day off work, she really had nothing else to do all morning. Her pacing backwards and forwards across the flat, endlessly rehearsing her case, had worn her out. The only thing she could do to break out of this was to pack her handbag and rush down the stairs to the bus.

She was led into a waiting room just past the main reception desk where a small number of people were sitting in comfortable leather armchairs, while efficient-looking receptionists sat in front of monitors with small headphones in their ears. She was sure those waiting were Agdal nationals, although there was nothing in their appearance that distinguished them from anyone else, unless it was their self-confident demeanour. They were not obviously naturists or homosexuals, although there was no way of knowing what they might look like at other times.

In the waiting room, unfamiliar magazines were stacked on a small wooden table surrounded by beige leather armchairs. A portrait on the wall of the woman president of Agdal peered down between two identical flags. She looked refreshingly informal and relaxed in comparison to the countless portraits of President Marmeluke in his military finery prominent in all the cafés and shops of Alif. She would normally have found the magazines fascinating with their unedited pictures and articles about life not only in Agdal, but also in Alif and many other countries she knew nothing about. There was a freshness and openness about them, not least in the ubiquitous presence of naked flesh, and the unashamedness in which people of the same sex were portrayed as couples. Her eyes darted agitatedly about. Every footfall in the corridor silenced her breath, as she waited the door to open.

She wasn’t alone. There was an elderly gentleman reading beneath a No Smoking sign, and a mother and young child sitting together with some toys which the child kept poking into her mother’s face. They did not stay for very long, however. They were escorted out by one or other of the efficient receptionists, and soon Ana was alone, pretending to read an article about a famine in a remote corner of Alif of which she had previously been totally unaware.

Eventually, just after the appointed hour, her turn came. A tall receptionist entered in a very smart suit and with very short hair. Perhaps appreciating Ana’s nervousness, she smiled quite warmly.

“The Amnesty Facilitator will see you now.”

Ana looked at her blankly.

“The Amnesty Facilitator. The political asylum officer, if you like. Come on! She hasn’t all day.”

Ana nodded shyly, stood up and followed the receptionist down a series of carpeted corridors to an office hidden deep inside the Embassy’s labyrinth. She was ushered in and introduced to a woman in her early thirties, dressed in an open-necked blouse, seated behind a large desk and under another portrait of the Agdal president. The receptionist disappeared, leaving Ana standing awkwardly by the door, her handbag clasped to her front.

The Amnesty Facilitator also had very short hair, with long earrings dangling from her ears and a small stud in her nose. She smiled broadly. “Hello, Ana. My name’s Wahata.” She proffered her hand across the desk. Ana strode forward and shook it. “You can sit. How can I help you?”

“I’m ... er ... we’d ... We would like ...”

Wahata smiled sympathetically, and glanced at a sheet of paper in front of her. “You want to apply for assistance on our Amnesty from Oppression Programme, I gather. What are your reasons? I note that you work for the State Brothel. Is that the reason?”

“Well, yes. Er ... no. It’s for me and my lover. We’re both at the Brothel ...”

“And you’re both prostitutes are you? Is your lover male or female?”

Ana had never been asked such a question so baldly before. It shocked her momentarily, but she reasoned that there was no reason for pretence here. “Female. She’s a prostitute. I’m not. Well, not really. But I am, as well. And we wondered if ... we wondered ...”

“You’re both prostitutes. You have a gay relationship.”

“Gay?”

“Yes. It’s an Agdal term for homosexuality. I don’t believe it’s current in Alif. Is your lover voluntarily a prostitute?”

“No, not at all.”

“Is she a prisoner, then?”

“Yes. For ... for ... sex crime.”

“What category of sex crime? Practising homosexuality?”

Ana nodded. Wahata wrote down a few notes on a sheet of paper. “Gay couple. One imprisoned in a Brothel for lesbianism. And you? Are you voluntarily a prostitute?”

Ana shook her head. “No, not really. I didn’t want to. I work there mostly as a secretary. But my boss ... the Director ... he ...”

“Would you say you’ve been coerced into it as a result of your sexual preferences?”

Ana nodded. “Yes. Coerced. I’m sure that’s the word.”

Wahata scribbled a little bit more. “All too common in your country, I’m afraid. Particularly for women. And are there any other practices or activities that you and your lover participate in which would make you eligible for assistance under our programme?”

