Light was fading as I descended the little metal ladder to the ground. Major Sinclair followed me; then he made an odd sort of gesture which I could not interpret. He lowered his head, rubbed a gloved hand across his aristocratic mouth and frowned to himself. I was now expectant.
At length the flyer looked up. He seemed very serious, either reluctant to speak or unable to find appropriate words. Silently he took my arm. We walked back through the twilight towards the wooden shacks which presently functioned as the Fairfaxes’ administrative buildings. There was a stillness about the evening. The wind had dropped and the air felt warmer, even as the sun vanished. Major Sinclair began to speak in a low, sober voice, addressing me formally where before he had used my first name, as if what he had to say needed increased objectivity.
‘Colonel Peterson, sir, I know you’re of French and English blood. I gather, welcome as you are, you one day intend to return to Europe.’
‘That’s so, major.’
‘I understand you’re of the Protestant religion. We can take that for granted. I hope you’ll forgive me for seeming ill-mannered. I wonder if you could bear with me and tell me again your views as to the current plight of this country’s native born Anglo-Saxon citizens.’
I gave him my unhesitating answer: ‘I am not afraid to speak my mind on the question, major. I believe them to be in mortal danger. I have reason to know they are threatened by an increasingly unified army of Bolshevik Hebrews and Papists, plotting tirelessly to rouse the black and yellow races against them. I have witnessed at close hand the violence and lawlessness unleashed by these forces in Russia. I live in horror of the same nightmare spreading further across the world.’
He nodded slowly in profound agreement. ‘You have confirmed what I already understood. What would you say if someone offered you the opportunity to play an active part in the struggle?’
‘I am not a man of violence, major.’
‘You have made that perfectly clear also.’ He sucked in his cheeks. He stopped suddenly in the semi-darkness, just before we reached the buildings. ‘I am about to ask you a great favour. You should feel no obligation to me if you decide to refuse.’ He buttoned up his flying coat. ‘Would you be prepared to address a group of sympathetic friends on your own direct experience of Red Revolution? You’d be doing them and America a mighty important service.’
‘You wish me to make some kind of speech?’
‘An informal talk, Max, to concerned individuals, all these people of substance in the community and sharing the same views.’
I had never spoken publicly in English before and was of course nervous. Secondly I had no great desire to call unnecessary attention to myself. Yet the offer had a number of attractions. Moreover, I felt as strongly as I do now that what happened in Russia should serve as a dreadful warning to the rest of the world. It was, of course, my duty to accept. I asked what was entailed.
Major Sinclair continued to speak in low, deliberate tones, ‘In a few days time, a certain steamboat will leave the landing stage at Memphis and steam downriver towards Vicksburg. At a given hour she will turn back to Memphis where, before morning, her passengers will disembark. All aboard are sworn to the deepest secrecy. Decisions will be taken that night which will affect the fate of the entire nation.’
I was both intrigued and impressed. ‘I am honoured, major, by your confidence.’
‘Can you spare a few hours to be aboard that boat next Wednesday evening, Max?’
I assured him, come what may, I would make the time.
He reached out and firmly shook my hand, staring into my face with an intensity I had never seen before. ‘Thank you.’
No sooner had we returned to the road and the Buick than he was ordinarily cordial again. It was as if he had never made his request. I told him I should one day like to see how The Knight Hawk handled in the air. He promised to take me aloft whenever I desired. By now, of course, it had dawned on me that Major Sinclair was rather more than he had claimed. Plainly he represented powerful political interests. I must congratulate myself on being fortunate enough to gain his friendship. Even then I had not understood the full significance of his questions and his request. It would not be the first time someone of his type would know instinctively I was trustworthy. I have never clearly understood what is in me which encourages this. Probably it has something to do with my lifelong hatred of hypocrisy and intolerance, the directness with which I am prepared to approach important issues of the day. I have always loathed compromise.
That same evening I sat at my desk and by the light of a gas reading lamp wrote Esmé another long letter describing all my successes. America was accepting me far more readily than I could reasonably have hoped. I would make every effort to have her join me as soon as possible. In a short note to Mrs Cornelius I recommended America as being full of tremendous opportunities. If she chose, she could rise as high as she wanted. For my part, there was every chance I would soon be a household name like Marconi or Wellington. Soon she would hear of the Peterson plane, the Peterson domestic washing machine and the Peterson radio-powered automobile. Actually, it did not matter to me if my real name were used or not. My ego had no need for popular acclaim. To accomplish the work was enough, even if Pyatnitski were forgotten forever.
Memphis had taken me to her large and benevolent heart. And she was the city abused by the Northern press as ‘the murder capital of the USA’ because a few partial statistics had been arranged to confirm accusations of the city’s high homicide rate! Memphis was in fact the friendliest city I had known since I left Odessa. The murder figures came as a direct result of her very tolerance since she admitted so many black and Catholic immigrants to her poorer suburbs. What was more, because of her hospitals’ splendid reputation many victims were sent to Memphis to be saved. If they died, they increased the irony by adding another number to the statistics! Memphis was growing, as my political friends were forever telling me, and growth is never achieved without pain.
That evening I dined with Mr Roffy and a Mrs Trubbshaw. She was the thin-faced but attractive president of a local women’s club. I spoke enthusiastically of Major Sinclair’s airship. We should consider manufacturing several such smaller vessels as auxiliaries to our main fixed wing fleet. Charlie Roffy thought the idea very sound. Mrs Trubbshaw was greatly impressed. Evidently, she said, I was a man of enormous scientific and political vision. She envied me my adventurous life, which reminded her so much of Count Pulaski’s.
That left me entirely baffled. ‘Forgive me, madam, if I admit to ignorance.’
‘You must read about him in the library. He came all the way from Europe.’ Her style became hushed, intense, ecclesiastical. ‘To fight in our War of Independence. He was a great believer in freedom, colonel. A Polish nobleman, a soldier. A true American in all but nationality. He gave his name to Pulaski, Tennessee, where my father was born, and died in the service of Washington. You could be Count Casimir reincarnated. Do you, by chance, believe in having lived before, Colonel Peterson?’ Her dark curls shook with sincerity.