Time Will Run Back
Page 38
“How old are you now, Peter?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Adams smiled. “And so you are old, and wish to retire.”
“No: and so I am young, and wish to live. Of course your definition of life is politics. But even on that definition you’ll have to admit that I’ve lived a pretty full political life in the last nine years!”
“Tell me honestly. Do you really think it possible that you can ever stop worrying about political problems?”
“I hope so. After all, the better political and economic conditions get, the less interest I will have to take in them. Things have arrived at the point, it seems to me, where I can safely leave politics and economics to those who have a predominant taste for such matters. I will play Mozart.”
“But suppose there is a crisis? Suppose Wang makes a mess of things, or is voted out of power, and the people turn to you as the Elder Statesman and demand that you return from your retirement?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, which I hope we never do. You are assuming things will go wrong; I am assuming they will go right. And if they go right, I need have no feeling of guilt for not taking part in them. After all, my new definition of a good society is simple: it is one in which it is possible for a man who loves Mozart to devote himself to Mozart. In other words, it is one in which an artist can feel free to devote himself exclusively to his art. And, you know, I’m particularly blessed in that respect, for Edith not only wants me to be a musician but she herself wants seriously to take up the violin—”
“You know,” broke in Adams, “in our old Marxist histories, which may or may not be true, they tell about an emperor who fiddled while Rome burned.”
“The story may even be true, Adams. But let’s not get mixed up. The real disaster was not the fiddling but the burning. After all, it’s up to you politicians not to go around starting any more fires-”
Edith broke into the room. She looked fresh and sparkling, and had on a neat tweed suit.
“Good heavens! What does this mean? Have you two been up talking the whole night long? It’s after five o’clock. Haven’t you heard the news? It was just on the radio a few minutes ago. Do you know what’s happened? You’ve won! The count has just been completed from the Chinese and Indian country districts; the result on six seats in Parliament is changed—enough to give the Freedom Party an absolute majority of two seats!”
“That can’t be so—” began Adams.
The telephone rang. Adams answered. “Really?... No!... Astounding!... No, you didn’t wake me up. I appreciate your generosity.... I’m very grateful for your call.
“You know who that was?” he said to Peter. “Wang. He called up to tell me that the radio reports are right, and that he’s conceded our victory! My first act is going to be to ask the new Parliament, when it meets tomorrow, to name you as the first President. I’m sure the election will be unanimous. You must accept! It’s your absolute duty to accept!”
“After all I’ve just said?”
“After all you’ve just said. This is your program that we’re going to put into effect. You can’t walk out on responsibility for it.”
“And Mozart?”
“Mozart can wait. Others will play him. So far as that’s concerned, there’s nothing to prevent you from playing him all you want, in private, in your leisure moments.”
“But,” protested Peter, “the President’s term is ten years!”
“And so you’ll be an old man of thirty-eight when you get out,” said Adams sarcastically, “all used up and ready to be thrown on the scrap heap!”
Peter looked appealingly at Edith.
“You’ve got to accept, darling!” she said. “You know you do. Adams is right: it’s your duty.”
“You too think I’m a better politician than I am a pianoplayer?”
She laughed. “I know you’re a better pianist than I am a violinist. It will take me at least ten years’ hard practice before I’m fit to accompany you.”
Peter sighed, and then smiled. “All right, Adams, make your announcement. But I warn you—I’m not going to be a mere figurehead. I accept on condition that you promise to ask my advice on all serious matters, and even to weigh it carefully.”
“Why do you think I’m asking you to serve?” asked Adams.
Edith kissed them both. “Don’t you boys know yet that it’s after five o’clock? Look at those streaks of light,” she said, pointing toward the picture window, “just above that range of mountains. Come, darling,” she continued, taking Peter by the arm, “as long as you’ve stayed up this long, you’re going with me on the terrace to see the dawn.”
And they watched the sun come up in all its glory.
Notes
1See New York Times, Oct. 29, 1961.
2For the foregoing and other examples, see Time, Feb. 12, 1965.
3New York Herald-Tribune, Sept. 27, 1965
4G. William Trivoli in National Review, March 22, 1966.
5All the conversations in this book are, of course, translations from the Marxanto. Wherever Marxanto terms are literally untranslatable, I have used what seemed to me to be the nearest English equivalent.—The Translator.
6*The reader is again reminded that this is a translation from the Marxanto. The terms used are in each case merely the nearest English equivalent.
7The reader is once more reminded that all these terms are merely the nearest English equivalents to those in the original Marxanto, or Revised Marxanto, text.—
The Translator.