UNPOL across Topside, I thought.
“I saw your speech the other night. I thought that you came across really well. It looked good.”
“Thank you, Jonah. And thank you for finding the right words for me as well. I think you may be on to something with this writing idea of yours,” he said, smiling into the camera. I smiled back, forcing my eyes to smile as well.
“I was wondering when you would like to get together to discuss your memoir. I obviously don’t have anything on yet and I have some time on my hands so…”
“Yes of course. Well the sooner the better really. Um, I tell you what. I was looking to get a round of golf in today at the UNPOL Officers’ Course. Would you be free about, say 4:30pm for nine holes?”
“I haven’t been on a golf course in years, Uncle. I’m afraid I won’t give you much of a game.”
“Nonsense, man, it’s like riding a bike and fucking. Once you know how, you never forget!” Sir Thomas laughed loudly in the screen of my Devstick. I couldn’t laugh, but somehow I managed a broader grin. My cheeks hurt.
“Right, well, OK then. I’ll see you at 4:30pm then. Please book a set of rental clubs for me could you? I sold mine before I came out here.”
Sir Thomas nodded and then the screen reverted back to the Global News feeds. No more bombs yet. That was the good news.
“Find me shops selling golf shoes in New Singapore,” I said into the Devstick.
I strolled down the narrow white-walled corridor to the entrance of the UNPOL Officers’ Golf Course, near to UNPOL Headquarters on Topside. It was 4:25pm. Reaching the end of corridor I entered the lobby of the Clubhouse and walked up to the reception.
“Hi my name’s Jonah Oliver. Do you have some golf shoes behind there for me?” I said, smiling at the Indian- looking old man behind the counter. He grunted and reached under the counter, pulling out a cloth bag containing what I guessed were the new Nike golf shoes I’d credded that morning.
“Thanks, oh and, ah, where can I pick up rental clubs?”
He looked to his right. I followed his look. A large sign with white letters carved into dark brown wood said, ‘Rental Clubs’ and had a long white arrow pointing past the reception counter. I gave him another smile. He picked his teeth with a toothpick and continued looking straight ahead to somewhere over my left shoulder.
I followed the direction the sign suggested and came out to a small paved area about a hundred meters away from the first tee. Ten golf bags on three-wheeled Dev caddies were standing around.
“Jonah Oliver,” I said, and a Devcaddy with a black bag of newish looking clubs turned, came towards me and stopped. Its camera rose until it was about the same height.
“Good afternoon, Jonah, I have your clubs ready here in the bag. I understand you’re playing the back nine today. Would you like a quick rundown on the tenth and the weather conditions before we get there?”
“Sure, go ahead,” I said, and sat down on a white stone bench to put on my new golf shoes.
“Wind conditions are good. A slight eight to nine kilo breeze out of the north-east, humidity at a nice sixty- five percent and the stimpmeter is at seven point five. The tenth is a par four, four hundred and twenty yards long, with two bunkers on the right at about two hundred and fifty yards, and a single small bunker on the left at two hundred yards. Best angle of approach is down the right side of the fairway to catch the slope.”
It made me smile to listen to the word ‘yards’. You hardly ever heard it anymore, only on a golf course, where golfers stubbornly refused to adopt the global metric system. I stood up and bounced on the soles of my feet to test the shoes. They felt good, a perfect fit, and walked out of the rental area towards the tenth tee, with the Devcaddy trundling along behind me.
Sir Thomas was standing on the green with a driver tucked behind his back and locked inside his elbows as he twisted back and forth. He was wearing a peaked cloth cap, white polo shirt, khaki long outers and white golf shoes. His eyes frowned slightly as he realized that the guy walking on to the tenth tee wearing green baggy surfer shorts and an orange batik shirt with fluorescent green golf shoes was me. I smiled and waved.
“Hello, Uncle. I’ll be right there.”
