Roosevelt chuckled heartily. “You know, I do believe you’re right.”
“So much for Mr. Boyes,” said Rogers, “How’s your campaign going?”
“Just bully,” answered Roosevelt. “The response has been wildly enthusiastic.” He paused. “I’m surprised news of it hasn’t reached you.”
“How could it?” asked Rogers. “There aren’t any radios or newspapers — and even if there were, these people speak 300 different languages and none of ‘em can read or write.”
“Still,” said Roosevelt, “I’ve made a start.”
“I don’t doubt it, sir.”
“I’m drawing almost five hundred natives a day,” continued Roosevelt. “That’s more than 15,000 converts in just over a month.”
“If they stay converted.”
“They will.”
“Just another six million to go,” said Rogers with a chuckle.
“I’m sure they’re passing the word.”
“To their fellow tribesmen, maybe,” answered Rogers. “I wouldn’t bet on their talking to anyone else.”
“You sound like a pessimist, Yank,” said Roosevelt.
“Pessimism and realism are next-door neighbors on this continent, Teddy,” said Rogers.
“And yet you stay,” noted Roosevelt.
Rogers smiled. “I figure if anyone can whip this country into shape, it’s you — and if you do, I want to be able to laugh at all those Brits who gave up and left.”
“Well, stick around,” said Roosevelt. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Rogers. “I haven’t heard you rile up a crowd since you ran for Governor of New York. I was in Africa before you ran for President.” Suddenly he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew an envelope. “I almost forgot why I rode all this way,” he said, handing it to Roosevelt.
“What is it?”
“A letter from Boyes,” answered Rogers. “He said to deliver it to you personally.”
Roosevelt opened the letter, read it twice, then crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into a pocket.
“I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to hear me giving any speeches this week, Yank,” he announced. “I’ve got to return to Stanleyville.”
“Something wrong?”
Roosevelt nodded. “It seems that Billy Pickering found four Belgian soldiers in a remote area in the southwest, men who had never received word that the Belgians had withdrawn from the Congo, and shot them dead.”
“You mean he had me ride all the way here just for that?” demanded Rogers.
“It’s a matter of vital importance, Yank.”
“What’s so important about four dead men?” asked Rogers. “Life is cheap in Africa.”
“The Belgian government is demanding reparation.”
“Yeah, I see where that can make it a little more expensive,” admitted Rogers.
“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle it,” Boyes said, staring across the desk at Roosevelt, who had just returned to Stanleyville less than an hour ago.
“You were right to summon me, John.”
“So far they haven’t made any threats, but we’re receiving diplomatic communiques every other day.”
“What’s the gist of them?”
“Reparation, as I mentioned in my note to you.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “They know we don’t have any money,” he answered. “They want something else.”
“Pickering’s head on a platter, I should think,” suggested Boyes.
“They don’t care any more about their soldiers than he did,” said Roosevelt. “Let me see those communiques.”
Boyes handed over a sheaf of papers, and Roosevelt spent the next few minutes reading through them.
“Well?” asked Boyes when the American had set the papers down.
“I don’t have sufficient information,” answered Roosevelt. “Have they gone to the world press with this?”
“If they have, we won’t know it for months,” said Boyes. “The most recent paper I’ve seen is a ten-week-old copy of the East African Standard.” He paused. “Why would going to the press make a difference?”
“Because if they’ve gone public, then they’re positioning themselves to try to take the Congo back from us, by proving that we can’t protect European nationals.”
“But they weren’t nationals,” said Boyes. “They were soldiers.”
“That just makes our position worse,” replied Roosevelt. “If we can’t protect a group of armed men who know the Congo, how can we protect anyone else?”
“Then what do you want to do about Pickering?” inquired Boyes.
“Where is he now?”
“In the jail at Leopoldville. Charlie Ross brought him in dead drunk, and locked him away.”
“The proper decision,” said Roosevelt, nodding approvingly. “I must remember to commend him for it.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to, Mr. President,” said Boyes. “He’s back in Kenya.”
“Charlie?” said Roosevelt, surprised. “I’d have thought he’d be just about the last one to leave.”
Boyes paused and stared uncomfortably across the desk at Roosevelt.
“Except for Yank Rogers and me, he was.”
“They’re all gone?”
“Yes, sir.” Boyes cleared his throat and continued: “You did your best, sir, but everything’s coming unraveled. Most of them stuck it out for better than two years, but we always knew that sooner or later they’d leave. They’re not bureaucrats and administrators, they’re hunters and adventurers.”
“I know, John,” said Roosevelt, suddenly feeling his years. “And I don’t hold it against them. They helped us more than we had any right to expect.” He paused and sighed deeply. “I had rather hoped we’d have a bureaucracy in place by this time.”
“I know, sir.”
“I wonder if it would have done much good,” Roosevelt mused aloud. He looked across at Boyes. “That trip I just returned from — I wasted my time, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir, you did.”
“We needed more teachers,” said Roosevelt. “One man can’t educate them overnight. We needed more teachers, and more money, and more time.”
Boyes shook his head. “You needed a different country, Mr. President.”
“Let’s have no more talk about the inferiority of the African race, John,” said Roosevelt. “I’m not up to it today.”
“I’ve never said they were inferior, Mr. President,” said Boyes, surprised.
“Certainly you have, John — and frequently, too.”
“That’s not so, sir,” insisted Boyes. “No matter what you may think, I have no contempt or hatred for the Africans — which is why I’ve always been able to function in their countries.” He paused. “I understand them — as much as any white man can. They’re not inferior, but they are different. The things that are important to us are of no consequence to them, and the things they care about seem almost meaningless to us — and because of that, you simply can’t turn them into Americans in two short years, or even twenty.”
“We did it in America,” said Roosevelt stubbornly.
“That’s because your blacks were being assimilated into a dominant society that already existed and was in possession of the country,” answered Boyes. “The whites here are just passing through, and the Africans know it, even if the whites don’t. They may have to put up with us temporarily, but we won’t have any lasting effect on their culture.” He paused as Roosevelt considered his words, then continued: “When all is said and done, it’s their country and their continent, and one of these days they’re going to throw us all out. But what follows us won’t look anything like a Western society; it’ll be an African society, shaped by and for the Africans.” He smiled wryly. “I wish them well, but personally I wouldn’t care to be part of it.”