by Allen Drury
“Legal arrangement with a government?” Vasily Tashikov demanded, his squat little body swiveling indignantly in its chair, his sharp-featured face with its gold pince-nez peering angrily across at his guest, while at the next table the delegates of Nicaragua, Honduras, Ghana, and Mali pretended a casual inattention as they did their best to overhear, and farther away the two United States delegates, the British Ambassador, and the French Ambassador stopped eating for a moment to give them a speculative glance. “Now, Mr. Dobius, you are not being consistent with your recent columns. Surely you do not consider an arrangement of the illegitimate colonialist lackey Terry to be legitimate. Mr. Dobius!”
“I don’t agree with Prince Terry’s policies, no,” Walter said calmly, now curious to see what he could provoke, “but he is the legitimate government. You cannot deny that.”
“Can I not?” the Soviet Ambassador cried. “But I am! I do! It is accomplished, my denial! What then?”
“Please do not excite yourself,” Walter said coldly, feeling it time to bring the conversation down to earth. “I agree as you know with your opposition to the basic United States position in Gorotoland. Certainly you are aware I agree 100 percent with your opposition to our latest action there. There is no point in confusing our understanding of each other with semantics.”
“Ah!” Tashikov said with a sudden smile. “Semantics! Now you touch upon one of the great difficulties in bridging the gap between the two worlds, Mr. Dobius. Your use of words in the West is so foreign to us. It is so contrary to the way we use them. Democracy and freedom to us are perfectly clear and understandable terms. But we have learned to know that when the United States and the West uses them they mean imperialism, exploitation, dictatorship over helpless peoples, and tyranny. It took us many years to realize this. But we know it now.”
“Well, Mr. Ambassador,” Walter said dryly, “you know perfectly well that I cannot accept that. It seems to me we are getting far afield. I repeat, I trust the Security Council this afternoon will order American forces withdrawn from Gorotoland. After that, the issue can be discussed on its merits free from the threat of war.”
“It is not only the threat, at this moment,” the Ambassador said. “As you have written, it is war.”
“Then I surely hope it will be condemned as such,” Walter said firmly. “The Administration deserves no less.”
“Mr. Dobius,” Tashikov said with a sudden embracing smile, “you are an inspiration and a strength to those of us who oppose your government’s fatal neo-colonialist policies. It is so comforting to know that America’s greatest journalist and his friends are on our side in the endless battle to defeat America’s imperialist aggressions all over the world.”
“America’s greatest journalist,” Walter said calmly, for it did no good to become angry with them, it only got you lost in competing rhetoric, and anyway, he was America’s greatest journalist, “is interested above all things in helping to preserve peace in the world. I believe you will find if you examine my writings that there have been occasions on which I have condemned Soviet aggressions, too.”
“I can remember nothing as devastating as your column this morning, Mr. Dobius,” the Soviet Ambassador said cheerfully. “And may we thank Lenin for that! Shall we order?”
After they had done so, Tashikov requesting a filet mignon and Walter scallops in a wine and curry sauce he remembered fondly from his last visit to the UN, the Soviet Ambassador leaned forward confidentially.
“For your information in writing about events here, Mr. Dobius”—and Walter was pleased that he was doing this, it was the sort of inside information he was seeking and he was gratified that Tashikov was volunteering it, it showed a real confidence in his integrity as a reporter, which Walter prized above all else—“for your information, I understand that your government will offer an amendment to the resolution of condemnation this afternoon. This amendment will attempt to bring condemnation of the People’s Free Republic of Gorotoland. We will veto it. Then the resolution condemning your government will come to a vote. Your government, the United Kingdom, and the alleged representative of the illegal Government of Taiwan, as is customary in such cases, will abstain. The Council will then proceed to approve the resolution of condemnation and your government will then stand convicted before the world, as it should be, for its unprovoked imperialist invasion of an innocent country. That will be the procedure we will follow today.”
“That is very interesting, Mr. Ambassador,” Walter said solemnly, though he had already heard the same prediction from his sources in the State Department and none of it was news to him. “I appreciate your confidence. The only thing I question is whether it will be quite so easy to defeat the United States amendment criticizing Prince Obi’s government.”
“I have told you,” Tashikov said with a shrug. “The U.S.S.R. will veto it. Then, Mr. Dobius, the world will turn upon the United States, as you invited it to do in your column this morning, and punish it for its insane crime against civilized humanity.”
Again Walter decided not to challenge this interpretation. He was anxious to learn other things.
“Suppose the United States refuses to withdraw even though the resolution is passed by the Security Council?”
“Then the United States will also stand convicted by the world’s opinion as the destroyer of the United Nations!” Tashikov said promptly.
“Even though the Communist powers have similarly ignored resolutions of the Security Council?” Walter could not help suggesting blandly. The Soviet Ambassador gave him a look equally bland.
