Promise of Joy

by Allen Drury

  And once again he whirled away, followed dutifully by his colleagues, and for several minutes more the sky was filled with exuberant acrobatics.

  “Well, now, that sounds right friendly, now!” Jawbone exclaimed, a happy smile on his face as he watched the agitated heavens gradually calm down again. “It really does sound right friendly.”

  “Yes, it does,” Bob Munson agreed from across the aisle. “And one of the most interesting things about it, to me, is that at this very moment, with the country partially devastated, torn by civil war and presumably in near chaos, they are still able to put in the air twenty-four completely air-worthy jets in the hands of twenty-four supremely competent pilots. It is a thought,” he added dryly, “for today.”

  “Indeed it is,” Bill Abbott said soberly. “Indeed it is.”

  As they flew on, the clouds became sparser and eventually thinned out altogether. The snowbound land appeared. They flew over many villages and small settlements; from quite a few, pillars of smoke climbed high in the frigid air.

  “Revolution,” Hal observed. “They must still be fighting in many places.”

  “Yes,” Bob Leffingwell agreed. “It is a sight the world had never thought to see.”

  “But inevitable,” Justice Davis remarked. “Always inevitable, as long as they had the oppressive government they did.”

  “Why, Tommy,” the President couldn’t resist, “I never knew you realized that. I thought it was always hail-to-them and hell-to-us, with you and your friends.”

  “I can’t speak for all my friends,” Tommy Davis responded somewhat tartly, “but I always realized it.”

  “You did?” the President pressed.

  “I did,” the little Justice said firmly, turning away to look out the window.

  “Well, good for you,” Orrin said, winking at Bob Munson down the aisle. “I never would have suspected, but it’s good to have you on our side.”

  “Thank you,” Justice Davis said with dignity.

  Before long the gray outlying tentacles of a great city began to appear. Soon their captain was advising seat belts, they were on their way down. With a last exuberant farewell flip of wings their escort peeled away. Air Force One and the two press planes came in alone.

  They traversed the runway, turned, came back, stopped precisely in front of a platform similar to the one they had left twenty-four hours ago at Andrews. The door opened, he stepped forward, bundled in a heavy black cashmere overcoat but hatless in the icy wind. Below he saw a jumble of cameras and photographers, many of them his own countrymen racing from the planes behind. A cluster of eager official faces looked up. He stood for a moment smiling and waving, then proceeded down the steps followed by his colleagues. Off to the right a band struck up a tune he did not recognize but guessed, from a certain heavy Slavic pomp, to be the new national anthem. It was followed, as he stepped down onto the red carpet and proceeded to shake hands with the first of his welcomers, by “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

  He and his companions were surrounded immediately by eager, excited men speaking fervent words of greeting, shaking hands repeatedly with great emphasis, almost, it seemed, dancing jigs of joy. Then there came a little stir, the rest fell back. Out of the tumultuous crowd a stocky, gray-haired man stepped forward.

  “You must be—?” Orrin said, holding out his hand with a questioning smile.

  “This is General Shulatov, our new President,” someone said proudly, and for just a second the dismay he felt must have been apparent in his eyes, for someone else said hastily with a nervous little laugh, “Citizen Shulatov, Mr. President, Citizen Shulatov!” and he laughed with an exaggerated heartiness and said, “Of course!” as he shook Citizen Shulatov’s hand with a very vigorous handshake.

  Then he was on the platform, and at his side Citizen Shulatov was speaking in a heavily accented but quite fluent English that echoed from the loudspeakers across the snowy tarmac, and via satellite across the world.

  “Mr. President: the President, Cabinet and free peoples of the United States of Russia greet you! We welcome you to the new Russia. We are pleased and honored that you have come. We are grateful for your journey in the name of peace, and we pledge our full cooperation in achieving peace.

  “Peace is the highest aim of any government. It is the aim of my government. To assure that we will have peace, the free peoples of Russia have awakened from their many decades of tyranny to demand that we have peace. Because of peace, vast changes have occurred in our country in the past forty-eight hours. We have destroyed the tyrants, just as you asked us to do. A great many of the war criminals are dead; some few are captive and will stand trial. We have a new government whose major purpose is to have peace.

  “The President, Cabinet and free peoples of the new Russia welcome you, Mr. President. Tell us what you want us to do in the name of peace, and we will do it. We pledge you that. Welcome to you and your friends, in the name of Mother Russia!”

  And with a sudden emotionalism whose sincerity the President was unable to judge accurately at that moment, he turned and enveloped him in a bear hug, kissing him vigorously on both cheeks.

  When he had extricated himself with a somewhat embarrassed but good-natured smile, he stepped forward to the microphones and his voice too boomed forth to watching humankind.

  “Peoples of free Russia—” He was conscious of the slightest stirring at his side, knew his point had scored, and did not regret it. “Mr. President, members of the Cabinet:

  “My colleagues and I are here to aid you in every way we can to achieve peace not only for yourselves, but for the world.

