Promise of Joy

by Allen Drury

  And he sat back quietly while on his own side of the table his friends kept their faces as impassive as his, and on the other side the agitated movements and sounds and conferrings continued for several moments in a fiercely agitated undertone.

  Presently it died away; and the President of the United States of Russia, whose face had been a study in racing emotions, became calm and uncommunicative once again.

  “This, too, Mr. President,” he said quietly, “we must consider.…And now!” He stood up abruptly, his colleagues followed suit, he beamed upon the Americans. “Again we have a party for you! This time it is lunch. You will find that our lunches are as good as our dinners. Come, let us—”

  “Mr. President,” Orrin said, remaining seated, voice still firm, and unimpressed. “We must ask that you stay here and discuss these most serious matters. It isn’t noon yet.”

  “You will wish to rest and relax a little before lunch,” Shulatov said cheerfully. “We can meet again at six p.m., if you like, after everyone has had a chance to recover from lunch. You will need it, believe me, Mr. President, you will need it!”

  “At six p.m.,” Orrin said in a level voice, “we will discuss and reach agreement upon the three matters in dispute. And we will stay here until we have reached agreement.”

  “As you like,” Shulatov said, almost airily. “As you like, Mr. President. But: one thing. They are not ‘in dispute.’ The government of the new Russia would never want to dispute with our good friends from America. Say they are ‘matters of concern and discussion.’ We simply want to consider them for a brief time, in private, by ourselves. Surely you and your friends cannot object to that—you no doubt wish to do the same. So come, now, Mr. President! Let us meet our friends of the press again, then let us rest, then let us have a beautiful lunch, then let us rest again, then let us discuss again. O—kay?”

  “O—kay,” the President said with a grim little smile. He stood up. “But we want no more evasions,” he added flatly. “There isn’t time.”

  “We know,” Shulatov agreed. “We know. Let us go and meet our disgruntled friends of the press, Mr. President. Maybe by now they have had their little tours!”

  But they had not, and they were disgruntled; and this time there was sharper questioning, harder to evade; and into the second wave of headlines there crept a note of uneasiness and worry that disturbed the waiting world.

  Russ reported balking at conditions for peace. Second meeting with Americans goes less smoothly. High U.S. source indicates “substantial differences on points vital to world stability.” New Russ government sharply restricts press visits to countryside despite U.S. protests. Growing concern felt in world capitals as hints grow of Russ intransigence. New Chinese government says “this is what we expected.”

  And this time the jolly cocktail party and the jolly lunch were not quite so jolly; and when they met again at 6 p.m. the atmosphere was tense and edgy as both sides proceeded along the paths they had decided upon in their respective private conferences held in the late afternoon.

  “Now, Mr. President,” he said, “let us return to the three items in dispute.” Shulatov raised a hasty hand, there were little murmurings and protestations down his side of the table.

  “Not ‘dispute,’ Mr. President,” he said earnestly. “Surely, not ‘dispute’ after all our constructive progress and all our friendly exchanges. Surely ‘dispute’ is too harsh a word!”

  “Constructive progress on minor points, friendly exchanges over food and liquor,” he remarked dryly. “No progress on major points, no real friendship away from food and liquor. Isn’t that right, Mr. President?”

  “We feel the greatest friendship for you and America, our true friends who are here to help us!” Shulatov said indignantly, and indignant echoes raced one another down the table.

  The President smiled, somewhat grimly.

  “And we feel the greatest friendship toward the free peoples of Russia, Mr. President. We would like to feel friendship toward their government. It cannot come if their government turns back to the old, discredited ways. It cannot come if their government defies the will of mankind and refuses to make peace. It cannot come if their government is crafty and devious and seeks to cling to the ways of war. That way lies disaster.”

  Shulatov studied him for a moment, face blank, eyes bland. Then he leaned forward.

  “Mr. President,” he inquired softly, “what would you do if my government refused to cooperate with these conditions of yours—with this ‘will of mankind’ you talk about? Would you threaten us, Mr. President? Would you go to war with us? How would you make us behave?”

  Inwardly he thought with a sigh: exactly so. Outwardly his expression was as implacably bland as Shulatov’s.

  “I think it would be necessary then,” he said pleasantly, praying that his companions would remain as bland as he, gratified to find the prayer answered, “to organize a world expeditionary force, enter your country, overthrow you and install men with more responsibility.”

  “You would not dare!” Shulatov cried with a sudden naked anger, too startled and upset to dissemble. “You would not dare!”

  “What could stop us, Mr. President?” he inquired in the same pleasant tone. “Your country is still in terrible turmoil, as you have told us yourself, you have no really effective control of it as yet, your people are tolerating your military government”—there was a movement, instantly stifled—“only until they can determine whether or not it is genuinely seeking peace. How could you stop us? Revolution and rebellion are still in the air here, the tinder is still dry. All we need do is cross your borders and you will be gone in half a day like your predecessors. Isn’t that true?”

  Their eyes met, held, locked. This time Shulatov did not look away. Instead his angry expression dwindled, dissolved, was replaced by a serene conviction.

