Promise of Joy (46 page)

“Mr. President—” he began earnestly. Then he dropped it and his tone became blunt and pragmatic. “Very well, I will tell you where we will begin. You say you want a reduction of arms so that Russia will never again be able to wage war. Let us start with reduction of arms, Mr. President. It is the main thing I have come abroad to achieve. Let us talk about it.”

Lin gave him a polite little bow, looking every inch the self-composed Mandarin, and suggested softly:

“Please.”

“Very well,” he said again, unable to keep annoyance from his tone. “You want Russia disarmed, the world wants Russia disarmed. Russia wants
you
disarmed, the world wants you disarmed. Let’s get down to specifics right now. We’ll start with your navy, since that’s the smallest element in your military machine. You have one small aircraft carrier, thirty destroyers, seven submarines, a handful of support craft. Suppose we keep it at one aircraft carrier, but reduce you to five destroyers, four submarines—”

“Who will reduce us, Mr. President?” Lin inquired, still softly, while down his side of the table impassive men leaned forward in polite inquisitiveness.

“The world will unless you do it yourselves,” Orrin said tartly. “The world is not willing to put up with any more nonsense from the big powers on this score. Of course, Mr. President, I hasten to add that you will not be alone in this. Russia will do the same. We will do the same. There will be a general disarmament, I believe, all around the world. As the largest, we three will yield the most, which is only right.”

There was a silence while his hosts looked carefully at one another and then turned their impassive gazes once more upon him. Finally Lin Kung-chow leaned forward slightly and uttered two words:

“Russia first.”

“Nobody first,” he said firmly. “All of us together.”

“Russia first,” Lin repeated, suddenly as firm. The President, too, leaned forward.

“Mr. President,” he said calmly, “this will not work. You are past this kind of bargaining. There is no more bargaining left, for you or Russia. You and the Russians sit atop your charnel houses and you both try to bargain. It is past that. History has moved on. A new world was born this week: it will never return to the old. That new world demands that you disarm, that Russia disarm, that we disarm. None of us can withstand that demand.”

“Russia first,” Lin Kung-chow said quietly. “Russia first.”

“No!” he said sharply. “Together.
Together!”

“Russia first,”
Lin said, and abruptly, with another graceful little bow, pushed back his chair and stood up. All along the table his countrymen gracefully did the same. “Mr. President, you and your party are still tired, one imagines: our discussions can only weary. Tonight I think we have reached an impasse, I trust only temporary. Perhaps tomorrow morning we can reach a better understanding. The wise man does not exhaust himself in such a circumstance: he seeks refreshment, of the body and of the spirit. We have prepared a banquet for you in the Great Hall of the People—which we now know as ‘the Great Hall of the Republic’—and there our many friends of the press are waiting for us. Let us go. Tomorrow we will meet again. Perhaps then we can find agreement. Come”—he bowed again with a graceful gesture—“let us go.”

“At ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” the President said pleasantly, “my colleagues and I will be here prepared to sign an agreement reducing armaments drastically for our three nations.”

Lin bowed again with a smile equally pleasant.

“As you like,” he said. “Now, come! They are waiting for us.”

And in the Great Hall, responding easily to the insistent questions of the anxious media, both of them managed to put what he thought of as “a good first face” on the matter. But his countrymen of the press were more experienced and quicker to jump to disillusionment after their sojourn in Russia: they were not fooled, desperately as they all joined him in hoping for meaningful agreement. Instinct told them there was trouble, and not even a ten-course banquet as lavish as anything they had been tendered in Moscow was enough to forestall the unhappy pessimism of their reports.

President, Chinese fail to reach understanding in first meeting. Both sides claim “cordial atmosphere” but U.S. sources say real agreement “not imminent.” Disarmament believed to be major stumbling block. Report Chinese insisting on Russ concessions before they move.

Moscow assails “deliberate obstruction and hostility by new peking government.” Warns “Russian patience not inexhaustible.” Shulatov clamps on press censorship, bans free movement by international relief commission. Says it will be permitted to dispense aid through Moscow only.

Caualties continue to swamp all facilities in both countries as outbreak of typhus reported. Doctors fear plague.

“Mr. President,” he said next morning, “my colleagues and I have prepared, as I told you, a formal disarmament agreement for the signatures of your government, the Russian government and our own. Prior to discussing that, however, I should like to explore with you a little, if I may, your state of mind concerning what has happened to you. How seriously do you and your government regard it, how much impact has it had upon you, do you have any human emotions about it, any worry, any fear, any unhappiness? Or has it all been just an unfortunate incident that you are already forgetting?”

For a moment Lin Kung-chow looked at him with an unbelieving stare. Then he leaned forward and spoke with an open intensity that made no attempt to hide itself behind bland words and bamboo curtains.

“Mr. President!” he said sharply. “Mr. President! Surely you make jokes with us, surely you make a mockery. We have shown you the pictures, we have told you our attitude toward those who did these horrors to us.
It is our country
which has been devastated, Mr. President. Why must you make jokes about our ‘state of mind’?”

“I am not making jokes at all,” he said calmly. “My question is prompted solely by the fact that yesterday you seemed not at all concerned with the possibility of starting it all up again. You appeared to be so intent on vengeance against the Russians that you paid no attention to the broader implications of what the two of you have done to mankind and the jeopardy you have us all in if you should resume fighting. It all seemed very irresponsible to my colleagues and myself. We decided we would like to know whether you really care about what has happened, or whether it is all some sort of bloody game that you can resume at will without regard to the safety of the whole world.”

“Mr. President,” Lin said angrily. “Mr.
President—”
and stopped, genuinely at a loss for words.

