Advise and Consent (17 page)

“So it appears,” he said. “Our only hope on such occasions is that you know what you are doing and aren’t getting us into something that may weaken the whole Western position and give our friends in Moscow an irrecoverable advantage. You’re quite sure,” he added tartly, “that this is never the case?”

“Even in your own country,” Raoul Barre said calmly, “there is much sentiment for a new accommodation.”

“There really is, you know,” Lord Maudulayne offered casually. “I just got back from a speaking tour last week, you know, Seattle, San Francisco, L.A., Denver, Des Moines, Chicago, Philadelphia. The feeling was quite obvious all along.”

“I know it is,” Bob Munson admitted, “and I know you all will take advantage of it to pressure us as much as you can. I repeat, though, you’re quite sure of what you’re doing, you really know it’s the wisest course?”

“Who knows what is wisest in this troubled age?” the French Ambassador asked with a moody shrug.

“Some people pretend to,” Senator Munson said sharply. “Or so it seems to us.”

“My dear chap,” Claude Maudulayne said with an asperity of his own, “it is not that anybody pretends anything. It is simply that we are very old peoples who have been warring with one another for a very long time and we have developed certain instincts about what can and cannot be done over all these long centuries. I think our record stands well when it comes to the pinch.”

“Oh, indeed,” Bob Munson conceded, “except that you have so often waited until the pinch really pinched before you did anything about it.”

“And that has not been your policy?” Raoul Barre asked shrewdly. “I do not recall America at the barricades leading us on so very often in advance of the pinch, as you put it.”

“We’ve tried,” Senator Munson said, a trifle bleakly. “Since the last war particularly, we’ve tried. We haven’t your talent for leadership, maybe,” he said to Claude, “or your talent for realism, maybe,” he said to Raoul, “but we’ve tried. In our bumbling, blundering, well-meaning way, God knows we’ve tried. It isn’t entirely our fault if somewhere along the way it’s all seemed to go wrong.”

“Good intentions,” the French Ambassador said with a sigh. “How seldom they go hand in hand with reality.”

“And now it’s reality to give in to the Russians?” Senator Munson asked. “I cannot believe it.”

“Not exactly, no,” Lord Maudulayne said thoughtfully. “Not exactly. There again, to quote Raoul, you Americans. You oversimplify. You want it black and white. It isn’t black and white.”

“God knows,” Senator Munson replied, “that anybody who has an active knowledge and experience of United States politics knows that things aren’t black and white. But sometime, somehow, there has to come a time on nearly every issue when they are, when you’re either for something or against it, when you’re either with somebody or opposing him. That is what I think we have been searching for in international affairs ever since the war—that moment. And we don’t feel you have helped us much to find it.”

“Sometimes such moments are very small and very quick,” Raoul Barre said softly. “Sometimes they come in a second’s time, in some small aspect of events almost lost amid the general rush of things, here and gone before we hardly know it, only revealing later in their awful consequences how pivotal they were. Who knows if America’s moment has not passed? Ours has,” he finished, so bitterly that Lord Maudulayne made a movement of protest.

“Oh, not yet, old chap,” he said firmly. “Not yet, if we can all stick together.”

“Well, there we are again,” Bob Munson said. “How, and for what goal? It seems to us right now that the goal seems to be complete surrender to the enemy.”

“There you go,” Claude Maudulayne said. “The enemy. With us, you see, enemies are not enemies until—”

“Until they are bombing your cities,” Senator Munson said bitterly. “Yes, indeed. Well, not for us, thank you. We prefer to get them catalogued a little earlier than that.”

“But what an inconsistent catalogue,” Raoul Barre suggested gently, “and how temporary. Down with the Boche, up with the Boche, down with the Japs, up with the Japs, down with Russia ... up with Russia? Who can say? With us, you see, once an enemy, always an enemy, no matter what the niceties later, which is why we have found it difficult to moralize our way from position to position with you. If you wish to use the Germans for your purposes, well and good, but do not tell us they are not Germans anymore, because we know it is not so.”

“And are the Russians any different?” Senator Munson demanded. “What makes them friends now?”

“Senator, Senator!” Claude Maudulayne protested. “They are not friends. They are never friends. They are an uncomfortably strong force at the moment which must be handled with care, not with bludgeons.”

