A Shade of Difference (51 page)

“Now you are being bitter,” remarked Miss Burma (East). “This has been agreed by the great powers and thus all have been satisfied. In Moscow this half-ing has been a triumph of communism and in Washington it has been a triumph of democracy, and so everyone has been happy.”

“Except that Moscow has been happiest of all,” said Miss Malaya (North), and they all laughed with a knowing air, like a group of little cymbals tinkling away with a polite scorn in the echoing concourse.

“You do not believe, then,” said Miss Thailand (West), “that it has really been a triumph for the democracies, this half-ing? Washington has told us so. Do you not believe Washington?”

“I do not even half-believe Washington,” said Miss Viet Nam (South), and they all laughed merrily again.

“We must back to business,” Miss Malaya (North) pointed out with a show of mock firmness. “Tour 28,” she said sharply into the microphone. “All who hold tickets marked 28, please go to the glass doors.”

“Look at them!” she added with her hand over the mouthpiece. “Just look!”

“Many of those who are waiting to go in Conference Room 4 are black, I notice,” Miss Burma (East) observed. “An unusual number, I would say.”

“I suppose they are interested in the Labaiya amendment,” said Miss Thailand (West). “It probably brings them.”

“It seems to me an unusual number, all black, though,” said Miss Burma (East).

“Perhaps it has to do with the Asian-African conference,” suggested Miss Viet Nam (South).

“You may be half-right,” Miss Malaya (North) remarked, and again they all tinkled away most merrily. “But it does seem an unusual number.”

“You say,” the little owl-eyed man asked him with a pompously solemn and all-knowing air, “that these new attacks began this morning? The prescription I gave you the other day has had no effect?”

“Evidently not,” Hal Fry said. “As I told you, over the past few days I’ve been noticing odd little things—an occasional reddish blurring of vision, principally.”

“And this of course has been related directly to the increasing difficulties of the United States here in the United Nations,” the little owl-eyed man suggested smoothly. Hal Fry gave an impatient laugh.

“Oh, come on, Doctor. Let’s don’t tell me about nervous tension again. I haven’t been under any pressures from that.”

“Sometimes we are under pressures of which we are not aware.”

“Yes,” Hal Fry said skeptically. “Well, I know what the pressures are here, and I’m fully aware of them, because they are considerable. But they aren’t causing these spells.”

“I see. Could you describe them again?”

“I’ve just described them. I’m having one right now, and I’ve told you about it. What are you trying to do, trip me up?”

The little owl-eyed man shrugged.

“Well, if you won’t help yourself,” he said with an unmoved smugness, “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Now, look,” Hal Fry said, trying to keep his temper, which was not easy, for his eyes were blurring again and the combination of dizziness and cramps through his stomach and upper body was shortening his breath, accelerating his heart, and making it difficult for him to talk clearly, “I know they considered you the brightest boy in your class at NYU—”

“They did, as a matter of fact,” the little owl-eyed man said calmly.

“—and I know this has given you a lifelong license to be positive about everything, but I am telling you this business is like nothing on land or sea. It’s completely erratic the way it comes and goes. It just doesn’t make sense. It bears no relation to tension, or lack of it, or anything else. Hadn’t you better give me some serious tests and try to find out what it is?”

“I am quite sure tests wouldn’t show anything more than we know right now as a result of the preliminary check the other day,” the little owl-eyed man said serenely, “but eventually, if it persists, we shall give you some and then you will see.”

“If
it persists! I can tell you it shows no signs of diminishing.”

“It came abruptly; it may go with equal abruptness, once the tensions are removed.”

“Damn it,” Hal Fry said angrily, “it isn’t due to tension!”

“You are raising your voice,” the little owl-eyed man pointed out reasonably. “It is always a sign of some inner disturbance.”

“You’re damned right it is,” Hal Fry snapped, the agony now rising fearfully through his body. “I’m disturbed by you, because you won’t listen to what’s wrong with me.”

