Doris Lessing - The Temptation of Jack Orkney - Collected Stories Volume Two

Here Mr Chikwe bowed, slightly, acknowledging the truth of what he said, but suggesting at the same time its irrelevance.

‘I hear, for instance,’ went on Mr Mafente, ‘that the Honourable Member of Parliament for Sutton North-West refused to have your leader on his platform on the grounds that he was a dangerous agitator with left-wing persuasions?’

Here both men exchanged a delighted irrepressible smile – that smile due to political absurdity. (It is not too much to say that it is for the sake of this smile that a good many people stay in politics.) Mr Chikwe even lifted a shining face to the grey sky, shut his eyes, and while offering his smile to the wet heavens lifted both shoulders in a shrug of scorn.

Then he lowered his eyes, his body sprang into a shape of accusation and he said: ‘Yet you have to agree with me, Mr Mafente – it is unfortunate that such a man as Mr Devuli should be so widely accepted as a national representative, while the virtues of Mr Kwenzi go unacknowledged.’

‘We all know the virtues of Mr Kwenzi,’ said Mr Mafente, and his accent on the word we, accompanied by a deliberately cool glance into the eyes of his old friend, made Mr Chikwe stand silent a moment, thinking. Then he said softly, testing it: ‘Yes, yes, yes. And – well, Mr Mafente?’

Mr Mafente looked into Mr Chikwe’s face, with intent, while he continued the other conversation: ‘Nevertheless, Mr Chikwe, the situation is as I’ve said.’

Mr Chikwe, responding to the look, not the words, came closer and said: ‘Yet situations do not have to remain unchanged?’ They looked deeply into each other’s face as Mr Mafente inquired, almost mechanically: ‘Is that a threat, perhaps?’

‘It is a political observation … Mr Mafente?’

Mr Chikwe?’

‘This particular situation could be changed very easily.’

‘Is that so?’

‘You know it is so.’

The two men were standing with their faces a few inches from each other, frowning with the concentration necessary for the swift mental balancing of a dozen factors: so absorbed were they, that clerks and typists glanced uneasily at them, and then, not wishing to be made uneasy, looked away again.

But here they felt approaching a third, and Mr Mafente repeated quickly: ‘Is that a threat, perhaps?’ in a loud voice, and both young men turned to greet Devuli, a man ten or more years older than they, large, authoritative, impressive. Yet even at this early hour he had a look of dissipation, for his eyes were red and wandering, and he stood upright only with difficulty.

Mr Mafente now fell back a step to take his place half a pace behind his leader’s right elbow; and Mr Chikwe faced them both, unsmiling.

Good morning to you, Mr Chikwe,’ said Mr Devuli.

Good morning to you, Mr Devuli. Mr Kwenzi is just finishing his breakfast, and will join us in good time. Mr Kwenzi was working all through the night on the proposals for the new constitution.’

As Mr Devuli did not answer this challenge, but stood, vague, almost swaying, his red eyes blinking at the passers-by, Mr Mafente said for him: ‘We all admire the conscientiousness of Mr Kwenzi.’ The we was definitely emphasized, the two young men exchanged a look like a nod, while Mr Mafente tactfully held out his right forearm to receive the hand of Mr Devuli. After a moment the leader steadied himself, and said in a threatening way that managed also to sound like a grumble: ‘I, too, know all the implications of the proposed constitution, Mr Chikwe.’

‘I am surprised to hear it, Mr Devuli, for Mr Kwenzi, who has been locked up in his hotel room for the last week, studying it, says that seven men working for seventy-seven years couldn’t make sense of the constitution proposed by Her Majesty’s Honourable Minister.’

Now they all three laughed together, relishing absurdity, until Mr Chikwe reimposed a frown and said: ‘And since these proposals are so complicated, and since Mr Kwenzi understands them as well as any man with mere human powers could, it is our contention that it is Mr Kwenzi who should speak for our people before the Minister.’

Mr Devuli held himself upright with five fingers splayed out on the forearm of his lieutenant. His red eyes moved sombrely over the ugly façade of the Ministry, over the faces of passing people, then, with an effort, came to rest on the face of Mr Chikwe. ‘But I am the leader, I am the leader acknowledged by all, and therefore I shall speak for our country.’

‘You are not feeling well, Mr Devuli?’

‘No, I am not feeling well, Mr Chikwe.’

‘It would perhaps be better to have a man in full possession of himself speaking for our people to the Minister?’ (Mr Devuli remained silent, preserving a fixed smile of general benevolence.) ‘Unless, of course, you expect to feel more in command of yourself by the time of – he brought his wrist smartly up to his eyes, frowned, dropped his wrist – ‘ten-thirty a.m., which hour is nearly upon us?’

‘No, Mr Chikwe, I do not expect to feel better by then. Did you not know, I have severe stomach trouble?’

‘You have stomach trouble, Mr Devuli?’

‘You did not hear of the attempt made upon my life when I was lying helpless with malaria in the Lady Wilberforce Hospital in Nkalolele?’

‘Really, Mr Devuli, is that so?’

Yes, it is so, Mr Chikwe. Some person bribed by my enemies introduced poison into my food while I was lying helpless in hospital. I nearly died that time, and my stomach is still unrecovered.’

I am extremely sorry to hear it.’

‘I hope that you are. For it is a terrible thing that political rivalry can lower men to such methods.’

Mr Chikwe stood slightly turned away, apparently delighting in the flight of some pigeons. He smiled, and inquired: ‘Perhaps not so much political rivalry as the sincerest patriotism, Mr Devuli? It is possible that some misguided people thought the country would be better off without you.’

‘It must be a matter of opinion, Mr Chikwe.’

The three men stood silent: Mr Devuli supported himself unobtrusively on Mr Mafente’s arm; Mr Mafente stood waiting; Mr Chikwe smiled at pigeons.

‘Mr Devuli?’

‘Mr Chikwe?’

‘You are of course aware that if you agree to the Minister’s proposals for this constitution civil war may follow?’

‘My agreement to this constitution is because I wish to avert bloodshed.’

‘Yet when it was announced that you intended to agree, serious rioting started in twelve different places in our unfortunate country.’

‘Misguided people – misguided by your party, Mr Chikwe.’

‘I remember, not twelve months ago, that when you were accused by the newspapers of inciting to riot, your reply was that the people had minds of their own. But of course that was when you refused to consider the constitution.’

‘The situation has changed, perhaps?’

The strain of this dialogue was telling on Mr Devuli: there were great beads of crystal sweat falling off his broad face, and he mopped it with the hand not steadying him, while he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

‘It is your attitude that has changed, Mr Devuli. You stood for one man, one vote. Then overnight you became a supporter of the weighted vote. That cannot be described as a situation changing, but as a political leader changing – selling out. ’ Mr Chikwe whipped about like an adder and spat these two last words at the befogged man.

Mr Mafente, seeing that his leader stood silent, blinking, remarked quietly for him: ‘Mr Devuli is not accustomed to replying to vulgar abuse, he prefers to remain silent.’ The two young men’s eyes consulted; and Mr Chikwe said, his face not four inches from Mr Devuli’s: ‘It is not the first time a leader of our people has taken the pay of the whites and has been disowned by our people.’