“Then perhaps,” he suggested calmly, “you should reconsider your attitude of yesterday and give more careful consideration to the realities we all face.… Now, for the time being, I’d suggest we put aside the question of disarmament and turn to the other matters that must be decided. I don’t know how much you know of what has been going on outside your country in the past few days, but you may have heard that I made several specific proposals for things that might be done to re-establish and maintain world peace.

“Several are outside your competence, involving such things as the Suez and Panama canals. There are other proposals, however, in which your direct involvement is necessary. Perhaps we can discuss them now.”

“Yes,” Lin agreed, his tone easing a little, his colleagues relaxing a shade of their intent and wary concentration.

“With the proviso,” the President added, “that we will come back to the disarmament question after we have completed these other matters.”

“We will discuss it,” Lin said.

“More than that,” the President said pleasantly. “We will sign it. So, then: the other proposals. The first is the International Relief Commission which has been established under United Nations control to aid the victims in the two countries. Money, medical supplies and medical teams are already on their way from the other nations of the world, the commission has been established and is already beginning operations. It is desired that the United Chinese Republic also pledge as much as it possibly can to the efforts of this organization. Is that agreeable?”

“We are doing everything we can to assist our own people,” Lin said.

“The commission is an international effort, a common pool. You may find yourselves also assisting the Russians, as they may be assisting you. Is that thought too abhorrent for you?”

There was a pause, an obvious tightening of tension across the table.

“We should of course require that we be consulted on any such action,” Lin said finally. “You must understand that our first obligation is to our own people.”

“You
must understand that the nations of the world with great generosity are also making great contributions to help ‘your own people.’ We expect the same generosity from you and from Russia.”

“Have you got it from them?” Lin inquired quickly. “The news from Moscow would not seem to say so.”

The President shrugged and managed to make the gesture look entirely convincing.

“The news from Moscow,” he said calmly, “is not the final word. Right now we are interested in the news from Peking. We expect your contributions to go in the common fund. You will be represented fully on the commission. It will make the distributions. All right?”

“I think we must wait,” Lin said politely, “for the final word you mention. When we know what that is, then we shall know better what we must do. For the time being, I should think we would wish to distribute foreign aid through our own administrative channels here in Peking, just as they are doing in Moscow.”

“They are not doing it yet,” he snapped, thinking:
Damn the Russians.
“Nor will they do it. That is bluff. I suggest to you that the bluff will be called and I suggest that you are in no position, either one of you, to dictate the terms of this humanitarian effort. Let me ask you, Mr. President: does your country need this help or does it not? It can always be withdrawn, you know.”

“It will not be withdrawn,” Lin said calmly. “The United States has so conditioned the world to these humanitarian impulses in recent decades that it could not possibly be withdrawn. Your own people would condemn you for a heartless monster if you used aid as a club against us, Mr. President. Is that not the case?”

“My own people and the peoples outside your two countries, Mr. President, are in such a state of fear and worry at this moment that they will condone almost anything that will force an end to this conflict. Make no mistake of that.”

“Nonetheless,” Lin said softly, “I think aid will not be used in such a fashion.” He looked along the table at his solemn colleagues. “But let us not argue. We will consider it.” Vigorous nods agreed.

“Please do,” he said dryly. “It would be of great assistance.”

“Assuredly,” Lin said politely, and the President could see that irony was going to get him nowhere, if, indeed, it was even understood. He made his tone deliberately matter-of-fact.

“Also in the international area, the United Nations has created an international peace-keeping force, to which most of the nations are contributing men and matériel, which will take positions along your border with Russia for as long as necessary to guarantee a permanent peace.”

There was a silence. The faces across the table remained carefully bland. It was obvious, however, that a great deal of thinking was going on.

“Where along the border?” Lin inquired cautiously.

“Wherever the United Nations command deems advisable,” he said crisply. “I believe the plan is, at intervals of no more than a hundred miles, with regular patrols out fifty on each side.”

“It is a very long border,” Lin observed, echoing his counterpart in Moscow.

“Whatever is necessary will be provided.”

“Who would establish the locations?”

“The United Nations command. Who did you think?”

“It would appear to us,” Lin said slowly, again almost word for word repeating Shulatov, “that the governments of China and Russia should do it, in agreement with one another.”

“What reason do we have to believe you could agree?” the President asked bluntly. “Your disagreements have brought this horror on the world. Are we to believe you could agree now, on something so sensitive?”

“It should be done by us,” Lin said stubbornly.

“Both your countries will be represented on the international command,” the President said. A shrewd little glint came into his host’s eyes.

“By how many?”

“By approximately one hundred observers each,” he said flatly, and ignored the audible grunt of dismay that echoed down the opposite side of the table. “Mr. President,” he said, leaning forward. “Do you really think that you and your opponents are in any position to bargain with the world on these matters? You are the aggressors. You are the warmakers. You are the destroyers of the earth, unless we can all stop you. You are no longer great arrogant independent powers who can toss around the very life of this planet as though it were a bauble for you to play with. You have been called to account, by your own actions. It is time for you to be responsible to the world. The world must have guarantees that you
will
be responsible. And so it will be done.”

For several moments after he sat back, there was silence in the room, the Chinese staring at the Americans and the Americans staring back.

Finally Lin spoke with a cautious articulation.

“I would assume that the details will be discussed in the Security Council.”

“No doubt,” the President said, “but of course you know the veto no longer exists.”

“No!”
Lin said in open dismay, and all down his side of the table a genuine consternation broke the determined calm.

“Yes,” he said, in the same words he had used to Shulatov. “The Charter was amended the night the former governments fell. There is no more veto.”

Here, as in Moscow, there was a prolonged silence while the news was absorbed; and here, as in Moscow, there was, finally, the same response.

“It will be considered,” Lin said. “Are there other things?”