Ana frowned. What could she say? “What kind of practices or activities?”

“Political ones, for instance. Have you ever been arrested at political demonstrations? Have you ever circulated illegal literature? Has either of you practised any activity which is perfectly legal and acceptable in Agdal, but not at all in Alif?”

Ana blanched. “I can’t think of anything that ...” She remembered Ketaba’s own peculiar enthusiasms for Agdal. “Binta’s a naturist, though. That’s acceptable in Agdal and not in Alif.”

“It is indeed. There aren’t many staff here at the Embassy who consider themselves naturists and those who do are male. I’m not one myself, but for those who practise it, it’s almost a religion. Are you a naturist yourself?”

Ana felt obliged to strengthen her case as much as possible. “Er ... yes. Yes, I am.”

Wahata scribbled another note. “It doesn’t make much difference in your case whether you are or not. I think your case already sounds quite strong. However, every little extra helps. There may be some among those evaluating your case who might be further swung on that basis. So, if I can summarise. You are two lesbian lovers coerced into prostitution by the Republic of Alif for your sexual preferences, who are also naturists as much as it is possible to be in your country. Would you agree with that summary?”

Ana nodded without a great deal of satisfaction. It wasn’t exactly how she would have liked the complexities of her life described.

“Yes. I’m sure that’s exactly right. Do we really have a strong case?”

Wahata smiled. “I wouldn’t say you have the strongest I’ve come across. Those who are more public in their political activities always get the highest ratings. If you had been tortured, imprisoned without trial or about to be expelled, then you could probably expect priority treatment. I take it that you are not politically active in any way?”

Ana shook her head. “I don’t really know anything about politics.”

“It’s a wonder anyone does in Alif. President Marmeluke’s government doesn’t believe in keeping its citizens particularly well informed. However, your case is far stronger than most who come here hoping to be eligible for patriation. Some like you for their sexual proclivities, others because they, well, feel that life would simply be better for them in a more liberal country, and others I suspect who are simply attracted to the free access to alcohol and other such soft drugs. Most such applicants are unsuccessful, however. And the tendency in recent years has been for rather fewer cases to succeed. Agdal has mostly resolved its labour shortage problems and there have been expressions of discontent from a sizeable minority of Agdal nationals at the perceived influx of foreigners - especially those who are most culturally distinct and don’t speak the same language. Especially, I’m afraid, those from countries like Haj. Not that this would present a problem to people from Alif like you and your lover. Now, if I may take some more particulars which can be used by our Amnesty Investigators in pursuit of your application ...”

Wahata then proceeded to ask a number of formal questions about Ana and Binta, such as where they came from, what relatives they might have in Agdal, formal qualifications, their history of oppression, and their political and religious views. Some of the questions relating to their sexual activities and past partners were particularly embarrassing and awkward for Ana to answer, though she tried to answer as fully as she could. No, she hadn’t contracted any sexually transmitted diseases. No, she wasn’t a drug addict. Yes, she was prepared to accept that none of her family could emigrate to stay with her, unless they could be proven to be her own children. No, she had no children. Yes, she was willing to abide by all the laws of the Republic of Agdal , and would accept immediate repatriation in the event of any such transgression. Wahata wrote down Ana’s replies with efficiency and haste on a glossy printed form she had in front of her.

At last, Wahata was finished. She folded over the final page of the form, and replaced the top of her pen.

“I think that should be sufficient. Now, I can, of course, give you no assurance at all about how favourably your application will be received, and it is fair to say that it is not an immediate process. Our investigators will have to do some work to be sure that what you have told me is honest and truthful, and that your continued stay in Alif would be intolerable to an Agdal national. My opinion, for what it is worth, is that your case will be assessed favourably, but I cannot say when a decision will be arrived at.”

“How long might we have to wait till we know?” asked Ana breathlessly. The suspense would be terrible, and the longer the wait that much greater the possible disappointment.

Wahata glanced back at her form. “Your lover, Binta, is due to be released in, let’s see, just two months. It’s not likely that she will have any remission for good behaviour, is it?”

Ana shook her head. From her capacity as secretary to the Director she was privy to the fact that Ana had not been deemed to have earned a single day’s remission from her sentence, unlike Ferhana whose term had been dramatically shortened for her cooperativeness and the quality of the services she had supplied for the Brothel. But then Ferhana’s original sentence had originally been considerably longer than Binta’s.

