"And what do you think of his other projects?" Will asked. "Oil? Industries? An army?"
"Economics and politics aren't exactly my strong point," she answered with a little laugh which was meant to remind him that he was talking to someone who had taken the Fourth Initiation. "Ask Bahu what he thinks."
"I have no right to offer an opinion," said the Ambassador. "I'm an outsider, the representative of a foreign power."
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"Not so very foreign," said the Rani.
"Not in your eyes, ma'am. And not, as you know very well, in mine. But in the eyes of the Palanese government—yes. Completely foreign."
"But that," said Will, "doesn't prevent you from having opinions. It only prevents you from having the locally orthodox opinions. And incidentally," he added, "I'm not here in my professional capacity. You're not being interviewed, Mr. Ambassador. All this is strictly off the record."
"Strictly off the record, then, and strictly as myself and not as an official personage, I believe that our young friend is perfectly right."
"Which implies, of course, that you believe the policy of the Palanese government to be perfectly wrong."
"Perfectly wrong," said Mr. Bahu—and the bony, emphatic mask of Savonarola positively twinkled with his Voltairean smile—"perfectly wrong because all too perfectly right."
"Right?" the Rani protested. "Right?"
"Perfectly right," he explained, "because so perfectly designed to make every man, woman, and child on this enchanting island as perfectly free and happy as it's possible to be."
"But with a False Happiness," the Rani cried, "a freedom that's only for the Lower Self."
"I bow," said the Ambassador, duly bowing, "to Your High-ness's superior insight. But still, high or low, true or false, happiness is happiness and freedom is most enjoyable. And there can be no doubt that the politics inaugurated by the original Reformers and developed over the years have been admirably well adapted to achieving these two goals."
"But you feel," said Will, "that these are undesirable goals?"
"On the contrary, everybody desires them. But unfortunately they're out of context, they've become completely irrelevant to the present situation of the world in general and Pala in particular."
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"Are they more irrelevant now than they were when the Reformers first started to work for happiness and freedom?"
The Ambassador nodded. "In those days Pala was still completely off the map. The idea of turning it into an oasis of freedom and happiness made sense. So long as it remains out of touch with the rest of the world, an ideal society can be a viable society. Pala was completely viable, I'd say, until about 1905. Then, in less than a single generation, the world completely changed. Movies, cars, airplanes, radio. Mass production, mass slaughter, mass communication and, above all, plain mass— more and more people in bigger and bigger slums or suburbs. By 1930 any clear-sighted observer could have seen that, for three quarters of the human race, freedom and happiness were almost out of the question. Today, thirty years later, they're completely out of the question. And meanwhile the outside world has been closing in on this little island of freedom and happiness. Closing in steadily and inexorably, coming nearer and nearer. What was once a viable ideal is now no longer viable."
"So Pala will have to be changed—is that your conclusion?"
Mr. Bahu nodded. "Radically."
"Root and branch," said the Rani with a prophet's sadistic
gusto.
"And for two cogent reasons," Mr. Bahu went on. "First, because it simply isn't possible for Pala to go on being different from the rest of the world. And, second, because it isn't right that it should be different."
"Not right for people to be free and happy?"
Once again the Rani said something inspirational about false happiness and the wrong kind of freedom.
Mr. Bahu deferentially acknowledged her interruption, then turned back to Will. .,,
"Not right," he insisted. "Flaunting your blessedness in the face of so much misery—it's sheer hubris, it's a deliberate affront to the rest of humanity. It's even a kind of affront to God."
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"God," the Rani murmured voluptuously, "God . . ." Then, reopening her eyes, "These people in Pala," she added, "they don't believe in God. They only believe in Hypnotism and Pantheism and Free Love." She emphasized the words with indignant disgust.
