Black Mischief

  Basil had been up very late the night before working with the Emperor on a codification of the criminal law, but the volume of business before him left him undismayed.

  ‘Youkoumian,’

  “Ullo. Mr Seal?’

  The financial secretary padded in from the next room.

  ‘Connolly won’t have boots.’

  ‘Won’t ‘ave boots? But, Mr Seal, he got to ‘ave boots. I bought them from Cape Town. They come next ship. I bought them, you understand, as a personal enterprise, out of my own pocket. What in ‘ell can I do with a thousand pair of boots if Connolly won’t take them?’

  ‘You ought to have waited.’

  ‘Waited? And then when the order is Out and everyone knows Guards to ‘ave boots, what’ll ‘appen then? Some pig wanting to make money will go to the Emperor and say I get you boots damned cheaper than Youkoumian. Where am I then? They might as well go barefoot all same as they do now like the dirty niggers they are. No, Mr Seal, that is not business. I fix it so that one morning the Army Order says Guards must have boots. Everyone say, but where are boots? No one got enough boots in this stinking hole. Someone say, I get you boots in three weeks, month, five weeks, so long. I come up and say, I got boots, How many pairs you want? Thousand? O.K. I fix it. That is business. What does the General say?’

  Basil handed him the letter. It was emphatic and almost ungenerously terse, coming as it did in answer to a carefully drafted recommendation beginning, ‘The Minister of Modernization presents his compliments to the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Army and in pursuance of the powers granted him by royal decree begs to advise …’

  It consisted of a single scrap of lined paper torn from a note-book across which Connolly had scrawled in pencil: The Minister of Damn All can go to blazes. My men couldn’t move a yard in boots. Try and sell Seth top hats next time. Ukaka C. in C.

  ‘Well, ‘ said Mr Youkoumian doubtfully, ‘I could get top ‘ats.’

  ‘That is one of Connolly’s jokes, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Jokes, is it? And ‘ere am I with a thousand pair black boots on my ‘ands. Ha. Ha. Like ‘ell it’s a joke. There isn’t a thousand people in the whole country that wears boots. Besides these aren’t the kind of boots people buys for themselves. Government stuff. Damn rotten. See what I mean?’

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Basil said. ‘We’ll find a use for them. We might have them served out to the clergy.’ He took back the General’s note, glanced through it frowning and clipped it into the file of correspondence; when he raised his head his eyes were clouded in an expression characteristic to him, insolent, sulky and curiously childish. ‘But as a matter of fact, ‘ he added, ‘I shouldn’t mind a show-down with Connolly. It’s nearly time for one.’

  ‘They are saying that the General is in love with Madame Ballon.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I am convinced, ‘ said Mr Youkoumian. ‘It was told me on very ‘igh authority by the barber who visits the French Legation. Everyone in the town is speaking of it. Even Madame Youkoumian has heard. I tell you ‘ow it is,’ he added complacently.’

  ‘Madame Ballon drinks. That is ‘ow Connolly first ‘ad ‘er.’

  Quarter of an hour hater both Basil and Mr Youkoumian were engaged in what seemed more important business.

  A morning’s routine at the Ministry of Modernization.

  ‘Now, look, Mister, I tell you exactly how we are fixed. We have His Majesty’s interests to safeguard. See what I mean? You think there is tin in the Ngumo mountains in workable quantities. So do we. So do other companies. They want concession too. Only today two gentlemen come to ask me to fix it for them. What do I do? I say, we can only give concession to company we have confidence in. Look. How about if on your board of directors you had a man of financial status in the country; someone who His Majesty trusts … see what I mean? … someone with a fair little block of share allocated to him. He would protect His Majesty’s interests and interests of company too … see?’

  ‘That’s all very well, Mr Youkoumian, but it isn’t so easy to find anyone like that. I can’t think of anyone at the moment.’

  ‘No, can’t you? Can’t you think?’

  ‘Unless, of course, you yourself? But I can hardly suggest that. You are far too busy.’