Wahata scratched her chin. “I think we will probably know the result, one way or another, well within two months. Rather sooner, I’m afraid, if your case is unsuccessful. Now, I needn’t have to remind you that we expect total discretion from you regarding your application while we process it. The Alif government has a very unsympathetic attitude towards its nationals whom it suspects are applying for assistance under our programme. They have frequently made complaints, often at the highest level, about what they perceive as an open door to criminals and the antisocial element. They say that it undermines the effectiveness of the justice system if criminals can just walk out of the country for a new life. They also find it embarrassing that other countries, such as Agdal, should express such a low opinion of their legal system to the extent of extending sympathy towards offenders. Should word get out that you have applied to us in this way, it would be extremely prejudicial to your case.”

“How would that be?”

“Well, we would probably have to withdraw any offer of asylum that we may give or have already given. You and your lover would probably be arrested for interrogation by your less than sympathetic police department, who would probably find grounds for imprisoning you. They don’t need an actual reason for doing so, but they would do all they consider necessary to ensure you were not in a position to leave the country. I have personally known some very distressing incidents regarding applicants whose current whereabouts it is now impossible to ascertain. I suspect they may even have been consigned to labour camps in the rather more inhospitable corners of Alif.”

“How were they found out?”

“I can’t say. Even were I to know, which I don’t in most instances, I am bound by the confidentiality of my position to say nothing which could even indirectly identify anyone who has applied for Amnesty. What I would say is that as soon as you even telephoned the Embassy you had committed an offence in the eyes of your government which they would not treat lightly. I’m afraid your decision to come has already set you down a difficult path with regards to the Alif government which the success or otherwise of your application will not effect. It is for that reason that I will issue you with a wealth of information on tourist interest rates, five star hotels and visa requirements. If anyone ever mentions anything to you regarding Agdal or this Embassy you will say that you came here to inquire about holidaying in some of our resorts. Not, as it happens, at all unlikely, because you are unlikely to be able to gain any information about tourism in Agdal from any other source. Alif’s travel agencies are notoriously unhelpful, I’m afraid. Most visits to the Embassy from Alif nationals relate precisely to that. You will, of course, tell Binta to be equally as circumspect.”

Ana nodded her head. It hadn’t occurred to her that she had already put herself at so much risk. “I’m sure Binta won’t say a word.”

“I’m sure she won’t. Nor you, of course. Gay people in Alif are accustomed to hiding information about themselves from other people, and this will be just an extra secret for you to keep.”

Ana examined the woman to whom she had so soon surrendered her entire future. What was she like when she wasn’t working? Was she someone who in a different capacity she could perhaps have got to know as a friend? Ana knew she liked her. Even found her quite attractive. But these considerations were totally irrelevant. Her main hope was that Wahata should use whatever weight she might have in the processing of her case for it to result in her favour.

“Now, for security purposes - yours as well as ours, I’m afraid - you must never return to the Embassy again. You must not contact us either. We’re sure that many of our calls are intercepted, and I hope you didn’t contact us from your work telephone number.”

Ana shook her head, although the reason she’d not done so was less from security considerations and more from the fact she could never know when someone would come into the office while she was on the telephone.

“We will contact you. Don’t contact us, however much you feel like doing so. When you hear from us, this will probably be an anonymous phone call, and whoever it is, male or female, will use a woman’s name. In your case, it will be, let’s see ...” Wahata rummaged through some papers she had on the desk. “It will be ... Kerhala. It will be in the discretion of whoever calls you how that word will be used. The contact will inform you where to go and at what time. Ensure that you can make it. If you can’t, for whatever reason, say so immediately and an alternative will be promptly suggested. Do not prolong the telephone call and do not suggest that you don’t know the person who is calling. Is that understood?”

Ana nodded. These elaborate arrangements were not ones she’d expected. “Kerhala,” she repeated.

“Yes, Kerhala. A common enough name, you must agree. Now, Ana, our formal interview is over. I think I’ve gathered all I need to know, unless you have some other piece of information you think is relevant. Is there anything?”

Ana frowned. Was there? She reviewed her situation as best as she could in the whirl of thoughts jumbling about in her head. She shook her head. “I’m sure there’s nothing.”

“Sure?” prompted Wahata. “Okay! In that case, perhaps I can tell you a few things about Agdal. What do you know about our country?”

