A Shade of Difference

by Allen Drury

  “But he’s bearing it.”

  “He’s good stuff.” The Secretary frowned. “And he trusts me. I can’t run out on him.”

  “I didn’t know you were considering it,” the President said in some surprise. Orrin made an impatient motion.

  “I’m not. But—how do we let Seab down gently? That’s what’s bothering me now. How can we make any gesture to help him save face without Cullee thinking I’m betraying him? It’s a problem.”

  “If Seab could come that close to beating us in the House,” the President remarked, “I don’t think I’d worry too much about saving his face in the Senate. He’s doing all right.”

  “But he won’t,” the Secretary said flatly. “History’s against him.”

  “Oh? I don’t know that all the Senate agrees with that. I suppose you saw this story in the New York Times this morning”—he picked it up from the desk and put on his reading glasses—“‘Southern Filibuster Threatened on M’Bulu Apology.’ How about that?”

  “Psychological warfare. Bob tells me the talk is in the air—it’s always in the air, when they don’t like something—but that’s about all it is. It’s so late in the session, and everybody wants to go home, and basically the resolution is relatively harmless from their point of view.”

  “Except in context of recent events,” the President said. “How about that proviso on speeding progress in attaining civil rights? That’s the sort of thing they’ll normally fight tooth and nail, even if it’s only an expression of intent.”

  “Well, I’m not saying they won’t. Anybody who predicts the Senate is on dangerous ground. But I say it’s rather less likely than more. Particularly since Seab is getting on and maybe doesn’t really feel like expending the energy—or maybe doesn’t have it to expend. Let’s face it, our friend is getting old.”

  “I still say it didn’t stop him in the House.”

  The Secretary made a scornful sound.

  “With a weak sister like Jawbone Swarthman to work on? That didn’t take much energy. I’ll bet all Seab had to do was make a couple of phone calls and Jawbone was ready to fire on Sumter again. The Senate is another matter.”

  “The Senate,” the President said somewhat ruefully, “is always another matter. I hope you’re right. It will simplify things considerably if we can get it through the Senate in reasonable order.”

  “Possibly things will change at the UN, too,” the Secretary said, “now that your friend the Governor of California has decided to get religion.”

  “Not necessarily my friend,” the President said, “except”—he gave a mischievous smile—“as all you would-be Presidents are my friends. Apparently your putting the screws on Patsy at Dolly’s brunch had some effect after all.”

  “Your putting them on. I’m sure that was what did it, when you made your little disapproving comment. So now we get this—” Orrin reached over and picked up the Times and read in a formal if mocking tone:

  ‘“JASON CONDEMNS LABAIYA AMENDMENT IN UN … Governor Edward Jason of California today denounced a United Nations amendment attacking United States racial policies. The amendment was introduced by the Governor’s brother-in-law, Felix Labaiya-Sofra, Ambassador of Panama.

  “‘Governor Jason in a statement issued through his office in Sacramento last night said that the Labaiya Amendment was “unnecessary and insulting” in view of action in Washington on a resolution introduced by Rep. Cullee Hamilton, also of California. Rep. Hamilton is a Negro.

  “‘The Hamilton Resolution was approved by the House last night by the narrow margin of 219-214. It apologizes to the M’Bulu of Mbuele, ruler of the British-held territory of Gorotoland in Africa, for an incident in which he was attacked in Charleston, S.C., when he intervened in school integration efforts in that city. It also pledges greater efforts by the United States to speed fuller civil rights for its Negro citizens.

  “‘Governor Jason said House passage of the resolution indicated approval by the Senate can be expected at an early date. He said this action by the Congress “obviates any need for an outside agency such as the United Nations to interfere in the domestic affairs of the United States.”

  ‘“The governor added that racial progress in this country “has brought the American Negro greater benefits, greater genuine freedom, and greater security than that achieved by Negroes anywhere else in the world.” He paid particular tribute to Rep, Hamilton for his fight to assist Negro progress.