  “As you have said, Mr. President, vast and earth-shaking changes have taken place here in the past forty-eight hours. The world has watched in awe and amazement as long decades of tyranny have been swept away, to let in freedom and prepare the way for peace. A great revolution has occurred in your great country—a true revolution at last, a revolution for liberty, a revolution for peace.

  “Now the hard tasks of government begin. Now the difficult building of true liberty and true peace must start. Now you must move out into the world to rejoin mankind, after many long years of imprisonment by false leaders and merciless tyrants. Now you must earn peace, and with it the respect, admiration and support of all the world’s peoples.

  “This will demand of you great statesmanship, great integrity, great vision. It will demand of you the sacrifice of some of the ambitions that brought about war.” Again he was conscious of the smallest, slightest stirring at his side. “It will demand of you a new spirit of brotherhood toward your neighbors to the east.” The stirring for a second was quite obvious. “It will require a willingness to work together with the new United Chinese Republic. It will require that you find a middle ground with the now free peoples of that vast country—those peoples who, like you, have at last thrown off the chains of tyranny and begun the search for genuine freedom and genuine peace.

  “In that search, my friends and I are here to help in every way we can.

  “We are not here to demand, except as the massed heart of mankind gives us the right to demand, any conditions for peace.

  “We are not here to dictate, except as the massed heart of mankind wants us to dictate, how peace should be achieved.

  “We are simply here to help find peace, because peace must be found.”

  His voice and expression turned somber.

  “You have suffered terribly in the past few days, peoples of the new Russia. Neither you, nor the Chinese, nor anyone anywhere else in the world, must ever suffer such terrible things again.…

  “Mr. President, members of the Cabinet, my friends and I thank you for your greeting. We look forward to working with you for the best interests of your free peoples, and of all peoples everywhere. We hope peace may swiftly come because time is very short.”

  There was a burst of clapping, rather more dutiful, he felt, than not.

  He turned to Shulatov, shook hands firmly and, this ti
me, managed to get through another bear hug and bussing with a dignity that much amused his son, as he was aware when he caught his eye over his host’s burly shoulder.

  Then they were in the official limousines, the sirens were screaming, they were whisked away to the Kremlin over the icy roads and through the cavernous, icy streets. Many, many thousands were out to see them, whether ordered or spontaneously, they had at that time no way of knowing. At regular intervals along the way tanks, soldiers, heavy guns, were at attention as they passed. Overhead more exuberant jets were flying. They arrived at their Kremlin quarters in a curious state of mind, determinedly optimistic, desperately desirous that all would be well—but wary.

  An hour later they faced their hosts in closed session in a huge oak-paneled room in what had been the private quarters of Vasily Tashikov. They knew this because Shulatov told them so with an air of considerable pride when they were ushered in.

  “That traitor,” he added with a grim satisfaction, “who now awaits in Lubyanka the judgment of the people. We despise him, Mr. President! We despise him! He will receive the punishment he deserves for his rash, ill-considered, foolish acts. Of that the world may be sure.”

  “He was certainly no friend to world peace,” Orrin observed noncommittally. Shulatov snorted.

  “He betrayed Russia! He betrayed her! He will never be forgiven for it by this country. Never!”

  “He betrayed her by failing to win the war, I take it,” the President suggested matter-of-factly, and for a split second his host almost agreed. Then he smiled with a sudden bland candor and shook his head vigorously.

  “No, no! Certainly not! He betrayed her, as he betrayed all the peoples of the world, by launching an atomic attack upon our great neighbor China and thus bringing destruction upon Russia and panic to the world. It was a double betrayal. Is that not right, Mr. President?”

  “That is how we see it, Mr. President,” Orrin agreed with an equal blandness. “We shall watch the proceedings of his trial, and those of his colleagues, with great interest.”

  “They will begin very soon,” Shulatov promised, again with a grim satisfaction. “But enough of those unhappy people. We want you to meet our new government.” He gestured to the group of a dozen men who stood together at the other end of the room, watching them with bright smiles and very close attention. “Come, bring your friends and we will all get acquainted.”

  And for the next fifteen minutes they did so, a rapid drumfire of names, Cabinet titles, faces. No one again introduced anyone as “General” or “Admiral”—“Citizen” was the term carefully used in all instances—but he got a very distinct impression of an automatic deference, an automatic ranking that seemed to run through their relations with one another. He could tell that his friends were receiving the same impression and were made as uneasy as he. But of course none of them indicated concern by so much as the lift of an eyelid, reserving that for some later private place, if in this honeycomb still redolent of tyranny there should prove to be any such.

  Presently Shulatov gestured to a huge oaken table at one side of the room. His colleagues dutifully took their seats, the Americans followed. The two Presidents seated themselves last, opposite one another. A silence fell.

  Shulatov leaned forward.

  “My colleagues and I,” he said, “are at your service. Tell us what you want us to do.”

  “Tell us what you are willing to do,” he suggested.

  Shulatov looked a little taken aback.

  “Mr. President,” he protested earnestly, “it is you who must tell, not we. It is you who come here with the full authority of the world to assist you. It is not for us, the inheritors of a desperately stricken country, to make conditions. It is you.”

  “No, you tell us,” the President said. “That way we will know how difficult our task is to be.”

