by Mike Resnick
“This isn’t America, sir.”
“A point that is being driven home daily,” muttered Roosevelt wearily.
11
Roosevelt sat at his desk, staring at a number of letters and documents that lay stacked neatly in front of him. To his left was a photograph of Edith and his children, to his right a picture of himself delivering a State of the Union address to the United States Congress, and behind him, on an ornate brass stand, was the flag of the Congo Free State.
Finally, with a sigh, he opened the final letter, read it quickly, and, frowning, placed it atop the stack.
“Bad news, Mr. President?” asked Boyes, who was sitting in the leather chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“No worse than the rest of them,” answered Roosevelt. “That was from Mr. Bennigan, our chief engineer on the Stanley Falls Bridge. He sends his regrets, but his men haven’t been paid in three weeks, and he’s going to have to pull out.” He stared at the letter. “There’s no postmark, of course, but I would guess that it took at least two weeks to get here.”
“We didn’t need him anyway,” said Boyes, dismissing the matter with a shrug. “What’s the sense of building a bridge over the falls if we don’t have any trains or cars?”
“Because someday we’ll have them, John, and when we do, they’re going to need roads and tracks and bridges.”
“When that happy day arrives, I’m sure we’ll have enough money to complete work on the bridge,” replied Boyes.
Roosevelt sighed. “It’s not as devastating a blow as losing the teachers. How many of them have left?”
“Just about all.”
“Damn!” muttered Roosevelt. “How can we educate the populace if there’s no one to teach them?”
“With all due respect, sir, they don’t need Western educations,” said Boyes. “You’re trying to turn them into Americans, and they’re not. Reading and writing are no more important to them than railroads are.”
Roosevelt stared at him for a long moment. “What do you think is important to them, John?”
“You’re talking about a primitive society,” answered Boyes. “They need to learn crop rotation and hygiene and basic medicine far more than they need roads that they’ll never use and railroad cars that they think are simply huts on wheels.”
“You’re wrong, John,” said Roosevelt adamantly. “A little black African baby is no different than a little black American baby—or a little white American baby, for that matter. If we can get them young enough, and educate them thoroughly enough…”
“I don’t like to contradict you, sir,” interrupted Boyes, “but you’re wrong. What’s the point of having ten thousand college graduates if they all have to go home to their huts every night because there aren’t two hundred jobs for educated men in the whole country? If you want to have a revolution on your hands, raise their expectations, prepare them to live and function in London or New York—and then make them stay in the Congo.”
Roosevelt shook his head vigorously. “If we did things your way, these people would stay in ignorance and poverty forever. I told you when we began this enterprise that I wasn’t coming here to turn the Congo into my private hunting preserve.” He paused. “I haven’t found the key yet, but if anyone can bring the Congo into the 20th Century, I can.”
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps no one can?” suggested Boyes gently.
“Not for a moment,” responded Roosevelt firmly.
“I’ll stay as long as you do, sir,” said Boyes. “You know that. But if you don’t come up with some answers pretty soon, we may be the last two white men in this country, except for the missionaries and some of the Belgian planters who stayed behind. Almost half our original party has already left.”
“They were just here for ivory or adventure,” said Roosevelt dismissively. “We need people who care about this country more than we need people who are here merely to plunder it.” Suddenly he stared out the window at some fixed point in space.
“Are you all right, sir?” asked Boyes after Roosevelt had remained motionless for almost a minute.
“Never better,” answered the American suddenly. “You know, John, I see now that I’ve been going about this the wrong way. No one cares as much for the future of the Congo as the people themselves. I was wrong to try to bring in help from outside; in the long run, any progress we make here will be much more meaningful if it’s accomplished by our own efforts.”
“Ours?” repeated Boyes, puzzled. “You mean yours and mine?”
“I mean the citizens of the Congo Free State,” answered Roosevelt. “I’ve been telling you and the engineers and the teachers and the missionaries what they need. I think it’s about time I told the people and rallied them to their own cause.”
“We’ve already promised them democracy,” said Boyes. “And there’s at least one Mangbetu village that will swear we delivered it to them,” he added with a smile.
“Those were politicians’ promises, designed to get our foot in the door,” said Roosevelt. “Democracy may be a right, but it isn’t a gift. It requires effort and sacrifice. They’ve got to understand that.”
“First they’ve got to understand what democracy means.”
“They will, once I’ve explained it to them,” answered Roosevelt.
“You mean in person?” asked Boyes.
“That’s right,” said Roosevelt. “I’ll start in the eastern section of the country, now that my Swahili has become fluent, and as I move west I’ll use translators. But I’m going to go out among the people myself. I’m certainly not doing any good sitting here in Stanleyville; it’s time to go out on the stump and get my message across to the only people who really need to understand it.” He paused. “I’d love to have your company, John, but there are so few of us left that I think it would be better for you to remain here and keep an eye on things.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. President,” replied Boyes. “When will you leave?”
“Tomorrow,” said Roosevelt. He paused. “No. This afternoon. There’s nothing more important to do, and we’ve no time to waste.”
