The Artificial Mirage by T. Warwick

Author:T. Warwick [Warwick, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-08-20T05:00:00+00:00

17

Saleh had been in Saudi Arabia with his family for more than a week, and yet he still felt the need to interact with the AR renditions of his wives. The renditions could not offer the visceral experience of their soft, ambrosial skin or the sense of their presence. No AR could compete with the experience of real life, and yet every time he made love to them, he would look up at their AR renditions staring back approvingly. He resented feeling dependent on something that fundamentally did not exist. Saudi Arabia was real. His family was real. His business and the money he earned were real. His sons’ acceptance into the best university in Riyadh because of his decision to become Sunni was real. He wanted to believe that everything that stood outside of that was an illusion. But AR was more than a tool—it provided more than an antidote to the desert’s deprivation of the senses with its infinite spectrum of colors. He couldn’t imagine going back to life without it.

It was the night before his nephew’s wedding, and the remnants of a dust storm still hung in the air. The glowing haze of dusty air and headlights obscured the infinite rows of sand-colored concrete walls as he drove past. If it weren’t for the GPS map on the windshield, he would be lost without a landmark to get his bearings. As he approached the entrance, the intensity of the floodlights grew until it was as bright as daytime. Concrete barriers placed at the entrance forced him to slow down and snake his way toward the guard post where two Saudis were sitting inside the booth, drinking tea from small, clear glasses. Reflexively, he flicked his ID pack to the verification icon rotating like a siren above one of their heads. The man smiled with a wave as the steel barrier in front of the car lowered into the street. Once inhabited entirely by Western expats, it had gradually evolved into a community of Saudis. The walls had at one time provided a sanctuary for Western women to walk around without abayas, but now all of the Saudi women wore abayas to avoid the scrutiny of males from other families. They were all of the same tribe, all first cousins behind one wall. A house was more preferable, because the walls around it provided privacy for the family. His nephew had complained to him about his wife’s inability to walk around uncovered, but Saleh had dismissed his pleas for a loan and told him he should appreciate being on the other side of a compound wall. He pulled into the driveway of the house, which was situated within a compound full of identical Cape Cod and Colonial homes painted beige with thick green lawns that seemed to possess a bioluminescent quality under the security lights. The evergreen shrubbery that clung to the sides of the houses further exacerbated the effect of seeming to be outside of Saudi Arabia.

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