“Communist powers do not act in violation of the civilized rules of mankind, as the United States is doing. Therefore Communist powers do not recognize condemnation by anyone. It is not pertinent. It is not worthy of recognition. Communist powers act for freedom and justice, Mr. Dobius. They do not act for war and imperialist conquest. The world is aware of that.”
“I am glad to hear you explain the difference.”
“I did not think I would have to,” Tashikov said with a humorously chiding air, “after your magnificent column this morning, Mr. Dobius. It appeared to me as I read it that you thoroughly understood the difference! So has it appeared to all of us here in this house. I think you will find your position almost universally applauded here. America’s greatest journalist—perhaps the world’s greatest journalist—having the courage to criticize his own country because he loves peace and justice. It is an inspiring thing, Mr. Dobius. We are all inspired!”
“Thank you,” Walter said, even as he told himself again that he must avoid traps. “Providing the Security Council action today saves the peace and lays the groundwork for reasonable UN discussion of the situation in Gorotoland, I shall be content.”
“I think you may be assured that there will be ample discussion of the situation in Gorotoland.” Tashikov gave his short, barking laugh. “Ample, Mr. Dobius! Ample!”
“I’m glad everything’s funny over there,” Lafe observed from across the room where he was starting dessert in the company of Cullee, the French Ambassador, Raoul Barre, and the British Ambassador, Lord Claude Maudulayne. “I wonder who’s doing what to whom?”
“I think,” Raoul Barre said, “that Vasily is congratulating Walter on saving the world and Walter is congratulating Vasily on the same thing.”
“With the assistance of France, as I understand it,” Lord Maudulayne suggested. The French Ambassador nodded matter-of-factly.
“Certainly. My government feels it has no choice but to join the U.S.S.R, in this resolution of condemnation. We cannot possibly support the good Harley and his industrious colleague, Orrin, in their little enterprise. The risks are too great.”
“And the possibility of assisting the United States too great,” Cullee suggested dryly.
“And the possibility of hurting her too attractive,” Lafe added.
Raoul Barre smiled and shrugged.
“You take it personally. You Americans always take
it personally. It is quite impersonal, I assure you. My government simply does not agree with these tactics of pressure and invasion. Have we not a right to express ourselves?”
“No one challenges your right,” Cullee said slowly. “It’s just that in recent years it always seems to be expressed against us.”
“Someone must argue for sanity,” the French Ambassador said. “Someone must try to stand in the middle.” Lord Maudulayne chuckled.
“And who better equipped, eh? Certainly not we, God knows, who find ourselves with no choice now but to support the United States.”
“Would you not if you had the choice?” Lafe asked. “Just what would you do, Claude?”
“Absolutely what you are doing, I suspect,” Lord Maudulayne said. “But with a little more feeling that it was our own idea, possibly.”
“I don’t think the President could have waited,” Cullee said. “In a case like that I think the decisive act is worth any number of battles.”
“You will get,” Raoul predicted calmly, “any number of battles before this is finished, I think, my friend. May they all go as decisively as the opening act—though I think they may not.…I understand the United States intends to introduce an amendment to the French-Soviet resolution which would condemn Prince Obifumatta’s government. You do not expect it to pass, of course.”
“No,” Lafe said with a glance that flicked across Cullee’s for a second. “We do not expect it to pass.”
“It will be vetoed,” Raoul said. “We can rely upon Vasily for that.”
“But it will serve a purpose,” Lord Maudulayne suggested, “as things in the UN do serve a purpose in these days of dissolution—the same purpose. Propaganda—headlines—attention to a problem, even though nothing comes of it—possibly a little delay before things rush on toward wherever they are going, in this odd world of ours. At least it will remind some of our friends in Africa and Asia that there is another side to this.”
“There is no other side for most of them,” Raoul said flatly. “Why pretend that they are sophisticated enough to be appealed to? Their minds are closed. If they needed further closing, the President’s action has closed them. It is an exercise in nothing to try to appeal to them on this issue.”
“Except for the historical record,” Lord Maudulayne said thoughtfully. “It pays to make a record, even in these times when all records may be summarily destroyed by the blast of a bomb. Someday there may be a history to be read, of these times. If there is, it will be important to know how the United States came to take the action she has taken, and who it was who provoked her. And how my Government happened to associate itself with her, and the things we believed in.”
“That is assuming that it will be people like us who are there to read the record,” the French Ambassador said dryly. “I consider it rather unlikely.”
“It will be unlikely if we don’t stand together,” Lord Maudulayne agreed. “Where stands France?”
Momentarily the French Ambassador looked genuinely annoyed. Then he spread his hands and shrugged.
“France stands where reason dictates.” He smiled ironically. “It is not always comfortable, but it is intellectually satisfying.”
“If you survive it,” Lord Maudulayne said. “And, of course, in such excellent company”—he gestured in the direction of the Soviet Ambassador, grinning and rocking and making some obviously flattering comment to Walter Dobius—“there is no question that you will.”
Raoul Barre shrugged again.