“Very well,” Bob Munson said. “I give up. You should be happy with Bob Leffingwell, I take it. From these speeches of his lately, I would guess that he favors an accommodation sufficient to satisfy even you.”

The British Ambassador looked at his colleague a trifle hopelessly and Raoul Barre shrugged.

“I do not know—” He began, but what he did not know was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Senator Munson said, and Raoul took advantage of his doing so to murmur, “You see?” to Claude Maudulayne, who murmured, “Difficult,” back. Hal Fry came in with his colleagues and Krishna Khaleel and a certain wary cordiality settled back over the room.

“There is some conspiracy here?” the Indian Ambassador asked with a jocular air which did not quite conceal his suspicion that there really was. “I am glad I have been considered worthy to be included.”

“Nothing of the sort, old chap,” Lord Maudulayne said comfortably. “Just a little talk away from all the hubbub. Bob Leffingwell and all that, you know.”

“Ah,” Krishna Khaleel said knowingly. “I might have guessed. Our dear old Bob never rests. He has a job to do, to get this man confirmed, and he will not rest until it is accomplished. Admirable, is it not, Mr. Ambassador?”

This form of address, which always surprised Claude Maudulayne a little considering the number of times he and his Commonwealth colleague had conferred on matters of mutual interest, almost provoked him to say something which he knew would be a very serious mistake. He almost suggested that K.K. relax; but he knew with a calm certainty that in his presence K.K. would never relax, that in the presence of the British it would be generations before any educated Indian could really relax, that there would always be this self-conscious, faintly hostile, faintly cringing relationship, and in spite of himself he felt a mild but satisfied contempt. Yes, he thought, you’re top dogs now, aren’t you, but there’s one thing you’ll never really have no matter how desperately you want it, and you know it, and that’s our respect. And because he knew that K.K. knew pretty much what he was thinking he threw his arm around the Indian Ambassador’s bony shoulders with an extra cordiality and informed him jovially, “Actually, we’ve been settling the problems of the world, K.K., and we need your help. Roaul and I have been trying to educate our American friend in the niceties of dealing with the Russians and he will have none of it. Now he has reinforcements and I suppose will have even less of it.”

“I see,” K.K. said, disengaging himself slowly but firmly, “perhaps then it is well I have come. It is most important for us what our friends of this great republic do in this matter, which is the only matter in the world, for that matter.”

“Important for us too, Mr. Ambassador,” Orrin Knox said crisply, mixing himself a whisky and soda and settling into a leather armchair. “We would like to know where you stand on it, if you don’t mind telling us.”

“Always so abrupt,” Raoul murmured and flashed a smile at the Indian Ambassador which seemed to make him feel better about the whole thing. Senator Fry handed him a bourbon and water and he sat down in a rather gingerly way on the outsize sofa. Then he looked blandly around the circle and inquired gently, “But where is Mr. Tashikov?”

“Mr. Tashikov wasn’t invited,” Bob Munson said coldly. “He’s some-where downstairs if you want to talk to him later and tell him all about it.”

“Oh, now,” Tom August said in his soft, worried way, “I’m sure Mr. Khaleel wouldn’t do anything like that. He was just inquiring. Bob.”

“Of course, old boy,” Claude Maudulayne said, growing heartier by the second in an attempt to stave off tension, “of course, now. He was just curious.”

“I thought I would arrange a gathering of friends and talk about Bob Leffingwell a little,” Senator Munson said in an easier tone. “I didn’t realize it would turn into a full-scale debate on foreign policy or maybe I would have invited Tashikov too, K.K.” Then his tone hardened again and he said impatiently, “However, that’s just diversionary and we all know it, so why don’t you answer Orrin’s question?”

“I do not see,” Krishna Khaleel said, turning visibly pale and speaking in a high, persistent voice, “why it would be improper to have Mr. Tashikov here. Certainly he is involved in this matter, no one more so. Why should he not be?”

“It wouldn’t work and you know it, K.K.,” Hal Fry said.

“I do not see—” K.K. began stubbornly again, and suddenly Bob Munson made an angry motion.

“Somebody go get him, for Christ’s sake,” he said angrily, “and stop this childish nonsense. Go get him, Brig. He’s down there somewhere. Tell him we’re deciding which of his cities to drop an H-bomb on and we want his advice.”

