Capable of Honor (36 page)

“That frightens
me,”
Ceil murmured as Walter turned away to greet Associate Justice Thomas Buckmaster Davis of the Supreme Court and his inevitable sidekick, the executive director of the
Post;
and though she said it lightly, it was apparent to her husband that she meant it. He gave her a contemplative look but did not reply.

Then they were entering the enormous ballroom, led by Patsy, regal in orchids, diamonds, and the great green Star of Boonarapi, followed by Walter, nodding with a grave acknowledgment as the applause welled up from the handsome audience that filled every table and overflowed into the halls beyond. But Walter’s applause, though warm, encouraging, and respectful, as befitted his dignity and international stature, was as nothing to the roar of sound that suddenly rose from the room as the Edward Jasons came up the steps onto the dais.

Primordial, animal, visceral, consuming and, to them, frightening in its intensity, it engulfed them. Instinctively the procession halted. After a second’s hesitation, as the photographers shoved and jostled frantically to snap their pictures and from the projection booths high in the walls the network cameras and spotlights swung down to focus upon them, the Governor and his wife stepped forward. He raised his arms, his right hand linked with hers, and together they waved. The sound rose yet higher, passing beyond human control, beyond sense, beyond sound to become almost a solid thing, a great chunk of animal hunger that swallowed them up and transformed them in that instant into free individuals no longer but symbols, thenceforth and forever captive to the dreams of other men.

“I think we’ve got a candidate,” the executive director of the
Post
shouted happily to the gray-haired little figure of Justice Davis jumping wildly up and down at his side.

“My dear boy,” Tommy Davis cried. “My dear boy, I think we have!”

Launched in so spectacular a fashion, the Jason Foundation Dinner for the conferring of the Good and Faithful Servant Award upon Walter Dobius, columnist and statesman, moved in an ever-tightening tension toward its climax. Not even the entry, ten minutes later, of Prince Obifumatta was sufficient to interrupt its steady progression. (The leader of the gallant fight against American imperialism had decided to delay his departure for the front so that he might appear over the weekend on
Face the Nation
,
Meet the Press
, a CBS special entitled, “Gorotoland: Foredoomed Adventure?” and an NBC counterpart, “Gorotoland: Why Are We There?” Taken together, these hastily produced programs, rushed to the screen as a major contribution to the calm, dispassionate consideration of the situation, represented three hours of prime time with the American public. No intelligent leader of a modem rebellion ever turns down this kindness of the networks, which sometimes seems to be offered automatically to anyone sufficiently hostile to the aims and purposes of the United States. The only reason Prince Terry was not doing the same was because nobody had asked him. Terry was yesterday’s enemy; today he was a friend and as such no longer worth the time. Also, of course, such appearances might win him public support. He was already back somewhere in the bush leading his troops. It was all very sad from his point of view, but great from Obifumatta’s.)

Not even Obi could distract for more than a minute or two the dazzling audience that ate a rather absentminded meal as it stared with an avid interest at the handsome Governor and his beautiful lady.

Admittedly, there were a few small areas of skepticism: Helen-Anne Carrew, expressing herself so loudly that she could be heard four tables around and at one point provoked an indignant, “Oh,
hush!”
from the wife of the Norwegian Ambassador—Lafe Smith and Cullee, keeping up a running cross fire at their table against the worshipful comments of Krishna Khaleel and the Ambassador and Ambassadress of Uruguay—Bob and Dolly Munson, maintaining a pointed and effective silence at another table where Senator Raymond Robert Smith of California was holding forth with a nervously insistent enthusiasm about what a great Governor Ted was (“I’ll tell him what you think,” Senator Munson finally remarked, which was of course what Ray Smith wanted)—at the next table Bob Leffingwell and his wife trying to refrain from provocatory responses to the provocatory comments of Fred Van Ackerman and LeGage Shelby of DEFY—and the principally diplomatic table where Raoul Barre of France joined Herbert Jason and Selena Castleberry in fulsome praise of Governor Jason while Celestine Barre smiled in her silent, enigmatic way and Lord and Lady Maudulayne rather uncomfortably put in an occasional cautious word for the Secretary of State.