“To survive in these times one method may be as good as another. The frustrating thing about it is that one may not know for a hundred years if one has chosen the right course. And by then it will be much too late.” He looked thoughtfully at Cullee Hamilton. “Much, much too late.”
“Don’t look at me,” Cullee said. “I haven’t any doubts about our course. If you doubt yours, that’s too bad. But I’m not worried. It had to come sometime.”
“If one accepts the premise that it ‘had’ to,” Raoul agreed, “then perhaps this is best. Not all of us are that positive. In fact, nine-tenths are not.”
“If France would stop fishing in troubled waters and stop trying to pick up adherents in Africa and Asia by playing the anti-American game,” Lafe said calmly, “she might be positive about something—if she had a more positive purpose than mere mischief-making. But I suppose that’s too much to ask of a power that has substituted spite for policy.”
“That I resent,” the French Ambassador said sharply. “That I do resent as an unwarranted attack upon my country.”
“Sometimes the game gets real,” Lafe said laconically. “I’m sorry if it hurts. Are you through, Cullee? I expect we ought to go down to the Delegates’ Lounge and politick a little before Security Council begins. Coming, Claude?”
“Right-ho,” Lord Maudulayne said.
“I shall go and speak to Walter,” Raoul Barre said stiffly.
“Good luck with him,” Cullee said, rising and turning away with scant courtesy. “He’s on your side.…”
“I’m sorry we let ourselves become annoyed, Claude,” Lafe said as they left the table and started for the Lounge, “but every once in a while I get fed up with that damned superior attitude which is nothing but a screen for troublemaking. It gets a little wearing, now and then.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Lord Maudulayne suggested with a smile. “The grandeur goes, but the delusions remain.”
Yet this might have been a somewhat too-cavalier way in which to dismiss the French Ambassador, who was angrily convinced, as he moved toward Walter Dobius through the bowing, greeting nations, that it was impossible to reason with colleagues so bent upon self-destruction as the Americans and the British. He did not mind an occasional slap at his country, certainly he contributed enough of them himself in the opposite direction. But he did resent the accusation that France had no other purpose than troublemaking. He was quite convinced that his government was following the only correct policy in joining the Soviet Union in sponsorship of the resolution demanding U.S. withdrawal from Gorotoland.
Only if American forces were withdrawn could the situation be restored to some semblance of normalcy so that negotiations could be undertaken to create a permanent stability and remove the threat of major war. France’s position, he was convinced, was very practical. He could not always remain patient with the Americans, who were so impatient themselves. France wasn’t siding with the U.S.S.R. all the way. France had a plan, if her friends would just be patient enough to let her achieve it. France always knew what she was doing. He found it hard at times to be properly tolerant of those who could not perceive it.
But here, at any rate, was one who did. His columns on many occasions had reflected his approval of France’s busy anti-American activities—or, at least, if not approval, then a sympathetic understanding so perceptive of French motivations that Paris had justifiably taken it to be approval. Raoul Barre extended his hand cordially as the Soviet Ambassador half rose and gestured to a chair beside him.
“Walter,” Raoul said, “it is good to see you. May I—?”
“Please do,” Vasily Tashikov said. “I have been explaining to our friend the strategy that will be followed in the Security Council this afternoon.”
“Does he approve?”
Walter nodded.
“I do,” he said in his most judiciously contemplative voice. “While I could wish that certain details might be handled differently, still the basic purpose of removing the American forces so that stability may be restored to Gorotoland seems to me perfectly justified and indeed imperative if a full-scale war is to be avoided.”
“So it seems to us,” the French Ambassador said. “It is good to know that we may expect further commentaries by you which will help your countrymen to understand why the decision of the Administration must be reversed at once.”
“I shall certainly continue to write against it until it is reversed,” Walter said. “And speak against it, too
.”
“Yes,” Raoul said. “I have been pleased to receive from Patsy Labaiya an invitation to attend your banquet Friday night.”
“I, too,” said Tashikov. “It should be an interesting occasion.”
“I hope to make it so,” Walter said with a tight little smile. “There is much to talk about.”
“Including, no doubt,” the French Ambassador said, “some discussion of possible presidential candidates and how the present crisis will affect the coming campaign.”
“It would appear to be a logical subject of comment,” Walter said, his smile a little less humorless. “I intend to go into it.”
“Why has Governor Jason not commented?” Raoul inquired. “I should think it would provide him with his opportunity.”
“I really do not know,” Walter confessed. “I’m puzzled, quite frankly. I haven’t talked to him yet, as I’ve been assuming that at any moment the news would come. But so far—”
“Possibly he is going to support the President,” the Soviet Ambassador suggested. “Stranger political things have happened, in your country.”
“I don’t see how he possibly can,” Walter said. “It would be counter to everything he believes.”
“I repeat,” Tashikov said, “stranger things.…But perhaps in your speech Friday night you will be able to persuade him.”
“I have no doubt whatsoever,” Walter said firmly, “that long before Friday night he will have made his position clear. Events are moving too fast for him not to.”