“I’ve been listening,” the little owl-eyed man informed him. “All right,” he said, scribbling a prescription on a piece of paper. “Have the dispensary fill this; take two at bedtime and one before each meal. And see if that doesn’t correct your nervous tension.”

“But it isn’t nervous tension,” Hal Fry said, more quietly. “Look,” he added curiously, “aren’t you just interested, as a doctor, in what these symptoms mean? I should think you’d like to find out from a scientific standpoint, if nothing else.”

“We live in a difficult world,” the little owl-eyed man said. “I see nothing here that doesn’t fit the classic pattern. Take those, and if they don’t help, come back. I’m always glad to talk to you. That’s what we’re here for.”

“If I had anything to do with it,” Senator Fry said sharply, “you wouldn’t be here.” The little owl-eyed man permitted himself the smallest of smug and knowing smiles.

“That too fits the pattern. Fortunately, you do not. Don’t worry too much about the country’s difficulties,” he called as the Senator rose and started out the door, narrowly missing a collision with a pretty little nurse from some Asian country. “Everything will work out all right.”

That’s what you think, you supercilious son of a bitch, Senator Fry replied silently, but there was no further point in arguing with this one. He walked out, slowly and carefully, for fear that he might fall if he walked too fast. How he would get through the next hour, he did not at this moment know, but he did know one thing: He must.

“I say,” said the London
Daily Telegraph
with a pleasant relish as they sat in the press section of Conference Room 4 and watched the big double horseshoe of seats fill up with black and brown, “do you expect they’ll roast Senator Fry over a slow fire or put him out to the ants?”

“Good show any way they do it,” the Manchester
Guardian
said. “Imagine the smarmy nerve of barging in here uninvited.”

“Oh, he was invited,” the
Telegraph
said. “Ghana invited him, I understand.”

“I guess they thought it would be a dull day without a little fun,” the
Guardian
said with a chuckle. “This is one time when the Yanks get told off right where they live, I’ll lay odds.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer country,” the London
Daily Mail
remarked with a jovial acid, sliding into a seat alongside and peering casually over the crowded chamber. “Always heartening to see the good receive what they deserve.”

“I know,” the
Daily Express
agreed with a chuckle. “It encourages one’s faith in the instinctive abilities of backward peoples to do the right thing, given sufficient education and information.”

“Uncle Sam has educated them this time, all right,” the
Guardian
said. “Where’s friend Terry?”

“There he is,” the
Telegraph
said, “just coming in over there with Tashikov.”

“Tashikov gets around, doesn’t he?” the
Daily Mail
observed.

“I must say he’s had everything handed him on a silver platter this time,” the
Evening Standard
said.

“It’s all so stupid,” the
Telegraph
said. “Why don’t the damned Americans ever grow up? It embarrasses all of us, having to drag them along with this racial albatross ’round their necks.”

“Come now, old boy,” the
Sunday Observer
said from the row behind. “Would you want your daughter to marry a nigra?”

“Have a bloody good time of it if she did, from what I hear,” the
Daily Mail
said with a laugh. “Looks like we’re drawing a good house today.”

“I can’t tell,” the
Guardian
said, “It’s dark in here.”

And so it was, for as the seats on the floor began to fill up, delegates coming in and greeting one another effusively, the air of tension quickening as more and more entered, it was apparent that the gathering was almost entirely colored, partially Asian but much more Negro. Here and there a white face stood out with startling vividness, but even in the press section the whites were far outnumbered, and in the public galleries the audience appeared to be almost entirely Negro. It was indeed dark in here; nor was it entirely a matter of pigmentation. There was something about the manner in which the delegates greeted one another, about the self-important swaggerings of the Ghanaians and Guineans and the rest, about the overpowering attitude of look-at-us-we’re-wonderful, that finally prompted the
Telegraph
to murmur to the
Express,
“Bottom dog on top ride mighty high.”

“On
our
backs, buster,” the
Express,
with less levity and a certain grimness, murmured back.