But for the most part it was an audience that had really awed and overwhelmed itself by the depth of its awesome and overwhelming welcome for the Governor. Senators and Congressmen, members of the government, members of the diplomatic corps and the press, spoke with a qualified caution and restraint they would not have shown an hour ago about the chances of the President and Secretary of State. Quite without anyone planning it—and even though logic told them it was a friendly audience anyway, which could have been expected to react as it did—an enormous boost had suddenly been given to the Governor of California, and to all those forces of dissidence and criticism of America’s policies that hoped to make of him their spokesman and standard-bearer.

Logic had nothing to do with it. Emotion had abruptly taken over, and with its spur a psychological tide in five frantic minutes had suddenly been set running at top speed. Astounding, inexplicable, unexpected—there it was, suddenly and permanently, a fact of political life in this presidential year.

Most gratified of all was the honor guest. Walter, for all his confident talk in recent days, had really not been at all certain how his speech would be received, either here or by the country. Now he had no doubts.

With the end of doubt came a growing impatience to get at it. When Patsy arose forty-five minutes later and gaveled the excited room to silence he told himself that he hoped to God she would have the sense to keep it brief. He had underestimated Patsy. After the generous applause for her had died down, she kept her introduction very short, reading from text in a voice whose slight tremor alone revealed her own excitement and tension:

“The Jason Foundation welcomes you tonight to the biennial ceremony which, for me and my family, represents perhaps the most worthwhile—certainly the most satisfying—enterprise that we conduct: the honoring of the American citizen who has contributed most to the welfare and the future of our beloved country. Tonight the Good and Faithful Servant Award, always special, is even more special, for it goes to one who for twenty-five years has served America as few men have: with honor, with decency, with integrity, and with an impartial fairness and justice that have made of his name a marvelous beacon to the world.

“To introduce him to you,” she said, and permitted a smile to break through, “I present to you one who has always been a beacon to ME, ever since I was a little girl in awe of my big brother who always knew everything—and still does—the Honorable Edward Jason, Governor of the State of California.”

And now, little Teddy, he told himself in Ceil’s wry phrase as he faced a hall gone mad, you’ve got to be good. And you will be, he promised himself fiercely: you will be. You’re not going to let them stampede you—you can’t afford to let them stampede you. These loving monsters will eat you alive if you let them. You cannot, you
cannot.

“Madame Chairman,” he said with a grin when the mass of sound had finally died down (“Five minutes and seventeen seconds, I make it,” ABC said to CBS in a booth above, and CBS confirmed it), “Big brothers don’t ever admit it, but sometimes they’re in awe of little sisters, too.” There was warm laughter and spurred by it, another prolonged burst of applause. When it ended his expression changed, became solemn and serious. An attentive hush fell as they strained to listen, and only the vague drunken noise of a too-happy supporter being vehemently shushed by his wife and dinner guests, somewhere toward the back of the room, broke the ravenous silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said gravely, “we meet tonight in a time of unusual tension for our country and the world, to confer upon one who is probably America’s leading journalist the Good and Faithful Servant Award. (“Look at Walter,” Helen-Anne urged her tablemates. “He doesn’t like that probably.”
“Hush”
said the Norwegian Ambassadress severely again. “Don’t hush me, Inge!” Helen-Anne said loudly. “I won’t buy any herring next week,” The Norwegian Ambassadress looked furious but did not reply.)

“To our award winner, and to his profession,” Ted Jason continued, “we look for information, analysis, and guidance to help us better understand and bravely meet the challenges which, so constantly in this century, confront this land of ours.

“For twenty-five years he has indeed been a good and faithful servant to us all. Informed in analysis, astute in criticism, he has rarely permitted partisanship to overcome his sound and objective judgments. No more will he do so now.

(“Hm?” said Bob Munson in a startled voice, and at the table adjoining. Bob Leffingwell caught his eye and gravely winked.)

“The same even-handed fairness, the supreme, dispassionate intelligence he has always given us—we need them in present days more than we ever have before. Guidance and stability is what his country wants from him. His country knows he will not fail it.