  “Mr. President,” he said softly, “first, last and always the people of Russia are Russians. They might overthrow us, Mr. President, but they would not let you do it. Never would they cooperate with you in any way. Never would they do that. Such a step would simply unify them totally against you.… But!” His amicable expression broadened into a smile, he made a little dismissing gesture with his hands, he shrugged. “It is foolish, this hostility, these threats. We are not being crafty, we are not being clever, we are not ‘clinging to war.’ We want peace, Mr. President, peace! We do not want further troubles with anyone. We have too much to do right here.”

  “Then let us return,” Orrin suggested quietly, “to the three items in dispute. The first, I believe, is the peace-keeping force to be established along the border with China. Will you permit this force to enter the country peaceably and take up its stations along the border, or will you not?”

  Again there was a silence. Everyone tensed again. He looked at Shulatov, Shulatov looked at him. Finally the Russian made an almost hopeless gesture toward his colleagues.

  “Mr. President,” he said, “I think you expect too much of me. You say will I permit the force to enter, will I do things. But we are a democracy now, Mr. President—we are a democracy! It is not I who can decide everything, it is my colleagues whom I must consult. It is they who must decide. And, Mr. President, they are troubled. They are disturbed. They are anxious, as I said earlier to you, about this international force. They believe it only fair that the force include substantial contingents of forces from the United States of Russia. They tell me I cannot agree to an international force unless it does include such contingents. So you see, Mr. President”—his expression looked genuinely worried—“my hands are tied. I cannot tell you what I would do about such a force, because it is not I who have the power to decide.”

  “How long do you think it will be,” he inquired, controlling his anger with a major effort, “before your colleagues can decide?”

  Shulatov appeared to be genuinely concerned and baffled. He shrugged.

  “I cannot say, Mr. President,” he replied, almost wistfully. “
It could take some time.”

  “And what restrictions would your government attempt to impose on the force?” he asked. “How many Russian troops would you want to have in it, where would you allow it to be stationed?”

  “All that would have to be considered, Mr. President,” Shulatov repeated earnestly. “It would have to be considered. It would take time!”

  “There is no time,” he said harshly.

  “But there must be,” Shulatov protested, “there must be! Our country is in chaos, as you say. We face an enormous task in restoring stability. We have a million things to think about. It will take time—”

  “I am going from here to Peking,” he said in a level voice, “probably tonight. I expect to be there no longer than two days, when I shall return. That is the time you have, Mr. President. Furthermore, if there is any Russian representation at all on the peace-keeping force it will be token only, probably no more than a hundred observers.” Again there was the agitated stirring from across the table. He ignored it. “The same will apply to the Chinese. The force will be under the sole and exclusive control of the United Nations command. It will choose its own bases, it will organize the border patrols as it sees fit, it will do whatever is necessary to keep the peace between you. That is its purpose. You will cooperate with it or no, but that is how it will be done, Mr. President. I suggest to you that it would be more profitable for you to accept in good grace than to interfere and oppose. That could only cause a unified wave of hostility against your government from the entire world. You dismiss the consequences lightly but I assure you they would not be light, Mr. President. If you do not believe me, continue on this course and see what it brings you.

  “Two days from now,” he said flatly, his tone brushing aside the angry expressions across the table, “I want your agreement to the free entry and free operation of the international peace-keeping force. We turn now to item Number Two in dispute, your guarantee that you will permanently abandon conquests and interference beyond your borders in return for an equal guarantee from all other nations toward you—including, as you rightly insist, my own country. Your point is valid and it will be taken into account in this way: a formal statement to this effect will be drawn up by your government, by the new government of China, by my government, and I am quite sure by all other governments. These guarantees will be issued simultaneously in all capitals on a day and at an hour not later than one week from today. You will not be in the position of being the first one, or the only one, nor will China. We will all give our guarantees together, so that there can be no question.

  “Does that seem fair enough to you, or must you take further ‘time’ to consult with your colleagues? If so, I would urge you all to consider it speedily, as I remind you that I shall be returning in two days.”

  He paused expectantly while down his side of the table his colleagues sat very still and across the way a jumble of emotions crossed the faces of the President of the United States of Russia and his Cabinet. Finally Shulatov’s expression relaxed and he spoke with a deprecating wave of the hand.

  “If it is done simultaneously in all capitals by all nations,” he said calmly, “I believe we would see no objection.”

  “Good,” Orrin said with equal calm. “I commend you on your spirit of cooperation and your contribution to world peace. We come now to the final item on the agenda, the mutual reduction of armaments by the United States of Russia, the United Chinese Republic and the United States of America. Have you and your colleagues had time to study this question?”

  Shulatov stared at him for a moment. Then he observed carefully:

  “It is something which must be given great thought.”

  “Not much,” the President said. “Either you are willing or you are not. Are you?”

  “On the terms stated by you earlier?” Shulatov inquired cautiously. “By at least one-half?”

  “By at least one-half, with more to follow.”

