The Gentle Potentate

Looking down at her manicured nails as they caressed her fine linen dress, Marta smiled to herself as she reflected on the life of luxury that she currently lived. The harsh world where she had raised her family seemed like another life – easily forgotten with the distractions of plenty. Together, as a family, they had come far.

The room around her, like the surrounding compound, was expansive and filled with imported decadence. Marta loved the opulent art that lined the walls. Her favourite piece was the grand portrait of her eldest son, David. The portrait, commissioned not long after he rescued the nation, commanded the room around it. Within the golden frame, David stood tall, his broad shoulders draped in military regalia and his strong chest adorned with numerous medals and honours. Empty spaces sat on either side of the portrait. Marta had enjoyed looking at the portraits of Stefan and Elias flanking their eldest brother, but after David had explained their nasty, treasonous beliefs, she couldn’t stand to look at their images on the wall. David was right to do what he did to them. It was for the benefit of the nation.

Picking up a newspaper from the gold-adorned table beside her, Marta turned to an article announcing the unprecedented levels of happiness and social cohesion that the nation was experiencing under David’s rule. It seemed to Marta that the journalists had finally stopped bullying her son and ended their crusade against his character and vision. “They finally get it” she thought to herself. Flipping through the rest of the newspaper, she couldn’t find the names of any of those cruel journalists who had ridiculed her son. They must write under pen names now, she thought to herself.

David had faced bullies his entire life, and the reporters who had spoken against him were no different than the boys and sought to make David’s life miserable as a child. Even the teachers treated David poorly, often separating him from his classmates under the guise of ridiculous excuses related to his behaviour. One had even refused to let David take home the class pet – an opportunity afforded to the rest of the students. David was a good boy, and each childhood incident denounced by the other children, parents, and teachers was simply an expression of passion and individuality or a simple case of “boys will be boys.”

Marta heard the whispers of the kitchen staff: rumours of informants, secret police, and disappearances, but she knew that this was just gossip. David would never allow this to happen. David loved and cared deeply for his people. Yes, the nation hadn’t held elections since David rescued it from civil unrest, but he needed more time restore it to its former glory. There’s only so much a leader can do in ten years.

Standing now and walking past the flowing curtains to the balcony, Marta gazed over the high fences surrounding the compound and looked at the city sprawled around the hill beneath her. Large black plumes of smoke rose from the outskirts of the city. Marta imagined the happy residents who must have been enjoying their barbeques and bonfires.

Marta’s mind wandered to memories of her old friends. Those friends who supported her while she raised her three boys. Some she hadn’t seen since the chaos of David’s ascension. The rest ceased visiting shortly after David’s Cardinal Edict was broadcast over the radio. They hadn’t announced an end to their visits or friendship – they simply stopped showing up. They were rude, and Marta didn’t need them. She had her son David, the saviour of the nation, and that was enough.