“There is in this man,” the Governor said smoothly, “no intemperance, no irresponsibility. (“Oh, brother! And this is going over nationwide television!” Helen-Anne exclaimed. This time the Norwegian Ambassadress didn’t even bother.) Though we may find these characteristics in others, we will not find them in him as the nation works its way through the serious difficulties that now confront it.

(“I wondered when he was going to get to those,” Krishna Khaleel said brightly, but to his surprise and that of many others, that was the first and last the Governor said on that subject.)

“Decency, integrity, honor—these are the qualities my sister has rightfully attributed to our honored guest tonight. Add to them restraint, dignity, good judgment, the ability to understand points of view with which he disagrees, the ability to accord them graciously their proper place in a free America—these, too, distinguish him. Never has he failed them; never have they been more needed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said suavely, “it is my official privilege as it is my personal pleasure to present the Good and Faithful Servant Award to him, and in turn to present him to you: a man who for twenty-five years has written a brilliant column and given his nation brilliant guidance—a man who needs no detailed recounting of his career, for we all know it so well—a man whom we honor, but who even more honors us, by his presence, his writings, and his lifelong symbolizing of the dominant characteristics of present-day American journalism—Walter Dobius.”

(“Izzat all?” the over-celebrator demanded loudly of his wife and guests. “Whakinaspeechizzat?”)

For a moment it seemed that most of the Governor’s audience must be wondering the same thing, for there was a peculiar puzzled little hesitation. Then Bob Leffingwell, a quizzical expression on his face as he caught Senator Munson’s eye, began to applaud with a heavy, insistent beat that instantly started them off. At once the puzzlement was forgotten, the doubts were resolved, sound once again rose and overwhelmed the room. A few whose business it was to wonder continued to puzzle thoughtfully over his carefully noncommittal, curiously cautionary remarks, others when they sobered up tomorrow would wake to puzzlement, but for the moment he was once again sweeping nearly all before him as he stood, bowing and smiling and gesturing to Walter to advance to the lectern and receive his award.

Only Ceil, turning to watch with interest as Walter did so and then placed his papers with a slow dignity exactly in the center of the lectern, could see the tight little lines of anger around his eyes. Walter’s mad and I am glad, she thought irreverently, and I know what will please him: Harley dead and Orrin’s head and little Ted to ease him. Then her husband had gestured her to her feet, and Patsy too, and they were standing with Walter, smiling and waving, while the photographers snapped, the cameras rolled, and the audience cheered, festively at first and then again with the deep animal sound that had greeted and overwhelmed them at the beginning.

“He could be nominated right now!” Justice Davis cried exultantly to the executive director of the
Post
. “I sure wish he could be, it would save a hell of a lot of headaches!” the director of the
Post
cried back.

Finally the Jasons sat down, the final susurrus died away. Walter stood alone at last to face his audience.

Of his thoughts at this moment, some in the audience had their conceptions. Helen-Anne thought she knew, and Senator Munson had his own ideas, and Bob Leffingwell was convinced he could place himself inside that monumentally capable, monumentally egotistic mind, and there were others; but none, of course, could know exactly the combination of defiant conviction and cold determination that filled his heart. His attitude might have offended the Jasons, for the award was nothing, he got awards every day, one more accolade for his genius was no more than he expected and no more than his right. But the opportunity to speak at so crucial a point in his nation’s history was everything, an advantage beyond price. Dutifully his colleagues were alert to every word and every nuance. Out to the country in newspapers and magazines, over television and radio his words would fly. Telstar and Early Bird would carry them to as many distant lands and distant minds as ever heard the President’s. The world of Walter Wonderful was geared tonight to the task of seeing to it that Walter’s opinions covered the globe.

Man and occasion were met.

Gravely he began to speak.

“Governor, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen: it is with a profound humility that I accept this great honor tonight. Of all those which can be conferred by Americans upon one another, this, I think, is the most satisfying and most rewarding. No one who receives it could be other than deeply pleased. It is both an accolade and a challenge.