Mack Reynolds: Blackman' Burden

The mosque loomed up before them. The square before it was jam packed with milling Africans.

“Great guns,” Isobel snorted, “there’re more people here than the whole population of Mopti. Where’d they all come from?”

“They’ve been filtering in from the country,” Crawford said.

“Well, we’ll filter ‘em back,” Abe promised.

They spotted a ruckus and could see Elmer Allen in the middle of it, his quarterstaff flailing.

“On the double,” Homer bit out, and he and Abe broke into a trot for the point of conflict. The idea was to get this sort of thing over as quickly as possible before it had a chance to spread.

They arrived too late. Elmer was leaning on his staff, as though needing it for support, and explaining mildly to two men who evidently were friends of a third who was stretched out on the ground, dead to the world and with a nasty lump on his shaven head.

Homer came up and said to Elmer, in Songhai, “What has transpired, O Holy One?” He made a sign of obeisance to the Jamaican.

The two Africans were taken aback by the term of address. They were unprepared to continue further debate, not to speak of physical action, against a holy man.

Elmer said with dignity, “He spoke against El Hassan, our great leader.”

For a moment the two Africans seemed to be willing to deny that, but Abe Baker took up the cue and turned to the crowd that was beginning to gather. He held his hands out, palms upward questioningly, “And why should these young men beset a Holy One whose only crime is to love El Hassan?”

The crowd began to murmur and the two hurriedly picked up their fallen companion and took off with him.

Homer said in English, “What really happened?”

“Oh, this chap was one of the hotheads,” Elmer explained. “Wanted some immediate action. I gave it to him.”

Abe chuckled, “Holy One, yet.”

Spotted through the square, holding forth to various gatherings of the mob were Jake Armstrong, Kenny Ballalou and Cliff Jackson. Even as Homer Crawford sized up the situation and the temper of the throngs of tribesmen, Bey entered the square from the far side at the head of two or three thousand more, most of whom were already beginning to look bored to death from talk, talk, talk.

Isobel came up and looked questioningly at Homer Crawford.

He said, “Abe, get the truck and drive it up before the entrance to the mosque. We’ll speak from that. Isobel can open the hoedown, get the crowd over and then introduce me.”

Abe left and Crawford said to Isobel, “Introduce me as Omar ben Crawf, the great friend and assistant of El Hassan. Build it up.”

“Right,” she said.

Crawford said, “Elmer, first round up the boys and get them spotted through the audience. You’re the cheerleaders and also the sergeants at arms, of course. Nail the hecklers quickly, before they can get organized among themselves. In short, the standard deal.” He thought a moment. “And see about getting a hall where we can hold a meeting of the ringleaders; those are the ones we’re going to have to cool out.”

“Wizard,” Elmer said and was gone on his mission.

Isobel and Homer stood for a moment, waiting for Abe and the truck.

She said, “You seem to have this all down pat.”

“It’s routine,” he said absently. “The brain of a mob is no larger than that of its minimum member. Any disciplined group, almost no matter how small, can model it to order.”

“Just in case we don’t have the opportunity to get together again, what happens at the hall meeting of ringleaders? What do Jake, Cliff and I do?”

“What comes naturally,” Homer said. “We’ll elect each other to the most important positions. But everybody else that seems to have anything at all on the ball will be elected to some committee or other. Give them jobs compiling reports to El Hassan or something. Keep them busy. Give Reunited Nations headquarters in Dakar time to come up with something.”

She said worriedly, “Suppose some of these ring-leaders are capable, aggressive types and won’t stand for us getting all the important positions?”

Crawford grunted. “We’re more aggressive and more capable. Let my team handle that. One of the boys will jump up and accuse the guy of being a spy and an enemy of El Hassan, and one of the other boys will bear him out, and a couple of others will hustle him out of the hall.” Homer yawned. “It’s all routine, Isobel.”

Abe was driving up the truck.

Crawford said, “O.K., let’s go, gal.”

“Roger,” she said, climbing first into the back of the vehicle and then up onto the roof of the cab.

Isobel held her hands high above her head, and in the cab Abe bore down on the horn for a long moment.

Isobel shrilled, “Hear what the messenger from El Hassan has come to tell us! Hear the friend and devoted follower of El Hassan!”

At the same time, Jake, Kenny, and Cliff discontinued their own harangues and themselves headed for the new speaker.

They stayed for three days and had it well wrapped up in that time. The tribesmen, bored when the excitement fell away and it became obvious that there were to be no further riots, and certainly no violence, drifted back to their villages. The city dwellers returned to the routine of daily existence. And the police, who had mysteriously disappeared from the streets at the height of the demonstrations, now magically reappeared and began asserting their authority somewhat truculently.

At the hall meetings, mighty slogans were drafted and endless committees formed. The more articulate, the more educated and able of the demonstrators, were marked out for future reference, but for the moment given meaningless tasks to keep them busy and out of trouble.

On the fourth day, Homer Crawford received orders to proceed to Dakar, leaving the rest of the team behind to keep an eye on the situation.

Abe groaned, “There’s luck for you. Dakar, nearest thing to a good old sin city in a thousand miles. And who gets to go? Old sour puss, here. Got no more interest in the hot spots.”

Homer said, “You can come along, Abe.”

Kenny Ballalou said, “Orders were only you, Homer.”

Crawford growled, “Yes, but I have a suspicion I’m being called on the carpet for one of our recent escapades and I want backing if I need it.” He added, “Besides, nothing is going to happen here.”

“Crazy man,” Abe said appreciatively.

Jake said, “We three were planning to head for Dakar today ourselves. Isobel, in particular, is exhausted and needs a prolonged rest before going out among the natives any more. You might as well continue to let us supply your transportation.”

“Fine,” Homer told him. “Come on Abe, let’s get our things together.”

“What do we do while you chaps are gone?” Elmer Allen said sourly. “I wouldn’t mind a period in a city myself.”

“Read a book, man,” Abe told him. “Improve your mind.”

“I’ve read a book,” Elmer said glumly. “Any other ideas?”

Dakar is a big, bustling, prosperous and modern city shockingly set down in the middle of the poverty that is Africa. It should be, by its appearance, on the French Riviera, on the California coast, or possibly that of Florida, but it isn’t. It’s in Senegal, in the area once known as French West Africa.

Their aircraft swept in and landed at the busy airport.

They were assigned an African Development Project air-cushion car and drove into the city proper.

Dakar boasts some of the few skyscrapers in all Africa. The Reunited Nations occupied one of these in its entirety. Dakar was the center of activities for the whole Western Sahara and down into the Sudan. Across the street from its offices, a street still named Rue des Resistance in spite of the fact that the French were long gone, was the Hotel Juan-les-Pins.