  “‘There was immediate speculation in Washington that the Governor’s statement might have been prompted by fear that a too-close association with the anti-American views of his brother-in-law, Ambassador Labaiya, could hurt the governor’s chances for the presidential nomination next year. His statement was regarded as a skillful attempt to disassociate himself from Sr. Labaiya while at the same time retaining the goodwill and support of America’s Negro community.’”

  The President chuckled.

  “That last paragraph nails Ted to the mast, all right. I hope Cullee and the Negro community are suitably impressed.”

  “I don’t know about the community,” Orrin said, “but Cullee isn’t. He attacked Ted in the UN debate, you know. I think those two are coming to a parting of the ways.”

  “One wants to be President and the other wants to be Senator,” the President remarked. “When two ambitions are that strong and generally complementary, it takes more than a few candid remarks to make the parties hop out of bed. We shall see what we shall see as we draw nearer convention time … What is the situation at the UN, assuming Felix ignores this, as I expect he will?”

  “I expect he will, too,” the Secretary said. “He’s a strange boy, Felix. His ultimate ambitions include various things, such as becoming President of Panama and trying to boot us out of the Canal, I’m pretty sure. In the meantime, he will do what damage he can. Hal tells me things are holding pretty well, even though Felix did give him the cold shoulder when he tried out your idea of a loan and more representation on the Canal Company.”

  “I didn’t expect anything from it, but it seemed worth the try. How is Hal?”

  “Feeling better, apparently. So he tells me, anyway, and I checked later with Lafe, who said the same thing. I hope so. I hate to have him sick, and I would also hate to make a change in the delegation just as we come to a showdown on the Labaiya Amendment.”

  The President nodded.

  “One change is enough for the moment. I only hope things are concluded in Congress on Cullee’s resolution so that he can be back up there when the debate resumes on Friday. Why don’t you have Bob sound out Seab about his plans? Maybe the three of you can work something out.”

  “I’m ahead of you. Bob and I are having lunch with him at one.”

  “And you have to let him down gently and still not let Cullee down at all. Good luck, my friend. That’s a problem in diplomacy worthy of a Secretary of State.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Orrin said, rising. “Now I’ll run along and leave you to the world’s problems. I assume you’ve read over the message on Berlin and the report of the Eleven-Nation Nuclear Powers Commission—”

  “Twelve as of yesterday. Don’t forget South Africa.”

  “Right—and will let me know.”

  The President smiled.

  “I shall. And what I recommend on the situation in Iran, and whether we should make any formal protest to India about the Prime Minister’s statement, and whether it’s worth trying to work things out with Indonesia, and if we should take further action on this new thing in Cuba. Also what to do about Guiana’s latest, and whether or not to reply to the Soviet Union’s newest charges. To say nothing of the things I have to decide today on the new expedition to the moon, extension of the draft, the construction of fifteen new Polaris submarines, whether to have the Secretary of Labor talk to Clete O’Donnell about his union’s strike-threat at Cape Canaveral, the establishment of a new Titan launching base in Alaska, and the size of the standing army. Plus some o
dds and ends on unemployment, the medical bill, the possibility of an auto strike in Detroit, the possibility of a breakdown in steel negotiations, the problem of finding two new directors to fill vacancies on the Federal Power Commission, a proposal to extend Federal assistance to the program to clean up pollution in the Potomac River, and whether to authorize the Civil Service Commission to give government employees an extra day on Thanksgiving weekend.” He shook his head with a rueful smile. “And anything else that happens to come along as I sit here, defenseless and vulnerable, perfect target for all the bucks and all the problems that ultimately get passed along to this office, whose occupant has to know everything about everything because that’s what his countrymen put him here for.”

  “You make it sound quite terrifying,” the Secretary said, “but, in spite of looking tired, you seem to be thriving on it. So I shall remain ambitious, optimistic, undaunted, and unafraid.”

  ‘If poor old Harley can do it, I guess poor old Orrin can, is that it?” the President asked with a smile. “Well, who knows? Time will tell.”

