The Sweetest Dream

Next day was the Celebration of the Heroes of the Liberation, and Comrade Franklin wanted them all to come. ' It would please our Comrade President, ' he said. ‘I will see that you all have good seats.'

‘I’m booked to leave for Mozambique tomorrow morning,’ said Cyrus B.

'Cancel it! I'll get you a good seat on the plane the day after.'

'I'm sorry. I have an appointment with the President.'

'You won't say no,' Franklin ordered Andrew, his voice rough because of some unpleasantness that he couldn't quite remember.

'I have to say no. I am driving out to visit Sylvia – do you remember Sylvia?'

Franklin was silent. His eyes moved aside. ‘I think I remember. Yes, I seem to remember she was some kind of relative?'

‘And she is working as a doctor in Kwadere. I hope I pronounce that right. '

Franklin sat smiling. ' Kwadere? I did not know there was a hospital there yet. It is not a developed part of Zimlia. '

‘But I am going to see her and so I can't come to your wonderful ceremony. '

A sombreness had dashed Franklin's sparkle, he sat silent, his brows puckering. Then he threw it off and cried, ‘But I am sure our good friend Geoffrey will be there. '

Geoffrey was now a solid handsome man, who drew eyes as he had done as a boy, and the millions he had at his command had given him an almost visible silvery sheen, the glisten of self-approval. ‘I will certainly be there, Minister, I wouldn't miss it. '

‘But such an old friend ought not to be calling me Minister,’ said Franklin, offering Geoffrey dispensation in his smile.

' Thank you,’ said Geoffrey, with a little bow. ' Minister Franklin, perhaps?'

Franklin laughed, a big satisfied laugh. 'And before you leave, Geoffrey, I want you to come to my office and I will show you around.'

‘I was hoping you might invite me to meet your wife and children. I hear you have six children now?'

‘Yes, six, and soon there will be seven. Children and money troubles,’ said Franklin, looking hard at Geoffrey. But he did not invite him to his home.

Laughter, understanding laughter. More wine was called for. But Cyrus B. said he was an old man needing his sleep, and went off, remarking that he expected to see them at the conference in Bermuda next month.

'I believe that our old friend Rose Trimble has done very well,' said Franklin. 'Our President likes her work very much.'

'Rose is certainly doing well,' said Andrew, with a delightful smile, which Franklin misread.

‘And you are all such good friends, ' he cried. ' That is so good to hear. And when you see her, please give her my warmest regards. '

‘When I do, I shall,’ said Andrew, even more pleasantly.

‘And so we may soon expect generous aid,’ said Franklin, who was slightly drunk. ' Generous, generous aid for our poor exploited country. '

Here Comrade Mo, who had not yet contributed, said, ' In my view there should be no aid at all. Africa should be standing on her own two feet. '

He might just as well have thrown a bomb on to the table. He sat blinking a little, his teeth showing in an abashed grin, withstanding stares of surprise. He and all his coevals had overlooked or applauded every bit of news from the Soviet Union, and, with far fewer comrades, had celebrated every new massacre in China, he and still fewer had ruined the agriculture of his country by forcing unfortunate farmers into collective farms, the State's bully boys beating up and harrying any who resisted -few of the Causes he had encouraged or promoted had turned out anything but scandalous, but here, at this moment, at this table, in this company, what he was saying was inspired, was the truth, and for saying it, surely, he should have been forgiven all the rest.

' It will do us no good, ' he said. ‘Not in the long run. Did you know that Zimlia at Liberation was at the same level as France was, just before the Revolution?'

Laughter, relieved laughter. For one thing France had been invoked, the Revolution, they were on safe ground again.

‘No, the Revolution was due to bad harvests, bad weather -

France was basically prosperous. And this country too – or it was until some perhaps slightly unfortunate policies were adopted.'

There was a silence that bordered on the panicky.

'What are you saying?’ said Daniel, hot and offended, his face flaming under his red hair. 'Are you telling us this country was better off under the whites?'

‘No,’ said Mo. ‘I did not say that. When did I say that?' His voice was slurring: with relief they all saw that he was a little drunk. ‘I am saying that this is the most developed country in Africa, apart from South Africa. '

' So, what are you saying?' demanded Minister Franklin, polite, but concealing anger.

‘I am saying that you should build on your very sound foundations and stand on your own feet. Otherwise Global Money and Caring International and this Fund and that Fund – present company excepted, ' he said clumsily, raising his glass to them in a circling salute, ' they'll all be telling you what to do. It is not as if this country is a disaster area, like some we might mention. You have a sound economy and a good infrastructure. '

' If I did not know you so well,’ said Comrade Minister Franklin, and he was actually nervously looking around to see if anyone had heard this dangerous talk, ‘I’d say you were in the pay of South Africa. That you are an agent for our great neighbour.'

' Okay,’ said Comrade Mo. ' Don't call the thought police yet. ' Journalists had been arrested and jailed for wrong opinions, only a few days ago. ‘I am among friends. I spoke my thoughts. I am saying what I think. That is all. '

A silence. Geoffrey was looking at his watch. Obediently Daniel looked at him. Various people were getting up, not looking at Comrade Mo, who sat on, partly out of stubbornness, partly because he was going to have trouble walking straight.

' Perhaps we could have a discussion on this subject?' he said to Franklin. He spoke easily, intimately: after all, had they not known each other for years, and discussed Africa noisily, but amicably whenever they met?

'No,' said Comrade Franklin. 'No, Comrade, I don't think I shall be saying any more on this subject.' He got up. A couple of until now silent black men at a near table got up too, revealing themselves as his aides or guards. He gave the clenched fist salute, shoulder level, to Geoffrey and to Daniel, and to various other representatives of international generosity, and went out, with a heavy on either side of him.

‘I am going to bed,’ said Andrew. ‘I’m getting up early tomorrow. '

‘I think Comrade Franklin may have forgotten that he has promised us seats for tomorrow's celebration,’ said Geoffrey sulkily. He meant this as a rebuke to Comrade Mo.

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Comrade Mo. ' Just give my name. I'll reserve you seats on the VIP stand. '

‘But I want a seat too,’ said MP James.

‘Oh, don't worry,’ said Comrade Mo, waving his hands about, as if they dispensed largesse, invitations, tickets. ' Don't lose any sleep. You'll get in, you'll see. ' His moment of truth was past, defeated by the demon, peer pressure.

On that morning when Andrew was expected there was trouble at the hospital. When Sylvia walked down through the again dusty shrubs she saw chickens lying gasping, their beaks wide open, and this time it was not their defence against the heat. No water in their drinking tins. No food in their trough. She found Joshua standing swaying, a knife in his hand, over a young woman who was crouching terrified, both hands held up to ward him off. He stank of dagga. He looked as if he intended to murder the woman, who had a swollen arm. Sylvia took the knife from him and said, ‘I told you that if you smoked dagga again then that would be the end. This is the end, Joshua. Do you understand?' His angry face and reddened eyes, his powerful threatening body, loomed over her. She said, 'And the chickens are dying. They have no water.' 'That is Rebecca's work.'