  “You do not deny you come with conditions,” Shulatov said, and all down his side of the table bright, attentive, intently smiling faces leaned forward to hear the answer. The President decided to meet the issue head on.

  “No, I don’t deny that. They have been published, you have read them. Some may be easier to achieve, with your new government; some may not even be necessary any longer. Those are the first things we must find out. We cannot do so unless we can understand your feelings and your mood. Please describe them to us. What are you willing to do, to accomplish peace?”

  Shulatov made a little conceding gesture with his head and shoulders. His expression darkened.

  “Our feelings and our mood, and what are we willing to do.… Our feelings are very deeply shaken, Mr. President, I will tell you that, and our mood is very somber. We have lost a dozen cities—more than the outside world yet knows—we have suffered massive losses of our armed forces on the Chinese frontier, we have suffered perhaps ten million civilian deaths and as many more casualties. Yes!” he repeated sharply as a sudden intake of breath came from several on the American side of the table. “Ten million deaths, and as many more casualties. Chaos exists in much of Russia, spurred by the civil rebellion which has brought my colleagues and myself to this table. It is worse than the world knows. It is dreadful. We are reeling from it. What can our feelings and our mood be, other than horror, sadness, fear of the future, chagrin? We would not be human otherwise—and now this has become a very human country again, Mr. President. We are raw and quivering from border to border, from end to end. So you see why we wonder when you ask us what we are willing to do. We are in no position to make conditions. Only those who have been spared what we have suffered can make conditions. Is that not so?”

  For a long moment the President studied him thoughtfully again. Then he responded quietly:

  “Nonetheless, we would still like to know: what are you willing to do?”

  A look of impatience crossed the face of the President of the United States of Russia; down the table his colleagues shifted uneasily. But the President of the United States of America did not relax his steady gaze, and after a moment Shulatov leaned forward and spoke with an intense but controlled force.

  “We are willing to do whatever will bring peace to Russia and peace to the world! Anything! Anything! We cannot stand a resumption of war with China. We cannot afford to have more armed forces destroyed, more cities destroyed, more lives destroyed. We cannot afford it. We cannot stand it. We must have peace. We must have security. We must be safe in our homes and our country again. We will cooperate in any way we can to achieve this.”

  “Will you go to China with me,” the President asked, “or let them come here, or meet with them in some neutral place, to settle your differences? Will you do that for your country, and for peace?”

  But even as he spoke he knew the answer, for this time there was a noticeable stiffening in the bodies across the table, a visible frowning in the faces. The question was a test—it had come to him in a flash—he had tossed it out the moment it occurred to him, knowing its answer would reveal many things. The nature of the answer did not surprise him.

  “Is that a condition, Mr. President?” Shulatov asked with a quietness suddenly inimical, and dangerous. He shrugged.

  “Not necessarily,” he said calmly. “Let’s say a reaching for clarification. You will not tell me what you are willing to do—or at least you are very general about it. I thought I would give you a specific that would help me find out.” He looked thoughtfully away, along the table at his own silent colleagues, the now tense and jittery Russians. “It has.”

  “Mr. President,” Shulatov said with an earnestness that, he knew, hid anger, “do not play games with us. Do not use your superior power and superior position to patronize the new Russia. We do not like it. It will accomplish nothing. It will simply antagonize us and stiffen our resistance. It will revive all of our suspicions of the West, it will make us—

  “Listen to me!” he interrupted sharply, hitting the table with the flat of his hand. “Stop propagandizing and listen to me! I have suggested nothing unfair,
unusual, extraordinary, inimical, hostile to you or to peace, dangerous to Russia or in any way whatsoever threatening to your independence, security or well-being. I have suggested a perfectly common-sense, down-to-earth practical thing without which there can be no negotiation, no understanding, no peace. What do you mean by reacting this way to it? Have you learned nothing at all from this past week in your country? If that is the case”—he sat back and looked away to some distant point, face grim and set—“my colleagues and I are flying home today and the damnation of the world will be upon you for destroying the last hope for peace.”

  But this time, as he had known, he did not have to carry out the threat to leave: stating it was enough. A visible change came over the face across from him, and across all its companion faces along the table. At first with difficulty, then suddenly very smoothly, the transition was made from anger to agreement. President Shulatov was smiling in a placating, self-deprecating, almost humble way.

  “Mr. President,” he said, “I must apologize to you, to your friends, to my friends, to everybody! The tensions of these past few days have been very great. It is my task to bear them without breaking, but I am afraid I came very close to it just now. Of course you are reasonable, of course you are practical. We do indeed wish to talk to our friends in Peking, to the new government there, to the free peoples of China, relieved of their bondage as we have been. Of course we must meet them face to face. Do not let my reaction, hasty and ill-advised, antagonize you. We will work it out. There are difficulties and details, but”—he waved a calm, dismissing hand—“we will work them out—with your assistance, Mr. President. Always with your assistance, true friend of peace, great citizen of the world to whom the world looks!”

  “Thank you,” he said, not trying very hard to keep a certain dryness out of his voice. “Then we agree on that fundamental point.”