“Not very much. A friend of mine from the Brothel goes on holiday there quite frequently and I met someone from Gharab who’s travelled through it. I’ve seen photographs of the beaches and mountains. They look splendid!”

“Yes. Agdal is blessed with beautiful scenery and a very pleasant warm climate. Slightly less arid than Alif, particularly on the coast, and some mountains are permanently covered in snow. Agdal’s tourism industry is very profitable - quite the envy of Alif, which has never really fully exploited its tourist potential. It’s also a much more built up country than Alif, which you probably won’t know from talking to tourists nor indeed from reading the tourist literature I’ll give you. Alif has only one city of any size: Blad. Most of your other cities are rather tiny by comparison to those in Agdal. The likelihood is that if you were successful in your application, you’d be living in a town. Possibly one as large as Blad or even larger. I see you are a country girl. Rif , you said you came from. Does the prospect of living in a town like Blad again trouble you?”

“I don’t know. Both Binta and I would prefer to live in the country again. But, if there were no choice, we would be happy to live in a city in Agdal. After all, in Alif, there’s probably nowhere other than Blad we could live.”

“Indeed not,” agreed Wahata. “Even in Alif, cities are generally more tolerant towards people who do not conform in one way or another. I warn you though that Agdal’s cities are much more congested and busy than Blad. That might be a little difficult to cope with. In comparison, Blad is a dozy quiet place. I certainly think so, anyway. My home in Agdal is in the capital city and I often miss the buzz of Agdal urban life. However, where there are more people there are more jobs, and I think you’ll find that the opportunities for employment are somewhat better than they are in Alif, particularly for a secretary with your qualifications. You got quite good grades in your exams, I remember you saying.”

“Yes. But there weren’t many jobs, though.”

“No. It doesn’t surprise me you had to work at the Brothel. I’m sure prostitution and its allied industries wouldn’t be nearly as prevalent in your country if Alif women had more career opportunities. As you probably know, Agdal is a relatively wealthy country. The change in government that took place in the revolution when I was a child might have initially caused a great deal of chaos, especially when your government so ineptly intervened under President Marmeluke’s deposed predecessor, but Agdal now boasts a very comfortable GDP, a widely envied balance of payments and a stable and prosperous economy. Your own government will never forgive us for how much we have profited from our liberal and open political system. That is why you will never be told very much about Agdal and why your government is so concerned about our Amnesty programme. A mass exodus of your brightest and best would not do your country’s benighted economy any good whatsoever.”

“Doesn’t having alcohol legal in Agdal cause any problems?”

Wahata laughed. “Of course it does. When you allow a degree of freedom there are bound to be problems. Yes, we have alcoholics. We have a problem with other activities legal in Agdal and illegal in Alif. Sexually transmitted diseases among the promiscuous, particularly in male homosexual communities. Drug addiction. Pornography. Pollution. Car accidents. Agdal’s not paradise. Don’t believe that for one minute. Prosperity and liberalism bring their own problems, and there are plenty in Agdal who argue for a return to a more conservative regime such Alif’s. My own opinions are fairly irrelevant on these issues, but I wouldn’t say that people in Alif are that much happier for being prevented from doing things than people in Agdal are for having the choice. And anyway, I don’t think making something illegal actually stops it happening. Alcohol is still drunk in Alif. Homosexuality is still practised. And although pornography is illegal, Alif is actually one of the world’s biggest exporters of the stuff as a sideline to its profitable State Brothels.”

“Do you have brothels in Agdal?”

“Oh yes. We have them in Agdal. There may actually be more prostitutes in Agdal than in Alif - but then there are rather more people. However, prostitution is not nationalised as it is in Alif, and statistically very few people pursue it as a career for more than a few months. It is scarcely the job for life that it appears to be here.”

Wahata glanced at her watch. “Well, I’m terribly sorry, but I have another appointment in a few minutes, so I’ll have to close the interview.” She opened a drawer to the desk and pulled out a plastic folder full of brochures and leaflets. “This is the tourist information I told you about. Go to the reception desk, and you will be shown out through a back exit which will rather lessen the likelihood of you having been seen visiting the Embassy. Remember, don’t contact us. We will definitely be contacting you. One way or another.” She stood up, prompting Ana to do the same. “Well, goodbye. And give my best regards to your partner.”