  “Time and you. I expect to get a clear-cut answer from time long before I get one from you.”

  “It does you good to be uncertain about what I’ll do,” the President told him cheerfully. “It keeps you on your toes. Good luck with Seab.”

  “You’re as cold-blooded as your predecessor,” Orrin said with a grin, but not entirely in jest. The President looked amused.

  “My secret weapon is that nobody but you suspects it. Check with me after lunch; I’ll do what I can from here.”

  Now the time was approaching for him to face up to whatever it was that had, quite literally, been gnawing at his vitals, but even as he tried to prepare himself mentally to go into Harkness Pavilion later in the day, the senior Senator from West Virginia found himself interrupted by the crowding problems of the UN and the incessant carpings of his colleagues. That this was a good thing for his morale, in that it kept him occupied, he recognized; but as he sat in Special Political Committee and listened to the delegate of Guiana raise again the tired bugaboo of American economic imperialism, a sudden savage anger assailed him. He raised his hand, though the strange kneading pain was again working its way through his abdomen to his chest and breathing was painful.

  “Is the distinguished delegate of Guiana aware,” he asked, “that his country’s policies have been so erratic of late that no new investments by United States companies have been attempted in the past three years? If this is American economic imperialism, Mr. Chairman, I would say the government of Guiana has found the perfect answer to it by being so unreliable that American capital doesn’t dare venture in.”

  There was a murmur of amusement across the half-moon of seats in the brightly lighted room. The delegate of Guiana drew himself up to his full five-feet-one and glared at him.

  “This is typical of United States flippancy, Mr. Chairman. It is impossible to discuss matters intelligently with the distinguished delegate from the United States when he is in that mood.”

  “Those who don’t like the mood had better give some thought to not putting us in it,” Hal Fry snapped. “Intelligent discussion begets intelligent discussion. Foolishness begets flippancy.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” the delegate of Guiana said stiffly, “I shall proceed with my prepared statement. Not only is the United States guilty of gross economic imperialism, but even greater is her crime of—”

  Hal Fry was aware of someone slipping quietly into the seat behind him. A narrow brown hand reached forward and closed gently on his right arm.

  “You are very severe this morning, dear Hal,” Krishna Khaleel murmured, leaning forward so that their whispered conversation would not disturb the rest. “What have we done to arouse this violent reaction from one who is normally so good-natured and equable?”

  “I’m just tired of hypocrisy, K.K. Tired, tired, tired of it. People blandly ignoring the facts, people blandly saying things they know are not true. There comes a point beyond which decent men cannot stomach it. I’m sorry if that offends you. Your capacity is obviously greater than mine.”

  “Well, Hal,” the Indian Ambassador said, “I can see you are in no mood for rational talk. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes, I’m feeling all right!” Senator Fry whispered angrily, though a sudden excruciating pain suddenly shot clear up from his bowels to the top of his head and his eyes blurred the room for a second. With a great effort he made himself smile and speak more calmly. “What do you hear on the Labaiya Amendment? Has the House vote helped any?”

  Krishna Khaleel shrugged elaborately.

  “Who knows? Some say yes, some say no. It is all quite mysterious.”

  “And what do you say? That’s what I want to know, accurate and objective observer that you are.”

  “I try to be, Hal,” Krishna Khaleel said with dignity. “It is not always so easy when passions are inflamed as they are these days in world affairs, but I try to be.”

  “We all admire you for it. And so what about the House action?”

  “It has been helpful,” the Indian Ambassador said thoughtfully. “Yes, I would say it has. Whether helpful enough to change basic sentiments here, I do not, of course, know; nor can I say what the effect will be if the Senate follows suit.”

  “But there would be no doubt of the reaction if the Senate didn’t.”