  ‘Mister, I have learned how to be busy and still have time for things that please me …’

  Next door: Basil and the American commercial attaché: ‘The situation is this, Walker. I’m — the Emperor is spending a quarter of a million sterling on road construction this year. It can‘t come out of the ordinary revenue. I’m floating a loan to raise the money. You’re acting over here for Cosmopolitan Oil Trust and for Stetson cars. Every mile of road we make is worth five hundred cars a year and God knows how many gallons of oil. If your companies like to take up the loan I’m prepared to give them a ten-years’ monopoly …

  Later, the editor of the Courier d’Azanie.

  M. Bertrand did not look a man of any importance — nor, in fact, was he. The Courier consisted of a single sheet, folded quarto, which was issued weekly to rather less than a thousand subscribers in Debra Dowa and Matodi. It retailed in French the chief local events of the week — the diplomatic entertainments, official appointments, court circular, the programmes of the cinemas and such few items of foreign news as came through on the wireless. It occupied one day a week of M. Bertrand’s time, the remainder of which was employed in printing menus, invitation cards, funeral and wedding announcements, in acting as local correspondent for a European news-agency and in selling stationery over the counter of his little office. It was in the hope of a fat order for crested note-paper that he presented himself in answer to Basil’s invitation at the offices of the new Ministry.

  ‘Good morning, Monsieur Bertrand. It’s good of you to come. We may as well get to business at once. I want to buy your paper.’

  ‘Why, certainly, Monsieur Seal. I have a very nice cream-laid line suitable for office use or a slightly more expensive quality azure-tinted with a linen surface. I suppose you would want the name of the Ministry embossed at the head?’

  ‘I don’t think you understand me. I mean the Courier d’ Azanie.’

  M. Bertrand’s face showed disappointment and some vexation. It was really unpardonably high-handed of this young man to demand a personal call from the proprietor and editor-in-chief whenever lie bought a copy of his journal.

  ‘I will tell my clerk. You wish to subscribe regularly?’..

  ‘No, no, you don’t understand. I wish to become the proprietor — to own the entire concern. What is your price?’

  Slowly the idea took root, budded and blossomed; then M. Bertrand said: ‘Oh no, that would be quite impossible. I don’t want to sell.’

  ‘Come, come. It can’t be worth much to you and I am willing to pay a generous price.’

  ‘It is not that, sir; it is a question of prestige, you understand,’ he spoke very earnestly. ‘You see, as the proprietor and editor of the Courier I am someone. Twice a year Madame Bertrand and I dine at the French Legation; once we go to the garden party, we go to the Court and the polo club. That is something. But if I become Bertrand, job-printer, who will regard me then? Madame Bertrand would not forgive it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Basil. To be someone in Debra Dowa … it seemed a modest ambition; it would be a shame to deprive M. Bertrand. ‘I see. Well, suppose that you retained the position of editor and were nominally proprietor. That would fulfil my purpose. You see I am anxious to enlarge the scope of your paper. I wish it to publish leading articles explaining the political changes. Listen … ‘ and for a quarter of an hour Basil outlined his intentions for the Courier’s development … three sheets, advertisements of European firms and government services to meet increased cost of production; enlarged circulation; features in Sakuyu and Arabic; intelligent support of government policy … At the end of the interview M. Bertrand left, slightly bewildered, carrying with him a fair-sized cheq
ue and the notes for a leading article forecasting possible changes in the penal code … convict settlements to replace local prisons…. What extraordinary subjects to mention in the Courier!

  At eleven the Anglican Bishop came to protest against the introduction of State Lotteries.

  At a quarter past William came from Sir Samson Courteney to discuss the possibility of making a road out to the Legation. William and Basil did not like each other.

  At half-past the Lord Chamberlain came to consult about cookery. A banquet was due to some Wanda notables next week. Seth had forbidden raw beef. What was he to give them? ‘Raw beef,’ said Basil. ‘Call it steak tartare.’

  ‘That is in accordance with modern thought?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  At noon Basil went to see the Emperor.