  “Mr. President,” Shulatov said earnestly, “we could not possibly pledge our country to that course without the most careful consider—”

  “China will do the same,” the President interrupted. “We will do the same. Other powers are not obligated, but if we three do, there will be such a lessening of tensions in the world that it is highly probable that many of them will follow. In any event, to put it bluntly since we are talking privately with complete candor, we three are all that matter, in this area. If we disarm and bind ourselves not to intervene elsewhere, the danger of world conflict is automatically reduced to virtually nil.”

  Shulatov nodded.

  “But first it must be Russia and China.”

  “Yes,” the President said with an almost indifferent firmness, “it must.”

  “How do we know that China will agree? How do we know that you will agree?”

  “Because my colleagues and I tell you we will,” the President said flatly. “As for China, that is the principal reason why I am going there.”

  Shulatov shot him a shrewd glance.

  “You may not find it easy.”

  “That’s right,” the President agreed quickly. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  The response, as he had known it would be, was an instant withdrawal and closing off, accompanied by an uneasy shifting down the table. The President of the United States of Russia gave him a look very close to scorn.

  “Now, Mr. President,” he said coldly, “you play games with me.”

  “Not at all,” Orrin said with an equal coldness. “You told me in our first meeting yesterday that you would meet with the Chinese. That was your promise. Is the new government of Russia to prove as treacherous as the old? Is that the message I must take back to the world? Mr. President!” He leaned forward earnestly. “Let us stop sparring. I assure you, you must not fall back into the old patterns. You have described very movingly the devastation in your country. It exists at this moment, it will exist for many weeks. If we cannot bring about a lasting peace between your two countries it may resume and grow infinitely worse, not only for you but for all of us. You must not forget that, Mr. President. I repeat, will you go to China with me? It may be an extraordinary suggestion in some respects, but this is an extraordinary moment. Come with me and we will all sit down together, with our advisers, and work it out. The world demands it of us, Mr. President. We cannot betray the world.”

  “I cannot betray Russia,” Shulatov said, and spontaneously his Cabinet burst into applause that lasted for several vigorous seconds before it died down amid excited approving glances and warm congratulatory looks.

  “Two Presidents of the United States,” Orrin said quietly, indicating William Abbott sitting solid and impassive on his right, “are here to tell you that no one is asking you to betray Russia, Mr. President. We are asking you not to betray this great chance for peace which has come out of this terrible war. Surely you can leave aside the propaganda and the inflammatory remarks and acknowledge that.”

  “Mr. President,” Shulatov said, and now there was a certain finality in his tone that dismayed the Americans, though none of them gave the slightest indication, “you proceed to hold out the carrot, having found that the stick will not work. Please be assured that we understand your position. Try to understand ours. We do not trust the Chinese. We do not trust the sudden good will of the world. We do not, to be completely candid, trust you.

  “We still possess very substantial arms, Mr. President. Oh, do not think we are as weak and helpless as some would like to believe! Russia is not weak, Mr. President: Russia is strong! I told you earlier not to patronize us or try to dictate to us. Russia is strong!”

  “Russia,” he responded crisply, “is also bluffing. Russia is not as strong as all that, Mr. President. Your hold on the country is flimsy at best, the situation is still chaotic everywhere outside this Kremlin fortress, these arms you talk about are largely directed at this moment toward your own people, to prevent rioting, looting and attempts to overthrow you as you ov
erthrew your predecessors—and you know it. I warn you, Mr. President: you say the stick has not worked. It has not even been tried yet. I am giving you and your government the chance to cooperate peaceably with the world. I am not going to hold the offer open forever. Will you or will you not?”

  Again their eyes met and locked; and eventually, this time, it was Shulatov’s that dropped—but only to lift again after a moment to meet his with another bland and disarming smile, accompanied by a characteristic shrug.

  “Mr. President,” he said patiently, “there is no need for us to become heated. You truly say that things are very difficult here for me and our new government. The people demand of us stability and leadership: much remains to be done. Surely you can see that my colleagues and I cannot possibly leave at this moment to go to China with you. It would be impossible. Later, perhaps … later. But not at this moment.…

  “Mr. President”—his tone and expression became earnest, respectful, politely admonitory—“you go to China! Take with you our assurances of friendship, our willingness to cooperate, our desire for peace! Tell our new counterparts in Peking that we understand their problems as I am sure they must understand ours. Make your suggestions to them, Mr. President—urge them to cooperate as you have urged me! Be our emissary as well as the world’s. And then—return to us! Bring us back their agreement and their pledges and their plans for compromise! Bring back their promise to allow an international police force to invade their country, their promise to withdraw behind their borders, their program for disarmament. And then we will sit down with you and, using their agreement as basis, we will plan for peace and decide how to stabilize the world.

  “But do not ask me to agree to anything without knowing what they will agree to, Mr. President. Surely, you must see I am not being unreasonable about that!”

  And earnest, respectful, politely friendly if just possibly a touch self-satisfied, he sat back and looked blandly up and down the American side.