"So now," said Will, "you're proposing to make them miserable in the hope that this will restore their faith in God. Well, that's one way of producing a conversion. Maybe it'll work. And maybe the end will justify the means." He shrugged his shoulders. "But I do see," he added, "that, good or bad, and regardless of what the Palanese may feel about it, this thing is going to happen. One doesn't have to be much of a prophet to foretell that Murugan is going to succeed. He's riding the wave of the future. And the wave of the future is undoubtedly a wave of crude petroleum. Talking of crudity and petroleum," he added, turning to the Rani, "I understand that you're acquainted with my old friend, Joe Aldehyde." "You know Lord Aldehyde?" "Well."
"So that's why my Little Voice was so insistent!" Closing her eyes again, she smiled to herself and slowly nodded her head. "Now I Understand." Then, in another tone, "How is that dear man?" she asked.
"Still characteristically himself," Will assured her. "And what a rare self! L'homme au cerf-volant—that's what I call him."
"The man with the kite?" Will was puzzled. "He does his work down here," she explained; "but he holds a string in his hand, and at the other end of the string is a kite, and the kite is forever trying to go higher, higher, Higher. Even while he's at work, he feels the constant Pull from Above, feels the Spirit tugging insistently at the flesh. Think of it! A man of affairs, a great Captain of Industry—and yet, for him, the only thing that Really Matters is the Immortality of the Soul."
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Light dawned. The woman had been talking about Joe Alde-hyde's addiction to spiritualism. He thought of those weekly seances with Mrs. Harbottle, the automatist; with Mrs. Pym, whose control was a Kiowa Indian called Bawbo; with Miss Tuke and her floating trumpet out of which a squeaky whisper uttered oracular words that were taken down in shorthand by Joe's private secretary: "Buy Australian cement; don't be alarmed by the fall in Breakfast Foods; unload forty percent of your rubber shares and invest the money in IBM and Westinghouse ..."
"Did he ever tell you," Will asked, "about that departed stockbroker who always knew what the market was going to do next week?"
"Sidhis," said the Rani indulgently. "Just sidhis. What else can you expect? After all, he's only a Beginner. And in this present life business is his karma. He was predestined to do what he's done, what he's doing, what he's going to do. And what he's going to do," she added impressively and paused in a listening pose, her finger lifted, her head cocked, "what he's going to do—that's what my Little Voice is saying—includes some great and wonderful things here in Pala."
What a spiritual way of saying, This is what I want to happen! Not as I will but as God wills—and by a happy coincidence God's will and mine are always identical. Will chuckled inwardly, but kept the straightest of faces.
"Does your Little Voice say anything about Southeast Asia Petroleum?" he asked.
The Rani listened again, then nodded. "Distinctly."
"But Colonel Dipa, I gather, doesn't say anything but 'Standard of California.' Incidentally," Will went on, "why does Pala have to worry about the Colonel's taste in oil companies?"
"My government," said Mr. Bahu sonorously, "is thinking in terms of a Five-Year Plan for Interisland Economic Co-ordina tion and Co-operation."
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"Does Interisland Co-ordination and Co-operation mean that Standard has to be granted a monopoly?"
"Only if Standard's terms were more advantageous than those of its competitors."
"In other words," said the Rani, "only if there's nobody who will pay us more."
"Before you came," Will told her, "I was discussing this subject with Murugan. Southeast Asia Petroleum, I said, will give Pala whatever Standard gives Rendang plus a little more."
"Fifteen percent more?"
"Let's say ten."
"Make it twelve and a half."
Will looked at her admiringly. For someone who had taken the Fourth Initiation she was doing pretty well.
"Joe Aldehyde will scream with agony," he said. "But in the end, I feel certain, you'll get your twelve and a half."
"It would certainly be a most attractive proposition," said Mr. Bahu.
"The only trouble is that the Palanese government won't accept it."
"The Palanese government," said the Rani, "will soon be changing its policy."
"You think so?"
"I KNOW it," the Rani answered in a tone that made it quite clear that the information had come straight from the Master's mouth.
"When the change of policy comes, would it help," Will asked, "if Colonel Dipa were to put in a good word for Southeast Asia Petroleum?"
"Undoubtedly."