***
He went among the people for five weeks, and everywhere he stopped, the drums had anticipated his arrival and the tribes flocked to see him.
He took his time, avoided any hint of jingoism, and carefully explained the principles of democracy to them. He pointed out the necessity of education, the importance of modern farming methods, the need to end all forms of tribalism, and the advantages of a monied economy. At the end of each “town meeting”, as he called them, he held a prolonged question-and-answer session, and then he moved on to the next major village and repeated the entire procedure again.
During the morning of his thirty-sixth day on the stump, he was joined by Yank Rogers, who rode down from Stanleyville to see him.
“Hello, Yank!” cried Roosevelt enthusiastically as he saw the American riding up to his tent, which had been pitched just outside of a Lulua village.
“Hi, Teddy,” said Rogers, pulling up his horse and dismounting. “You’re looking good. Getting out in the bush seems to agree with you.”
“I feel as fit as a bull moose,” replied Roosevelt with a smile. “How’s John doing?”
“Getting rich, as usual,” said Rogers, not without a hint of admiration for the enterprising Yorkshireman. “I thought he was going to be stuck with about a million pounds of flour when all the construction people pulled out, but he heard that there was a famine in Portugese Angola, so he traded the flour for ivory, and then had Buckley and the Brittlebanks brothers cart it to Mombasa when they decided to call it quits, in exchange for half the profits.”
“That sounds like John, all right,” agreed Roosevelt. “I’m sorry to hear that we’ve lost Buckley and the others, though.”
Rogers shrugged. “They’re just Brits. What the hell do they know about democracy? They’d slit your throat in two seconds flat if someone told them that it would get ‘em an audien
ce with the King.” He paused. “All except Boyes, anyway. He’d find some way to put the King on display and charge money for it.”
Roosevelt chuckled heartily. “You know, I do believe you’re right.”
“So much for Mr. Boyes,” said Rogers, “How’s your campaign going?”
“Just bully,” answered Roosevelt. “The response has been wildly enthusiastic.” He paused. “I’m surprised news of it hasn’t reached you.”
“How could it?” asked Rogers. “There aren’t any radios or newspapers—and even if there were, these people speak 300 different languages and none of ‘em can read or write.”
“Still,” said Roosevelt, “I’ve made a start.”
“I don’t doubt it, sir.”
“I’m drawing almost five hundred natives a day,” continued Roosevelt. “That’s more than 15,000 converts in just over a month.”
“If they stay converted.”
“They will.”
“Just another six million to go,” said Rogers with a chuckle.
“I’m sure they’re passing the word.”
“To their fellow tribesmen, maybe,” answered Rogers. “I wouldn’t bet on their talking to anyone else.”
“You sound like a pessimist, Yank,” said Roosevelt.
“Pessimism and realism are next-door neighbors on this continent, Teddy,” said Rogers.
“And yet you stay,” noted Roosevelt.
Rogers smiled. “I figure if anyone can whip this country into shape, it’s you—and if you do, I want to be able to laugh at all those Brits who gave up and left.”
“Well, stick around,” said Roosevelt. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Rogers. “I haven’t heard you rile up a crowd since you ran for Governor of New York. I was in Africa before you ran for President.” Suddenly he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew an envelope. “I almost forgot why I rode all this way,” he said, handing it to Roosevelt.
“What is it?”
“A letter from Boyes,” answered Rogers. “He said to deliver it to you personally.”
Roosevelt opened the letter, read it twice, then crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into a pocket.
“I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to hear me giving any speeches this week, Yank,” he announced. “I’ve got to return to Stanleyville.”
“Something wrong?”
Roosevelt nodded. “It seems that Billy Pickering found four Belgian soldiers in a remote area in the southwest, men who had never received word that the Belgians had withdrawn from the Congo, and shot them dead.”
“You mean he had me ride all the way here just for that?” demanded Rogers.
“It’s a matter of vital importance, Yank.”
“What’s so important about four dead men?” asked Rogers. “Life is cheap in Africa.”
“The Belgian government is demanding reparation.”
“Yeah, I see where that can make it a little more expensive,” admitted Rogers.
12
“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle it,” Boyes said, staring across the desk at Roosevelt, who had just returned to Stanleyville less than an hour ago.
“You were right to summon me, John.”
“So far they haven’t made any threats, but we’re receiving diplomatic communiques every other day.”
“What’s the gist of them?”
“Reparation, as I mentioned in my note to you.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “They know we don’t have any money,” he answered. “They want something else.”
“Pickering’s head on a platter, I should think,” suggested Boyes.
“They don’t care any more about their soldiers than he did,” said Roosevelt. “Let me see those communiques.”
Boyes handed over a sheaf of papers, and Roosevelt spent the next few minutes reading through them.
“Well?” asked Boyes when the American had set the papers down.
“I don’t have sufficient information,” answered Roosevelt. “Have they gone to the world press with this?”
“If they have, we won’t know it for months,” said Boyes. “The most recent paper I’ve seen is a ten-week-old copy of the East African Standard.” He paused. “Why would going to the press make a difference?”
“Because if they’ve gone public, then they’re positioning themselves to try to take the Congo back from us, by proving that we can’t protect European nationals.”
