by Allen Drury
“Then, Mr. President, I think we may find a different attitude in Moscow. Inspired by your example, I believe the United States of Russia will join us in our search for peace. I believe then we will all be together, and together I believe we will achieve our common goal of peace and safety for all men, happiness and prosperity for all nations.
“Mr. President and gentlemen of the United Chinese Republic, we stand ready to assist in any way we can. Let us begin.”
He turned and shook hands gravely with his host, turned back and waved for a moment, smiling now, at the applauding crowd of officials, colleagues and newsmen; caught the eye of Walter Dobius, crowded up close beneath the rim of the platform, and exchanged a glance in which Walter said as clearly as if he had spoken aloud, You hope! and he replied with a grim yet jaunty determination, Yes, I hope!—and presently was in a limousine, followed by his party, the Chinese and the press, being hurried away along ramshackle, winding streets, past undemonstrative but politely attentive crowds, to the American Embassy.
Because of the night flight, they would spend most of the day in bed. Promptly at 8 p.m. they would meet their Chinese counterparts in the embassy for the first of their projected talks. Their attitude was slightly more optimistic, but here, also—wary.
“Mr. President,” Lin Kung-chow said gravely after the introduction of his Cabinet, “I first would like you and your friends to see photographs of some of the things China has suffered in these past few days. Then you will better understand us and why we feel as we do on certain things. Later, if you have time, we should like to fly you and the press to various points in the devastated areas so that you may see for yourselves.”
“We may not have time,” Orrin said, “but if we do, we shall certainly accept. In the meantime, I think it would be very helpful to see your pictures.”
“Thank you,” Lin said. He pressed a button under the table edge. A group of youthful army officers entered and set up a screen and two projectors, one for slides, one for movies. The room settled down, the lights went off, a machine began to whir. The slides came first.
For approximately fifteen minutes flattened buildings, shattered cities, wasted farmlands, bloated livestock, sagging bridges, leveled hills, crossed the screen to the steady click-click! of the projector. At several points, including panoramic shots of absolutely leveled Suchow, Lanchow and Harbin, Lin raised a hand, the projector stopped, the images remained for terrible, lingering moments on the screen. For the rest it was a steady parade of dreadful devastation, Hiroshima and Nagasaki multiplied a hundredfold.
Then came the movies. They too were approximately fifteen minutes in length. Gaunt specters crossed the screen in rapid procession, some in panic, some in shock, some literally torn in half, some mere bloody scraps of flesh hanging on what used to be human frames. Before the showing ended, Tommy Davis, Hal, Blair Hannah and four of the Chinese had to leave the room. It was only by the exercise of the sternest self-control that the rest did not follow. After the final frame—another long pan of Harbin with the still-wriggling stump of what had once been a baby looming large in the foreground—the lights went up to reveal two dozen very shaken men. For several long moments no one stirred. Finally President Lin spoke in a choked voice heavy with emotion.
“This is what happened to China. It can never be forgiven. Never!”
“I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” the President said, his own voice showing the strain of what he had just seen, “but you must remember the same thing happened to the Russians, too.”
“They began it!” Lin said sharply.
“Did they?” Orrin asked. “Will anybody ever really know?”
“They began the use of nuclear weapons!” Lin said in the same sharp tone. “There is no dispute about that.”
“That is true,” the President conceded. “But don’t you think they have paid for it a hundred times over?”
“A thousand would not be too much,” Lin said coldly. “And I do not understand that you found any evidence of reformation as a result of it.”
“Some,” the President said. “Not as much as we would have liked, but some. I can tell you one thing, however”—and his tone grew as cold as Lin’s—“if you persist in vengeance and vindictiveness—if you are unable to realize that both your peoples, and in a sense all peoples everywhere, have suffered equally—then there will be no hope for peace and this mission is aborted before it begins. Is that the news you want me to take back to Moscow? Is that the message I am to report to the world? More of this insanity? Is that what you want, Mr. President?”
“No,” Lin said harshly, “it is not what China wants. But China does want the guilty punished. There can be no lasting peace without that.”
“Then there can be no lasting peace,” the President said crisply, “because if you have no charity, no compassion and no willingness to let bygones be bygones in the realization that all have suffered equally, then there is no foundation, no bridge, no nothing. You might as well begin fighting again and I might as well go home.”
“There can be a peace with justice,” Lin said, his tone more reasonable, and along his side of the table impassive men of one skin color but many diverse physical types nodded earnest agreement. “That is the only kind of peace there can be.”
“Then perhaps our first objective,” the President said, his tone more friendly, “should be to define justice. Perhaps if we can agree on that, we can go from there. What is it, in the view of the new government of China?”
“A Russian apology, before the world, for the nuclear sneak attack upon us,” Lin said promptly. “A pledge never to do it again. Russian reparations to rebuild our cities and care for our people. A reduction of arms so that Russia will never again be able to wage war. An abandonment for all time of Russian imperialism. A Russian guarantee of our borders forever.”