  The heat, rarely intolerable in the hills, was at this time of’ day penetrating and devitalizing. The palace roofs glared and shimmered. A hot breeze lifted the dust and powdered the bodies of the dangling courtiers and carried across the yard a few waste shreds of paper, baked crisp and brittle as dead leaves. Basil sauntered with half-shut eyes to the main entrance.

  Soldiers stood up and saluted clumsily; the captain of the guard trotted after him and plucked at his sleeve.

  ‘Good morning, captain.’

  ‘Good morning, Excellency. You are on your way to the Emperor?’

  ‘As usual.’

  ‘There is a small matter. If I could interest your excellency … It is about the two gentlemen who were hanged. One was my cousin.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘His post has not yet been filled. It has always been held by my family. My uncle has made a petition to His Majesty.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I will speak on his behalf.’

  ‘But that is exactly what you must not do. My uncle is a wicked man, Excellency. It was he who poisoned my father. I am sure of it. He wanted my mother. It would be most unjust for him to have the post. There is my little brother —a man of supreme ability and devotion …’

  ‘Very well, captain, I’ll do what I can.’

  ‘The angels preserve your excellency.’

  The Emperor’s study was strewn with European papers and catalogues; his immediate concern was a large plan of Debra Dowa on which he was working with ruler and pencil.’

  ‘Come in, Seal, I’m just rebuilding the city. The Anglican Cathedral will have to go, I think, and all the South quarter. Look, here is Seth Square with the avenues radiating from it. I’m calling this, Boulevard Basil Seal.’

  ‘Good of you, Seth.’

  ‘And this, Avenue Connolly.’

  ‘Ah, I wanted to talk about him.’ Basil sat down and approached his subject discreetly. ‘I wouldn’t say anything against him. I know you like him and in his rough-and-tumble way he’s a decent soldier. But d’you ever feel that he’s not quite modern?’

  ‘He never made full use of our tank.’

  ‘Exactly. He’s opposed to progress throughout. He wants to keep the army under his control. Now there’s the question of boots. I don’t think we told you, but the matter came before the Ministry and we sent in a recommendation that the Guards should be issued with boots. It would increase their efficiency a hundred per cent. Half the sick list is due to hook-worm which as you know comes from going about barefooted. Besides, you know, there’s the question of prestige. There’s not a single Guards regiment in Europe without boots. You’ve seen them for yourself at Buckingham Palace. You’ll never get the full respect of the powers until you give your troops boots.’

  ‘Yes, yes, by all means. They shall have boots at once.’

  ‘I was sure you’d see it that way. But the trouble is that Connolly’s standing out against it. Now we’ve no power at present to issue an army ordinance. That has to come through him — or through you as commander-in-chief of the army.’

  ‘I’ll make out an order today. Of course they must have boots. I’ll hang any man I see barefooted.’

  ‘Fine. I thought you’d stand by us, Seth. You know, ‘ he added reflectively, ‘we’ve got a much easier job now than we should have had fifty years ago. If we’d had to modernize a country then it would have meant constitutional monarchy, bi-cameral legislature, proportional representation, women’s suffrage, independent judicature, freedom of the Press, referendums …’

  ‘What is all that?’ asked the Emperor.

  ‘Just a few ideas that have ceased to be modern.’

  Then they settled down to the business of the day.

  ‘The British Legation are complaining again about their road.’

  ‘That is an old question. I am tired of it. Besides, you will see from the plan I have orientated all the roads leading out of the capital; they go by the points of the compass. I cannot upset my arrangements.’

  ‘The Minister feels very strongly about it.’

  ‘Well, another time … no, I tell you what I will do. Look, we will name this street after him. Then he will be satisfied.’

  The Emperor took up his india-rubber and erased Connolly’s name from the new metropolis. Avenue Sir Samson Courteney he wrote in its place.