On the floor, however, all was happiness and harmony as the gathering grew. The M’Bulu of Mbuele, obviously in his element, could be seen passing from delegation to delegation, bowing, shaking hands, waving gaily to friends and acquaintances. At his side, equally cordial, equally ubiquitous, the Ambassadors of India and the Soviet Union also passed among the crowd. Off to one side the Ambassador of Panama could be noted, deep in conversation with Nigeria and Ceylon as the clock neared three and the babble of talk and greeting mounted. Causing a great stir of excitement, the acting head of the American delegation entered the room just before three, appearing to be a little slow, a little tired, a little preoccupied; but he shook hands with the delegate of Mali, in the chair, with a good show of cordiality and then took a seat in a chair at the front of the room and looked about with an expression that seemed calm if somewhat preoccupied.

Promptly at three, the delegate of Mali rapped his gavel and announced, “Unlike the habit of some other gatherings at the United Nations, this one will start on time!”

There was a ripple of appreciative laughter and a round of applause begun by Terrible Terry. When it died the chairman looked first at Senator Fry, on his right hand, and Vasily Tashikov, on his left.

“We are honored today,” he said, “by the presence of the distinguished delegates of the United States and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, whom we have invited to address us on the subject of the amendment offered to his resolution by the distinguished delegate of Panama.”

Again there was a burst of applause, and in response to it Felix stood and bowed gravely, his eyes meeting those of the Senator from West Virginia without expression.

“The first speaker,” Mali said, “will be the distinguished delegate of the United States.”

There was a scattering of applause, coldly correct, exactly measured, as Senator Fry rose to speak. He had hoped he would be called last, he had hoped for a little more time in which to let the latest storm abate in his body; but he was captive of the situation, as indeed were they all, and there was nothing for it but to go ahead. He was aware that Lafe had entered at the back of the room and was standing against the wall staring at him as though he would will strength into him by his look; and in a way, Hal realized gratefully, he did. He took a deep breath, leaned forward to the microphone in front of his chair, and began.

“Mr. Chairman, distinguished delegates: I wish to thank you for inviting me to address this important conference today, particularly since the subject of your discussion is one in which the United States of course is intimately concerned.” There was a little ripple of sarcastic laughter, and a sudden anger strengthened his voice. “The United States is not ashamed of the actions which it has taken, as a government, to improve the conditions of the Negro race within its borders. The United States has done far more in actual accomplishment than most of those who attack the United States have achieved with words. The United States is not here to make apologies to anyone for its conduct as a government.”

There was an angry stir across the floor, a scattering of boos and hisses from the galleries; tension gripped the room as fiercely as his private demon was gripping his body. God, give me strength, he said in a silent inward prayer; let me get through this. I must, I must.

“No, Mr. Chairman,” he repeated slowly, “the United States is not here to make apologies to anyone for its conduct as a government. But it is here to make apologies and to make suitable restitution—as a government, though it is not guilty as a government—for the actions of some of its private citizens, acting in their private capacity.

“Although my government cannot always control these actions, or be on hand on every occasion to prevent them from getting out of hand, still it is willing to consider itself responsible in a larger sense and to take appropriate steps—just as the government of some other country, for instance, may be responsible for the murder of some of its tribesmen, or another government may be responsible for maintaining a class of slaves known as ‘untouchables.’ My government is willing, with honor, to accept its responsibilities in this regard.

“However, Mr. Chairman,” he said, and he was forced by the ravening pain to slow down for a moment so much so that a little stir of interest moved through his audience until he took a deep breath and forced himself on forcefully enough so that the interest subsided, “the United States does not believe that any good purpose would be served by holding it up to world calumny here in the United Nations.” He was aware of the slightest of movements from Vasily Tashikov, a hand going slowly up to his forehead, but did not think of it for more than a second, telling himself wryly out of his own pain that perhaps Vasily had headaches, too.

“The United States, believing that its record as a government is a good one in the racial field, believing that it is moving through certain important channels in Washington to make full amends both to His Royal Highness the M’Bulu and to its own Negro citizens, therefore believes that it would be most unwise and indeed unfriendly for the General Assembly—”