  “Oh, none whatsoever. None whatsoever. As it stands at the moment, of course, you are being given credit for a worthy, if somewhat belated and reluctant, attempt to behave like a decent and responsible power toward the colored people, your own and those of the world. We give you credit for trying. At the moment, that is. But …” He paused, and his eyes narrowed as they traveled over the crowded room with its kaleidoscope of faces and pigments. “We do not know, of course, what else will happen. It is still touch-and-go, if you like. Many of us wish you well. But we shall wait to see what it all means when you have finished.”

  “It’s nice not to be patronized, K.K.,” Senator Fry said with a cordial irony that apparently escaped the Indian Ambassador, for he replied only with a vaguely friendly smile. “You don’t know how much we appreciate it. I should think we would have picked up several votes. I hear we have. And it would take two-thirds here to pass Felix’s amendment, anyway. And there wasn’t anything like that on his side on the vote against delaying debate. So I think we’re in good shape.”

  “One never knows, does one? One never knows, in this world. I do hope your health is all right, my dear Hal. One hears such upsetting rumors in the Delegates’ Lounge.”

  “That’s about all one hears in the Delegates’ Lounge,” Senator Fry said tartly.

  “But you are all right?” K.K. persisted, and Hal realized his expression must be more revealing than he knew.

  “Fine, thank you, K.K. How about going out for a cup of coffee or something? Guiana’s the last speaker and I don’t think I’ll bother to intervene again.”

  “I would love to, but unfortunately I have arranged to meet the M’Bulu for a brief talk in ten minutes.” He hesitated. “If you would care to join us—?”

  “No, thank you. Nice of you to be polite, but I wouldn’t dream of it. Give him my love and bad wishes.”

  “Really, Hal,” the Indian Ambassador said with some severity. “You are flippant, just as Guiana says you are.”

  “Purely defensive,” Hal said, more truthfully than he would have liked to admit in view of the savage ringing dizziness that engulfed him. “See you later.”

  “Good luck at the hospital,” K.K. said, and suddenly, solemnly, offered his hand.

  “Who said I was going to the hospital?” Hal Fry asked sharply, even as he automatically returned the handshake.

  “I wish you well, indeed, dear Hal,” K.K. replied, his head averted as though he were genuinely affected, and Senator Fry thought he probably was. “Let me know if I can be helpful.”

  “Yes,” Hal said still automatically. “I will.”
>
  Therefore his situation must be known to them all, he thought as he rose carefully and walked with what appeared to be a thoughtful slowness toward the door, careful not to give any appearance of haste that would prompt any wild-eyed assumptions that he was walking out on Guiana. He only hoped the word had not spread too far, otherwise it would quickly get back to Washington and there would be all sorts of bothersome complications at once. I don’t want to make a federal case out of it, he told himself as he took the elevator to street level and started across the lobby past Zeus and Sputnik. I really don’t.

  At the door he paused, his eyes as always drawn upward to the silvered ball of the Netherlands swinging slowly on its steel wire, moving on its endless path, recording the swift, inexorable spinning of the globe.

  “It is a privilege to live this day and tomorrow”; the inscription on the pedestal beneath the ball echoed in his mind.

  God grant it me, he thought as he walked out upon the esplanade in the thin autumn sunshine and started across First Avenue toward U.S. headquarters and the hospital that waited beyond, after he had put his office in order for the day. God grant it me.

  “But, DARLING,” his wife was saying over the telephone from Dumbarton Avenue in Washington, “you really can’t BLAME Ted, now, can you? After all, he DID warn you. And so did I. It seems to me you really have no grounds for complaint at all. Really none at all.”

  “I suppose,” said Felix coldly, “that this is all part of some arrangement he has worked out with the President to get his backing for the nomination next year.” Patsy made an impatient sound at the other end of the wire.

  “Now, that is absurd. SIMPLY absurd. Ted hasn’t been in touch with the President at all since he left here last week. So how could he have worked out any arrangement with that stuffy old man?”

  “Possibly not,” Felix said, “but I will wager you have.” His wife hesitated for the slightest of seconds and then said thoughtfully, “It wasn’t quite that way. I would say HE worked it out with ME. I don’t know whether I told you we all had brunch at Dolly’s on Sunday—”