James Bond faces a special task. You haven't heard about this one.
|Eat Your Way Out
...Having never been in a like situation, he was sorely afraid. The barred glass window on the wall at his left served for nought else but a bulb to the noon sunlight. A dusty, dying table stood on his right. The chair he was strapped to and that table was the only furniture in the room.
He had thought about escape, but had dropped the thought; he had wept and shaken till he was a lump of fear, tears and sweat.
The door in front of him opened. In came His Excellency, the president of the country that hosted him, flanked by two pawn soldiers. He seemed a box of secrets, for even in the situation that had such gravity, his eyes were a mixture of humour and slight seriousness. His suit was woolen, his hair grey, his face wrinkled and bold. He lit a cigar at the doorway and pulled deeply; his eyes met the window.
'Where are your manners!' he yelled at the soldiers, raising his hands in a dramatic display of anger. Whether one thought he was serious or not, the fear in him could not allow him to think. 'How can you strap our guest on a chair and keep the window closed, blocking the enchanting view of the city!'
The men did not wait for him to say that twice.
'Welcome to my country, Mr Edwin,' he said, his face yet not saying he was very angry, but neither was it saying he was not. He even seemed to be smiling, but his smile would make a more scared prisoner to urinate on his trousers. 'I'm sorry that I wasn't here more early. At least they would not have treated you with such alarming discourtesy.'
He found himself nodding out of fear, not in the least pacified.
The president walked around the room for about three seconds and turned to him again.
'You should have died for your displeasing journalistic adventures, but I intend to give you a chance to be alive. My people are farmers. In fact, the biggest water melons are grown here. If, peradventure, you show yourself astoundingly extraordinary, you may at least feel some of the bests tastes our kitchens can conjure, before going back to your country. But till then, I apologize for how long you will have to wait.'
Having been momentarily distracted from looking at the door, he did not see the giant water melon standing there. It was as big as an ancient Volkswagen 'beetle'. They rolled in into the room - three sweating junior, pawn soldiers. His stomach growled so much that he feared they might hear the sound of it. In his tenseness, hot sweat bathed him afresh. He wondered if it was poisoned, but his heart told him it was not. The melon was heavy and loaded with water, seemingly fresh from the farm.
'You will have to finish this water melon before this same time next week, or...' the president pointed two fingers at him. 'Kpow!' He shook at that. His Excellency turned about and suddenly stopped.
'Where are my manners? I'm so sorry. You see, this window gives you a nice view. That's the cricket club that is newly built. That's a beach over there. The hanging roads are famous. You won't find it boring here.'
He dropped something on the dusty table. It was a pen knife.
'You don't serve food without cutleries. That's not good breeding. I will be back, Mr Edwin. I hope it won't be the last event you witness.'
He turned and left. All left. The door was barred again.