Will turned to Mr. Bahu. "And would you be prepared, Mr. Ambassador, to put in a good word with Colonel Dipa?"
In polysyllables, as though he were addressing a plenary ses-
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sion of some international organization, Mr. Bahu hedged diplomatically. On the one hand, yes; but on the other hand, no. From one point of view, white; but from a different angle, distinctly black.
Will listened in polite silence. Behind the mask of Savonarola, behind the aristocratic monocle, behind the ambassadorial verbiage he could see and hear the Levantine broker in quest of his commission, the petty official cadging for a gratuity. And for her enthusiastic sponsorship of Southeast Asia Petroleum, how much had the royal initiate been promised? Something, he was prepared to bet, pretty substantial. Not for herself, of course, no no! For the Crusade of the Spirit, needless to say, for the greater glory of Koot Hoomi.
Mr. Bahu had reached the peroration of his speech to the international organization. "It must therefore be understood," he was saying, "that any positive action on my part must remain contingent upon circumstances as, when, and if these circumstances arise. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Will assured him. "And now," he went on with deliberately indecent frankness, "let me explain my position in this matter. All I'm interested in is money. Two thousand pounds without having to do a hand's turn of work. A year of freedom just for helping Joe Aldehyde to get his hands on Pala."
"Lord Aldehyde," said the Rani, "is remarkably generous."
"Remarkably," Will agreed, "considering how little I can do in this matter. Needless to say, he'd be still more generous to anyone who could be of greater help."
There was a long silence. In the distance a mynah bird was calling monotonously for attention. Attention to avarice, attention to hypocrisy, attention to vulgar cynicism . . . There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Will called out and, turning to Mr. Bahu, "Let's continue this conversation some other time," he said.
Mr. Bahu nodded.
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"Come in," Will repeated.
Dressed in a blue skirt and a short buttonless jacket that left her midriff bare and only sometimes covered a pair of apple-round breasts, a girl in her late teens walked briskly into the room. On her smooth brown face a smile of friendliest greeting was punctuated at either end by dimples. "I'm Nurse Appu," she began. "Radhu Appu." Then, catching sight of Will's visitors, she broke off. "Oh, excuse me, I didn't know ..."
She made a perfunctory knicks to the Rani.
Mr. Bahu, meanwhile, had courteously risen to his feet. "Nurse Appu," he cried enthusiastically. "My little ministering angel from the Shivapuram hospital. What a delightful surprise!"
For the girl, it was evident to Will, the surprise was far from delightful.
"How do you do, Mr. Bahu," she said without a smile and, quickly turning away, started to busy herself with the straps of the canvas bag she was carrying.
"Your Highness has probably forgotten," said Mr. Bahu; "but I had to have an operation last summer. For hernia," he specified. "Well, this young lady used to come and wash me every morning. Punctually at eight-forty-five. And now, after having vanished for all these months, here she is again!"
"Synchronicity," said the Rani oracularly. "It's all part of the Plan."
"I'm supposed to give Mr. Farnaby an injection," said the little nurse, looking up, still unsmiling, from her professional bag.
"Doctor's orders are doctor's orders," cried the Rani, overacting the role of royal personage deigning to be playfully gracious. "To hear is to obey. But where's my chauffeur?"
"Your chauffeur's here," called a familiar voice.
Beautiful as a vision of Ganymede, Murugan was standing in the doorway. A look of amusement appeared on the little nurse's face.
"Hullo, Murugan—I mean, Your Highness." She bobbed
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another curtsy, which he was free to take as a mark of respect or of ironic mockery.
"Oh, hullo, Radha," said the boy in a tone that was meant to be distantly casual. He walked past her to where his mother was sitting. "The car," he said, "is at the door. Or rather the so-called car." With a sarcastic laugh, "It's a Baby Austin, 1954 vintage," he explained to Will. "The best that this highly civilized country can provide for its royal family. Rendang gives its ambassador a Bentley," he added bitterly.
"Which will be calling for me at this address in about ten minutes," said Mr. Bahu, looking at his watch. "So may I be permitted to take leave of you here, Your Highness?"