  ‘I wish we had a tube railway,’ he said. ‘Do you think it would pay?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So I feared. But one day we will have one. Listen. You can tell Sir Samson that. When there is a tube railway he shall have a private station in the Legation compound. Now listen; I have had a letter from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They want to send out a Commission to investigate Wanda methods of hunting. Is it cruel to spear lions, do you think?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No. However, here is the letter. From Dame Mildred Porch. Do you know her?’

  ‘I’ve heard of her. An intolerable old gas-bag.’

  ‘What is gas-bag? An orator?’

  ‘Yes, in a way.’

  ‘Well, she is returning from South Africa and wishes to spend a week here. I will say yes?’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’

  ‘I will say yes … And another thing. I have been reading in my papers about something very modern called Birth Control. What is it?’

  Basil explained.

  ‘I must have a lot of that. You will see to it. Perhaps it is not a matter for an ordinance, what do you think? We must popularize it by propaganda — educate the people in sterility. We might have a little pageant in its honour …’

  Sir Samson accepted the rebuff to his plans with characteristic calm. ‘Well, well, I don’t suppose young Seth will keep his job long. There’s bound to be another revolution soon. The boy’s head over heels in debt, they tell me. I dare say the next government, whoever they are, will be able to afford something. And anyway, you may laugh at me, Prudence, but I think it’s uncommonly decent of the young fellow to name that avenue after me. I’ve always liked him. You never know. Debra Dowa may become a big city one day. I like to think of all the black johnnies in a hundred years’ time driving up and down in their motor-cars and going to the shops and saying “Number a hundred Samson Courteney” and wondering who I was. Like, like …’

  ‘Like the Avenue Victor Hugo, Envoy.’

  ‘Exactly, or St James’s Square.’

  But the question of the boots was less easily settled.

  On the afternoon of the day when the new ordinance was issued, Basil and Mr Youkoumian were in conference. A major difficulty had arisen with regard to the plans for the new guest house at the Palace. The Emperor had been captivated by some photographs he had discovered in a German architectural magazine and had decided to have the new building constructed of steel and vita-glass. Basil had spent half the morning in a vain attempt to persuade the royal mind that this was not a style at all suitable to his tropical climate and he was now at work with his financial secretary on a memorandum of the prohibitive extravagance of the new plans, when the door was pushed noisily open and the Duke of Ukaka strode into the room.

  ‘Clear out, Youkoumian, ‘ he said. ‘I want to t
alk to your boss.’

  ‘O.K., General. I’ll ‘op off. No offence.’

  ‘Nonsense. Mr Youkoumian is financial secretary of the Ministry. I should like him to be present at our interview.’

  ‘What, me, Mr. Seal? I got nothing to say to the General.’

  ‘I wish you to stay.’

  ‘Quick,’ said the Duke, making a menacing motion towards him.

  ‘Very sorry, gentlemen,’ said Mr Youkoumian and shot through the door into his own office.

  First trick to Connolly.

  ‘I notice even that little dago has the sense to take off his boots.’

  Second trick to Connolly.

  But in the subsequent interview Basil held his own. The General began: ‘Sorry to have to sling that fellow out. Can’t stand his smell. Now let’s talk. What’s all this infernal nonsense about boots?’

  ‘His Majesty’s ordinance seemed perfectly explicit to me.’

  ‘His Majesty’s trousers. For the Lord’s sake come off the high horse, old boy, and listen to me. I don’t give a hoot in hell about your modernization. It’s none of my business. You can set every damn coon in the place doing crossword puzzles for all I care. But I’m not going to have any monkeying about with my men. You’ll lame the whole army in a day it you try to make ‘em wear boots. Now look here, there’s no reason why we should scrap over this. I’ve been in the country long enough to see through Youkoumian’s game. Selling junk to government has been the staple industry of Debra Dowa as long as I can remember it. I’d as soon you got the boodle as anyone else. Listen. If I tip the wink to the people on the line I can have the whole consignment of boots carried off by Sakuyu. You’ll get compensation, the ordinance will be forgotten and no one will be any the worse off. What do you say? Is it a deal?’