“And what will China give in return?”
“Why should China give anything, Mr. President? China is the aggrieved party.”
“I repeat,” he said sharply, “we will never know who began this war, which started in Africa under circumstances that will never be clear. I grant you,” he continued firmly as Lin gave him a stubborn look and started to interrupt, “that the Russians—the old government, the Soviet government—launched the first atomic attack, and that it was a sneak attack. But that came within the context of a war already begun, and I suspect that the only reason China did not strike first was because she was not quite prepared to do so.”
“China would never launch nuclear war!” Lin snapped indignantly.
“China did not launch it,” the President said flatly, “and that is the only fact I know.…In any event, it happened. I can tell you on the basis of my visit to Russia, Mr. President, that China did her part once the issue was joined. You inflicted very heavy devastation upon Russia, too, you know. The Russians could show you slides and films just as dreadful. What I am here to find out is: Where does it stop? Where do we put the period and say, ‘The End’? When do we start forgiving and start building the new peaceful world that mankind now wants? You and the Russians have absolutely terrified us, Mr. President. You have opened the abyss that has been waiting at our feet for nearly four decades. We want to know how to close it over again. We want to bury it forever and go forward in peace. If we can’t do that, it will open again and next time we will all be swallowed into it.
“What will you do to help prevent that? That is what I want to know.”
“We have defined justice,” Lin said, and for the first time there came into his eyes something of the infuriating blandness that had met them in Moscow. “And we have described how it may be achieved. Perhaps that is a good point from which to begin trying to answer your questions.”
“Mr. President—” he began earnestly. Then he dropped it and his tone became blunt and pragmatic. “Very well, I will tell you where we will begin. You say you want a reduction of arms so that Russia will never again be able to wage war. Let us s
tart with reduction of arms, Mr. President. It is the main thing I have come abroad to achieve. Let us talk about it.”
Lin gave him a polite little bow, looking every inch the self-composed Mandarin, and suggested softly:
“Please.”
“Very well,” he said again, unable to keep annoyance from his tone. “You want Russia disarmed, the world wants Russia disarmed. Russia wants you disarmed, the world wants you disarmed. Let’s get down to specifics right now. We’ll start with your navy, since that’s the smallest element in your military machine. You have one small aircraft carrier, thirty destroyers, seven submarines, a handful of support craft. Suppose we keep it at one aircraft carrier, but reduce you to five destroyers, four submarines—”
“Who will reduce us, Mr. President?” Lin inquired, still softly, while down his side of the table impassive men leaned forward in polite inquisitiveness.
“The world will unless you do it yourselves,” Orrin said tartly. “The world is not willing to put up with any more nonsense from the big powers on this score. Of course, Mr. President, I hasten to add that you will not be alone in this. Russia will do the same. We will do the same. There will be a general disarmament, I believe, all around the world. As the largest, we three will yield the most, which is only right.”
There was a silence while his hosts looked carefully at one another and then turned their impassive gazes once more upon him. Finally Lin Kung-chow leaned forward slightly and uttered two words:
“Russia first.”
“Nobody first,” he said firmly. “All of us together.”
“Russia first,” Lin repeated, suddenly as firm. The President, too, leaned forward.
“Mr. President,” he said calmly, “this will not work. You are past this kind of bargaining. There is no more bargaining left, for you or Russia. You and the Russians sit atop your charnel houses and you both try to bargain. It is past that. History has moved on. A new world was born this week: it will never return to the old. That new world demands that you disarm, that Russia disarm, that we disarm. None of us can withstand that demand.”
“Russia first,” Lin Kung-chow said quietly. “Russia first.”
“No!” he said sharply. “Together. Together!”
“Russia first,” Lin said, and abruptly, with another graceful little bow, pushed back his chair and stood up. All along the table his countrymen gracefully did the same. “Mr. President, you and your party are still tired, one imagines: our discussions can only weary. Tonight I think we have reached an impasse, I trust only temporary. Perhaps tomorrow morning we can reach a better understanding. The wise man does not exhaust himself in such a circumstance: he seeks refreshment, of the body and of the spirit. We have prepared a banquet for you in the Great Hall of the People—which we now know as ‘the Great Hall of the Republic’—and there our many friends of the press are waiting for us. Let us go. Tomorrow we will meet again. Perhaps then we can find agreement. Come”—he bowed again with a graceful gesture—“let us go.”
“At ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” the President said pleasantly, “my colleagues and I will be here prepared to sign an agreement reducing armaments drastically for our three nations.”
Lin bowed again with a smile equally pleasant.
“As you like,” he said. “Now, come! They are waiting for us.”