“But they weren’t nationals,” said Boyes. “They were soldiers.”
“That just makes our position worse,” replied Roosevelt. “If we can’t protect a group of armed men who know the Congo, how can we protect anyone else?”
“Then what do you want to do about Pickering?” inquired Boyes.
“Where is he now?”
“In the jail at Leopoldville. Charlie Ross brought him in dead drunk, and locked him away.”
“The proper decision,” said Roosevelt, nodding approvingly. “I must remember to commend him for it.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to, Mr. President,” said Boyes. “He’s back in Kenya.”
“Charlie?” said Roosevelt, surprised. “I’d have thought he’d be just about the last one to leave.”
Boyes paused and stared uncomfortably across the desk at Roosevelt.
“Except for Yank Rogers and me, he was.”
“They’re all gone?”
“Yes, sir.” Boyes cleared his throat and continued: “You did your best, sir, but everything’s coming unraveled. Most of them stuck it out for better than two years, but we always knew that sooner or later they’d leave. They’re not bureaucrats and administrators, they’re hunters and adventurers.”
“I know, John,” said Roosevelt, suddenly feeling his years. “And I don’t hold it against them. They helped us more than we had any right to expect.” He paused and sighed deeply. “I had rather hoped we’d have a bureaucracy in place by this time.”
“I know, sir.”
“I wonder if it would have done much good,” Roosevelt mused aloud. He looked across at Boyes. “That trip I just returned from—I wasted my time, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir, you did.”
“We needed more teachers,” said Roosevelt. “One man can’t educate them overnight. We needed more teachers, and more money, and more time.”
Boyes shook his head. “You needed a different country, Mr. President.”
“Let’s have no more talk about the inferiority of the African race, John,” said Roosevelt. “I’m not up to it today.”
“I’ve never said they were inferior, Mr. President,” said Boyes, surprised.
“Certainly you have, John—and frequently, too.”
“That’s not so, sir,” insisted Boyes. “No matter what you may think, I have no contempt or hatred for the Africans—which is why I’ve always been able to function in their countries.” He paused. “I understand them—as much as any white man can. They’re not inferior, but they are different. The things that are important to us are of no consequence to them, and the things they care about seem almost meaningless to us—and because of that, you simply can’t turn them into Americans in two short years, or even twenty.”
“We did it in America,” said Roosevelt stubbornly.
“That’s because your blacks were being assimilated into a dominant society that already existed and was in possession of the country,” answered Boyes. “The whites here are just passing through, and the Africans know it, even if the whites don’t. They may have to put up with us temporarily, but we won’t have any lasting effect on their culture.” He paused as Roosevelt considered his words, then continued: “When all is said and done, it’s their country and their continent, and one of these days they’re going to throw us all out. But what follows us won’t look anything like a Western society; it’ll be an African society, shaped by and for the Africans.” He smiled wryly. “I wish them well, but personally I wouldn’t car
e to be part of it.”
“I’ve said it before, John: You’re a very interesting man,” said Roosevelt, a strange expression on his face. “Please continue.”
“Continue?” repeated Boyes, puzzled.
“Tell me why you wouldn’t care to be part of an African nation based on African principles and beliefs.”
“For the same reason that they have no desire to become Americans or Europeans, once we stop bribing them to pretend otherwise,” answered Boyes. “Their culture is alien to my beliefs.” He paused. “Democracy, and the Christian virtues, and the joys of lit- erature, and a reverence for life, all these things work for you, sir, because you have a deep and abiding belief in them. They won’t work here because the people of the Congo don’t believe in them. They believe in witch doctors, and tribalism, and polygamy, and rituals that seem barbaric to me even after a quarter century of being exposed to them. We couldn’t adapt to their beliefs any more than they can adapt to ours.”
“Go on, John,” said Roosevelt, his enthusiasm mounting.
Boyes stared at him curiously. “You’ve got that look about you, Mr. President.”
“What look?”
“The same one I saw that first night we met in the Lado Enclave,” said Boyes.
“How would you describe it?” asked Roosevelt, amused.
“I’d call it the look of a crusader.”
Roosevelt chuckled with delight. “You’re a very perceptive man, John,” he said. “By God, I wish I were a drinking man! I’d celebrate with a drink right now!”
“I’ll be happy to have two drinks, one for each of us, if you’ll tell me what you’re so excited about, Mr. President,” said Boyes.
“I finally understand what I’ve been doing wrong,” said Roosevelt.
“And what is that, sir?” asked Boyes cautiously.
“Everything!” said Roosevelt with a hearty laugh. “Lord knows I’ve had enough discussions on the subject with you and the others, but I’ve always proceeded on the assumption that I was part of the solution. Well, I’m not.” He paused, delighted with his sudden inside. “I’m part of the problem! So are you, John. So are the British and the French and the Portugese and the Belgians and everyone else who has tried to impose their culture on this continent. That’s what you and Mickey Norton and Charlie Ross and all the others have been telling me, but none of you could properly articulate your position or carry it through to its logical conclusion.” He paused again, barely able to sit still. “Now I finally see what we have to do, John!”