The Rani extended her hand. With all the piety of a good Catholic kissing a cardinal's ring, he bent over it; then, straightening himself up, he turned to Will.
"I'm assuming—perhaps unjustifiably—that Mr. Farnaby can put up with me for a little longer. May I stay?"
Will assured the Ambassador that he would be delighted.
"And I hope," said Mr. Bahu to the little nurse, "that there will be no objections on medical grounds?"
"Not on medical grounds," said the girl in a tone that implied the existence of the most cogent nonmedical objections.
Assisted by Murugan, the Rani hoisted herself out of her chair. uAu revoir, mon cher Farnaby," she said as she gave him her jeweled hand. Her smile was charged with a sweetness that Will found positively menacing.
"Good-bye, ma'am."
She turned, patted the little nurse's cheek, and sailed out of the room. Like a pinnace in the wake of a full-rigged ship of the line, Murugan trailed after her.
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"Golly!" the little nurse exploded, when the door was safely closed behind them.
"I entirely agree with you," said Will.
The Voltairean light twinkled for a moment on Mr. Bahu's evangelical face. "Golly," he repeated. "It was what I heard an English schoolboy saying when he first saw the Great Pyramid. The Rani makes the same kind of impression. Monumental. She's what the Germans call eine grosse Seek." The twinkle had faded, the face was unequivocally Savonarola's, the words, it was obvious, were for publication.
The little nurse suddenly started to laugh.
"What's so funny?" Will asked.
"I suddenly saw the Great Pyramid all dressed up in white muslin," she gasped. "Dr. Robert calls it the mystic's uniform."
"Witty, very witty!" said Mr. Bahu. "And yet," he added diplomatically, "I don't know why mystics shouldn't wear uniforms, if they feel like it."
The little nurse drew a deep breath, wiped the tears of merriment from her eyes, and began to make her preparations for giving the patient his injection.
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"I know exactly what you're thinking," she said to Will. "You're thinking I'm much too young to do a good job."
"I certainly think you're very young."
"You people go to a university at eighteen and stay there for four years. We start at sixte
en and go on with our education till we're twenty-four—half-time study and half-time work. I've been doing biology and at the same time doing this job for two years. So I'm not quite such a fool as I look. Actually I'm a pretty good nurse."
"A statement," said Mr. Bahu, "which I can unequivocally confirm. Miss Radha is not merely a good nurse; she's an absolutely first-rate one."
But what he really meant, Will felt sure as he studied the expression on that face of a much-tempted monk, was that Miss Radha had a first-rate midriff, first-rate navel, and first-rate breasts. But the owner of the navel, midriff and breasts had clearly resented Savonarola's admiration, or at any rate the way it had been expressed. Hopefully, overhopefully, the rebuffed Ambassador was returning the attack.
The spirit lamp was lighted and, while the needle was being boiled, little Nurse Appu took her patient's temperature.
"Ninety-nine point two."
"Does that mean I have to be banished?" Mr. Bahu enquired.
"Not so far as he's concerned," the girl answered.
"So please stay," said Will.
The little nurse gave him his injection of antibiotic, then, from one of the bottles in her bag, stirred a tablespoonful of some greenish liquid into half a glass of water.
"Drink this."
It tasted like one of those herbal concoctions that health-food enthusiasts substitute for tea.
"What is it?" Will asked, and was told that it was an extract from a mountain plant related to valerian.
"It helps people to stop worrying," the little nurse explained,
"without making them sleepy. We give it to convalescents. It's useful, too, in mental cases."
"Which am I? Mental or convalescent?"
"Both," she answered without hesitation.
Will laughed aloud. "That's what comes of fishing for compliments."
"I didn't mean to be rude," she assured him. "All I meant was that I've never met anybody from the outside who wasn't a mental case."
"Including the Ambassador?"
She turned the question back upon the questioner. "What do you think?"
Will passed it on to Mr. Bahu. "You're the expert in this field," he said.
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