And in the Great Hall, responding easily to the insistent questions of the anxious media, both of them managed to put what he thought of as “a good first face” on the matter. But his countrymen of the press were more experienced and quicker to jump to disillusionment after their sojourn in Russia: they were not fooled, desperately as they all joined him in hoping for meaningful agreement. Instinct told them there was trouble, and not even a ten-course banquet as lavish as anything they had been tendered in Moscow was enough to forestall the unhappy pessimism of their reports.
President, Chinese fail to reach understanding in first meeting. Both sides claim “cordial atmosphere” but U.S. sources say real agreement “not imminent.” Disarmament believed to be major stumbling block. Report Chinese insisting on Russ concessions before they move.
Moscow assails “deliberate obstruction and hostility by new peking government.” Warns “Russian patience not inexhaustible.” Shulatov clamps on press censorship, bans free movement by international relief commission. Says it will be permitted to dispense aid through Moscow only.
Caualties continue to swamp all facilities in both countries as outbreak of typhus reported. Doctors fear plague.
“Mr. President,” he said next morning, “my colleagues and I have prepared, as I told you, a formal disarmament agreement for the signatures of your government, the Russian government and our own. Prior to discussing that, however, I should like to explore with you a little, if I may, your state of mind concerning what has happened to you. How seriously do you and your government regard it, how much impact has it had upon you, do you have any human emotions about it, any worry, any fear, any unhappiness? Or has it all been just an unfortunate incident that you are already forgetting?”
For a moment Lin Kung-chow looked at him with an unbelieving stare. Then he leaned forward and spoke with an open intensity that made no attempt to hide itself behind bland words and bamboo curtains.
“Mr. President!” he said sharply. “Mr. President! Surely you make jokes with us, surely you make a mockery. We have shown you the pictures, we have told you our attitude toward those who did these horrors to us. It is our country which has been devastated, Mr. President. Why must you make jokes about our ‘state of mind’?”
“I am not making jokes at all,” he said calmly. “My question is prompted solely by the fact that yesterday you seemed not at all concerned with the possibility of starting it all up again. You appeared to be so intent on vengeance against the Russians that you paid no attention to the broader implications of what the two of you have done to mankind and the jeopardy you have us all in if you should resume fighting. It all seemed very irresponsible to my colleagues and myself. We decided we would like to know whether you really care about what has happened, or whether it is all some sort of bloody game that you can resume at will without regard to the safety of the whole world.”
“Mr. President,” Lin said angrily. “Mr. President—” and stopped, genuinely at a loss for words.
“Then perhaps,” he suggested calmly, “you should reconsider your attitude of yesterday and give more careful consideration to the realities we all face.… Now, for the time being, I’d suggest we put aside the question of disarmament and turn to the other matters that must be decided. I don’t know how much you know of what has been going on outside your country in the past few days, but you may have heard that I made several specific proposals for things that might be done to re-establish and maintain world peace.
“Several are outside your competence, involving such things as the Suez and Panama canals. There are other proposals, however, in which your direct involvement is necessary. Perhaps we can discuss them now.”
“Yes,” Lin agreed, his tone easing a little, his colleagues relaxing a shade of their intent and wary concentration.
“With the proviso,” the President added, “that we will come back to the disarmament question after we have completed these other matters.”
“We will discuss it,” Lin said.
“More than that,” the President said pleasantly. “We will sign it. So, then: the other proposals. The first is the International Relief Commission which has been established under United Nations control to aid the victims in the two countries. Money, medical supplies and medical teams are already on their way from the other nations of the world, the commission has been established and is already beginning operations. It is desired that the United Chinese Republic also pledge as much as it possibly can to the efforts of this organization. Is that agreeable?”
“We are doing everything we can to assist our own people,” Lin said.
“The commission is an intern
ational effort, a common pool. You may find yourselves also assisting the Russians, as they may be assisting you. Is that thought too abhorrent for you?”
There was a pause, an obvious tightening of tension across the table.
“We should of course require that we be consulted on any such action,” Lin said finally. “You must understand that our first obligation is to our own people.”
“You must understand that the nations of the world with great generosity are also making great contributions to help ‘your own people.’ We expect the same generosity from you and from Russia.”
“Have you got it from them?” Lin inquired quickly. “The news from Moscow would not seem to say so.”
The President shrugged and managed to make the gesture look entirely convincing.
“The news from Moscow,” he said calmly, “is not the final word. Right now we are interested in the news from Peking. We expect your contributions to go in the common fund. You will be represented fully on the commission. It will make the distributions. All right?”
“I think we must wait,” Lin said politely, “for the final word you mention. When we know what that is, then we shall know better what we must do. For the time being, I should think we would wish to distribute foreign aid through our own administrative channels here in Peking, just as they are doing in Moscow.”
“They are not doing it yet,” he snapped, thinking: Damn the Russians. “Nor will they do it. That is bluff. I suggest to you that the bluff will be called and I suggest that you are in no position, either one of you, to dictate the terms of this humanitarian effort. Let me ask you, Mr. President: does your country need this help or does it not? It can always be withdrawn, you know.”
