Collected Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

sympathetically. “Our country is not to everybody’s taste,” he picked up
The Times,
weighed it, and let it fall to the desk, “as I read every day.”
    “Unfortunately it isn’t.” Gerrard attempted to match the sad ironical smile on the other’s face.
    “Black with two?”
    “Thank you.” Gerrard watched as the minister fussed over the coffee and thought how much he hated the metallic taste of Nescafé.
    “Excuse me,” said the minister, “I seem to have spilled some into the saucer. Now what is the problem? I take it the visit isn’t social.” And he allowed the merest glint of malice to enter his voice.
    “I have a strike.”
    “And the particular matter of the dispute? Ah,” he smiled, “if only our industrial relations laws were in a more advanced stage. But,” the smile again, “I’m sure you understand that as well as I.”
    “There is no particular matter. It is a question of conditions generally. The shortage of water, the absence of power in their quarters, the quarters themselves.” Gerrard thought of the old army barracks where his men were quartered: squalid rows of huts with no partitions and a complete lack of privacy for even the most basic matters.
    The minister nodded sympathetically: “Oh, I know, I know. The latrines, I imagine, are also a problem. One cannot blame them. I would be upset myself.”
    “There is a list.” Gerrard was beginning to hope. Against his best sense he hoped that this man might actually have the guts to do something. He gave the minister the list of the men’s complaints. It contained ten points.
    “What do they ask?”
    “Either that matters be upgraded or they be paid at a special penalty rate.”
    “And,” the minister blew into the steaming coffee, “if that is not possible, and I mean ‘if’?”
    “They will leave, en masse.”
    “Oh dear.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you think they will carry out the threat?”
    In his blind anxiety it had never occurred to Gerrard that they wouldn’t, but he said simply: “They will carry it out.”
    “Oh dear.”
    “Quite,” said Gerrard. “What shall we do, what can we do?”
    “For me,” the minister held his pale palms upwards, “my hands are tied. I myself can do nothing.” The hands came together in an attitude of prayer and the index fingers plucked nervously at the pendulous lower lip. “My department’s funds are already over-committed. It would take the president himself to approve a special allowance.”
    “And the president,” Gerrard smiled thinly, “is not likely to be sympathetic.”
    “As you know,” the minister clasped his hands across his breast and leant back dolefully in his big squeaking chair, “as you know, the president is of the view that they are being paid far too much as it is. It was only after my most earnest plea …”
    “For which I am most grateful.” The minister was lying. Gerrard lied in return. He had never spoken in these terms to the minister before. He was finding it repulsive. He felt vaguely ill. “But if there were anything …”
    The minister snapped forward in his chair and leant across the table. “I will speak to him,” he said with the air of a man who has made a reckless decision. “I will go to him this morning. The president is most anxious that the project be finished quickly. He feels that in the absence of rain,” and here he allowed the merest trace of treasonable sarcasm to enter his voice, “the people are in need of a boost in morale. He is relying on the Kristu-Du. He will be most eager to end the dispute.”
    “Which means?”
    “It means,” the minister winked slyly, “that I will speak on your behalf and that finally you need not worry. Your building will goahead without serious delay. You have my word for it. You will not be unhappy with the result.” And the wink came again. Gerrard, who wondered if he had seen the first wink, had no doubts about the second.
    “And the men?” he asked.
    “The men,” said