For a second the Indian Ambassador looked genuinely alarmed, and both Raoul Barre and Claude Maudulayne made protesting gestures. Senator Knox remained expressionless, Senator August looked perturbed, and Senator Anderson and Senator Fry exchanged a quick glance. Senator Danta reached over calmly and jogged the Majority Leader’s glass.

“Ginger ale,” he said reprovingly. “I knew it, Bobby. Whenever you get on that stuff there’s no holding you. Why don’t you switch to bourbon and sober up?”

“I say,” Lord Maudulayne said quickly, “I wondered what it was, right along.”

“I had my suspicions too,” Raoul Barre said, “but I didn’t want to say anything.”

“We try to keep it away from him,” Hal Fry remarked, “but he finds it in spite of us.”

At this the Majority Leader, after a moment’s hesitation, laughed some-what ruefully with the rest and held out his hand to the Indian Ambassador.

“I’m sorry, K.K.,” he said. “I’ve had a long day. You’re entirely right, of course. I don’t think it will accomplish anything, but if you want him here, we’ll have him.”

Krishna Khaleel smiled with somewhat shaky benignity, looking, as did they all, considerably relieved.

“Dear old Bob,” he said, shaking hands rather nervously. “I know you have had a difficult time with your restless brethren of the Senate, that great body. It is past. Like you, I doubt that our forbidding colleague will have much to offer us, but it is the position of my government, even in discussions among old friends, that the door should never be closed. We should always talk, you know, in the hope of avoiding—what you said.”

“I suppose,” Bob Munson said. “Run along, Brig.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Senator Anderson said. The roar of the party filled the room for a quick moment as he went out the door, and it was obvious that it was going very well. It was obvious, in fact, that it was a hum-dinging, rip-snorting, hell-raising sockdolager and then some. The door closed, silence returned and with it a little awkwardness that Orrin Knox sought dutifully at once to alleviate.

“Well, Claude,” he said chattily, “I hear you had a very successful speaking tour.”

“I enjoyed it very much,” Lord Maudulayne said warmly. “It is always a pleasure to see this country.”

“You went over very well in Chicago, they tell me,” Orrin said. “Had them cheering in the streets, almost.”

“Not quite,” Claude said in a pleased tone, “but they were most hospitable.”

“I do hope you will get to Minneapolis next time,” Tom August remarked softly. “We have some very live-wire citizens out there. You, too, Mr. Barre and Mr. Khaleel. We would like to welcome you all to Minnesota.”

“That is very generous,” the French Ambassador said, “and I would like to go. Perhaps my colleague and I can go together—you know, an international trapeze act, as it were. See them leap through hoops of fire. See them walk the tightrope of international diplomacy. Hurry, hurry!”

“You are always so witty, Mr. Ambassador,” Krishna Khaleel said. “I could never compete with you on the public platform, it is obvious right here that I could not.”

“Nonsense,” Raoul said pleasantly. “You have no trouble at all being entertaining, K.K. It is a great gift. I am sure the Americans would love it.”

“As always,” the Indian Ambassador said dryly, “I am not sure how you mean the things you say, Mr. Ambassador, but in any event, if Bob would not warn them in advance—”

“I would,” Senator Munson said, making a determined effort to regain his amiability. “I’d tell them hold onto your hats and guard your silver, this man is simply the most effective diplomat we have in Washington, so watch out.”

“Flattery,” K.K. said archly. “Flattery, always.”

“Yes,” Bob Munson said wryly, “and it gets me nowhere.”

“Here they are,” Stanley Danta said abruptly, and in spite of their firmest intentions he and his colleagues could not prevent a little wary tenseness from rising in them as Senator Anderson, talking easily and cordially, ushered the Soviet Ambassador in.

At once, as Bob Munson could see, there was a subtle but definite realignment in the room. He was pleased to note that Raoul Barre seemed almost imperceptibly to move a little closer to Lord Maudulayne and that the two of them, without stirring a muscle, seemed to move a little closer to him. A certain drawing together seemed to come over his own colleagues too, as they rose to greet the newcomer. Only K.K. remained in rather lonely isolation near the sofa and there, Bob Munson thought savagely, he could damned well remain, the snotty Hindu. But outwardly he smiled and walked forward with his hand outstretched.

“Mr. Ambassador,” he said cordially, “so nice to see you.”

“And I,” Vasily Tashikov murmured, his little shrewd eyes under their heavy brows giving the entire gathering a split-second once-over. “It is not often I have the opportunity—”