Sir Thomas, nodded and smiled weakly back. “Good afternoon, Jonah. Taking this beach thing a bit seriously? Did you lose your clothes in the move?”
“No, not all. I just thought I’d bring a little sunshine into the grim, dark world of UNPOL.”
“Hah, grim dark world indeed.” And saying this Sir Thomas flipped his tee into the air, spinning it. It landed point first towards him. Somehow I knew it would.
“What do you say, Jonah? Fifty creds a hole, and two hundred on the score? I’ll give you two shots on the handicap.”
I nodded and smiled, standing up on the tee. Looking down the fairway, I said, “Yes, that sounds all right. Are you still playing off twelve?”
“Yes, yes. Last time I checked.” A small grin from my uncle made me think that he might not be telling me the truth but I let it slide. It wasn’t quite true that I hadn’t played golf for a long time either. I played a lot of golf on the Dev, just not on a golf course. The world-famous UNPOL Officers’ Course was one that I had played a lot. I knew every hole, bunker and green on the thirty-six hole course having played it hundreds of time on my Dev in Woodlands. Virtual golf is not the same as real golf but it comes very close. I was looking forward to this.
Sir Thomas teed off with a respectable drive that faded right and put him on the fairway about two hundred and twenty yards from us. I selected the two wood and took a couple of practice swings, letting the muscle memory come back into my swing. I addressed the ball and swung, driving the ball low and out towards the right of the fairway, landing about ten yards beyond Sir Thomas’s ball and rolling to stop twenty yards farther on.
“Good shot,” Sir Thomas said, and started walking off up the fairway. Handing my club to the mechanical hand of the Devcaddy I followed and caught up to him as we passed the ladies’ tee.
“So have you had any further thoughts on how you would like this memoir to be constructed? I’m quite excited about the project. Your life has covered a very interesting time in our history and perhaps I may have the chance to learn more about my parents too.”
Sir Thomas glanced across at me and nodded. “Well, yes, uhm, I think I have told you everything I know about your parents but, certainly there have been many changes in the world of ours this past seventy-five odd years. I think tying it into the big moments and movements that we’ve seen these past decades since the Great War of 2056 would be an excellent idea.”
“You were in Europe during the Great War. Is that correct? I seem to remember you telling me that, or have I just picked that up along the way.”
“Yes, I was in Europe. I was very lucky in a way because I was supposed to be in London, and if I had been where I was supposed to be, I would have been incinerated in the two bombs that hit London. Bit of overkill there, one bomb was more than enough. Anyway, I was supposed to join my regiment in London for the regimental dinner but I got a call from battalion ordering me to replace a lieutenant who had been wounded in a firing range accident the day before. Of course I departed right away and joined the nuclear response command bunker the next day. At noon that day the war started.”
Sir Thomas stopped. We had reached his ball. Hands on hips and looking towards the hole, he said, “Three iron.” He struck the ball cleanly and it flew straight towards the hole, hitting the front edge of the green. But it had too much pace and, reaching the slope that begins in the middle of the green, rolled off into the bunker on the far side.
“Blast!” Sir Thomas exclaimed and there was a loud thunk as he smacked the club into the Devcaddy’s outstretched hand. I walked on without saying anything, thinking about the shot I had to play, and the moves I had to make with Sir Thomas to gain his trust. I was playing it by ear, probing with my questions, looking for an opening. My ball was sitting up nicely.
“How far to the pin?” I asked the Devcaddy.
“One hundred and sixty-two point three five yards to the front edge…”
I laughed and interrupted, “Hey, what’s your name? Sorry I forgot to ask.”
“Name, Jonah? No, I do not have a name. I am a Callaway Devcaddy from the UNPOL Officers’ Course.”
“All right, look. I’ll call you Call, short for Callaway, and from now on just give me the yards rounded down to the nearest five yards. OK?”
“Certainly, Jonah. One hundred and sixty yards to the front edge and the pin is one seventy-five from your
