Ken Follett - Fall of Giants

Wilson looked weary, and he and Edith retired to their suite. Gus was concerned. He had heard rumors that the president’s health was poor. Back in 1906 a blood vessel had burst behind Wilson’s left eye, causing temporary blindness, and the doctors had diagnosed high blood pressure and advised him to retire. Wilson had cheerfully ignored their advice and gone on to become president, of course-but lately he had been suffering from headaches that might be a new symptom of the same blood pressure problem. The peace conference would be taxing: Gus hoped Wilson could stand it.

Rosa was on the train. Gus sat opposite her on the brocaded upholstery in the dining car. “I wondered whether I might see you,” she said. She seemed pleased they had met.

“I’m on detachment from the army,” said Gus, who was still wearing the uniform of a captain.

“Back home, Wilson has been walloped for his choice of colleagues. Not you, of course-”

“I’m a small fish.”

“But some people say he should not have brought his wife.”

Gus shrugged. It seemed trivial. After the battlefield it was going to be difficult to take seriously some of the stuff people worried about in peacetime.

Rosa said: “More importantly, he hasn’t brought any Republicans.”

“He wants allies on his team, not enemies,” Gus said indignantly.

“He needs allies back home, too,” Rosa said. “He’s lost Congress.”

She had a point, and Gus was reminded how smart she was. The midterm elections had been disastrous for Wilson. The Republicans had gained control of the Senate and the House of Representatives. “How did that happen?” he said. “I’ve been out of touch.”

“Ordinary people are fed up with rationing and high prices, and the end of the war came just a bit too late to help. And liberals hate the Espionage Act. It allowed Wilson to jail people who disagreed with the war. He used it, too-Eugene Debs was sentenced to ten years.” Debs had been a presidential candidate for the Socialists. Rosa sounded angry as she said: “You can’t put your opponents in jail and still pretend to believe in freedom.”

Gus remembered how much he enjoyed the cut and thrust of an argument with Rosa. “Freedom sometimes has to be compromised in war,” he said.

“Obviously American voters don’t think so. And there’s another thing: Wilson segregated his Washington offices.”

Gus did not know whether Negroes could ever be raised to the level of white people but, like most liberal Americans, he thought the way to find out was to give them better chances in life and see what happened. However, Wilson and his wife were Southerners, and felt differently. “Edith won’t take her maid to London, for fear the girl will get spoiled,” Gus said. “She says British people are too polite to Negroes.”

“Woodrow Wilson is no longer the darling of the left in America,” Rosa concluded. “Which means he’s going to need Republican support for his League of Nations.”

“I suppose Henry Cabot Lodge feels snubbed.” Lodge was a right-wing Republican.

“You know politicians,” Rosa said. “They’re as sensitive as schoolgirls, and more vengeful. Lodge is chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Wilson should have brought him to Paris.”

Gus protested: “Lodge is against the whole idea of the League of Nations!”

“The ability to listen to smart people who disagree with you is a rare talent-but a president should have it. And bringing Lodge here would have neutralized him. As a member of the team, he couldn’t go home and fight against whatever is agreed in Paris.”

Gus guessed she was right. But Wilson was an idealist who believed that the force of righteousness would overcome all obstacles. He underestimated the need to flatter, cajole, and seduce.

The food was good, in honor of the president. They had fresh sole from the Atlantic in a buttery sauce. Gus had not eaten so well since before the war. He was amused to see Rosa tuck in heartily. She was a petite figure: where did she put it all?

At the end of the meal they were served strong coffee in small cups. Gus found he did not want to leave Rosa and retire to his sleeping compartment. He was much too interested in talking to her. “Wilson will be in a strong position in Paris, anyway,” he said.

Rosa looked skeptical. “How so?”

“Well, first of all we won the war for them.”

She nodded. “Wilson said: ‘At Château-Thierry we saved the world.’”

“Chuck Dixon and I were in that battle.”

“Was that where he died?”

“Direct hit from a shell. First casualty I saw. Not the last, sadly.”

“I’m very sorry, especially for his wife. I’ve known Doris for years-we used to have the same piano teacher.”

“I don’t know if we saved the world, though,” Gus went on. “There are many more French and British and Russians among the dead than Americans. But we tipped the balance. That ought to mean something.”

She shook her head, tossing her dark curls. “I disagree. The war is over, and the Europeans no longer need us.”

“Men such as Lloyd George seem to think that American military power cannot be ignored.”

“Then he’s wrong,” said Rosa. Gus was surprised and intrigued to hear a woman speak so forcefully about such a subject. “Suppose the French and British simply refuse to go along with Wilson,” she said. “Would he use the army to enforce his ideas? No. Even if he wanted to, a Republican Congress wouldn’t let him.”

“We have economic and financial power.”

“It’s certainly true that the Allies owe us huge debts, but I’m not sure how much leverage that gives us. There’s a saying: ‘If you owe a hundred dollars, the bank has you in its power; but if you owe a million dollars, you have the bank in your power.’”

Gus began to see that Wilson’s task might be more difficult than he had imagined. “Well, what about public opinion? You saw the reception Wilson got in Brest. All over Europe, people are looking to him to create a peaceful world.”

“That’s his strongest card. People are sick of slaughter. ‘Never again’ is their cry. I just hope Wilson can deliver what they want.”

They returned to their compartments and said good night. Gus lay awake a long time, thinking about Rosa and what she had said. She really was the smartest woman he had ever met. She was beautiful, too. Somehow you quickly forgot about her eye. At first it seemed a terrible deformity, but after a while Gus stopped noticing it.

She had been pessimistic about the conference, however. And everything she said was true. Wilson had a struggle ahead, Gus now realized. He was overjoyed to be part of the team, and determined to do what he could to turn the president’s ideals into reality.

In the small hours of the morning he looked out of the window as the train steamed eastward across France. Passing through a town, he was startled to see crowds on the station platforms and on the road beside the railway line, watching. It was dark, but they were clearly visible by lamplight. There were thousands of them, men and women and children. There was no cheering: they were quite silent. The men and boys took off their hats, Gus saw, and that gesture of respect moved him almost to tears. They had waited half the night to see the passing of the train that held the hope of the world.

The votes were counted three days after Christmas. Eth and Bernie Leckwith stood in Aldgate town hall to hear the results, Bernie on the platform in his best suit, Eth in the audience.

Bernie lost.

He was stoical, but Ethel cried. For him it was the end of a dream. Perhaps it had been a foolish dream, but all the same he was hurt, and her heart ached for him.