Island

Murugan joined in the laughter-joined in it, not as the sin-isterly mirthful Tough Guy, but with one of those sudden changes of mood and expression that would make it, Will foresaw, so hard for him to play the Tough Guy part, as the triumphant urchin of a few minutes earlier. "The shock of their lives," he repeated happily.

"Have you made any specific plans?"

"I most certainly have," said Murugan. On his mobile face the triumphant urchin made way for the statesman, grave but condescendingly affable, at a press conference. "Top priority: get this place modernized. Look at what Rendang has been able to do because of its oil royalties."

"But doesn't Pala get any oil royalties?" Will questioned with that i

"Not a pe

"Can't you persuade them to listen?"

"I'll damn well make them listen," said the Tough Guy.

"That's the spirit!" Then, casually, "Which of the offers do you think of accepting?" he asked.

"Colonel Dipa's working with Standard of California, and he thinks it might be best if we did the same."

"I wouldn't do that without at least getting a few competing bids."

"That's what I think too. So does my mother."

"Very wise."

"My mother's all for Southeast Asia Petroleum. She knows the Chairman of the Board, Lord Aldehyde."

"She knows Lord Aldehyde? But how extraordinary!" The tone of delighted astonishment was thoroughly convincing. "Joe Aldehyde is a friend of mine. I write for his papers. I even serve s his private ambassador. Confidentially," he added, "that's why we took that trip to the copper mines. Copper is one of Joe's sidelines. But of course his real love is oil."

Murugan tried to look shrewd. "What would he be prepared to offer?"

Will picked up the cue and answered, in the best movie -tycoon style, "Whatever Standard offers plus a little more."

"Fair enough," said Murugan out of the same script, and nodded sagely. There was a long silence. When he spoke again, it was as the statesman granting an interview to representatives of the press.

"The oil royalties," he said, "will be used in the following ma

"May I ask," Will enquired deferentially, "precisely how you propose to reconstruct the world?"

"Through the Crusade of the Spirit. Do you know about the Crusade of the Spirit?"

"Of course. Who doesn't?"

"It's a great world movement," said the statesman gravely. "Like Early Christianity. Founded by my mother."

Will registered awe and astonishment.

"Yes, founded by my mother," Murugan repeated, and he added impressively, "I believe it's man's only hope."

"Quite," said Will Farnaby, "quite."

"Well, that's how the first twenty-five percent of the royalties will be used," the statesman continued. "The remainder will go into an intensive program of industrialization." The tone changed again. "These old idiots here only want to industrialize in spots and leave all the rest as it was a thousand years ago."

"Whereas you'd like to go the whole hog. Industrialization for industrialization's sake."

"No, industrialization for the country's sake. Industrialization to make Pala strong. To make other people respect us. Look at Rendang. Within five years they'll be manufacturing all the rifles and mortars and ammunition they need. It'll be quite a long time before they can make tanks. But meanwhile they can buy them from Skoda with their oil money."

"How soon will they graduate to H-bombs?" Will asked ironically.

"They won't even try," Murugan answered. "But after all," he added, "H-bombs aren't the only absolute weapons." He pronounced the phrase with relish. It was evident that he found the taste of "absolute weapons" positively delicious. "Chemical and biological weapons-Colonel Dipa calls them the poor man's H-bombs. One of the first things I'll do is to build a big insecticide plant." Murugan laughed and winked an eye. "If you can make insecticides," he said, "you can make nerve gas."

Will remembered that still unfinished factory in the suburbs of Rendang-Lobo.

"What's that?" he had asked Colonel Dipa as they flashed past it in the white Mercedes.

"Insecticides," the Colonel had answered. And showing his gleaming white teeth in a genial smile, "We shall soon be exporting the stuff all over Southeast Asia."

At the time, of course, he had thought that the Colonel merely meant what he said. But now . . . Will shrugged his mental shoulders. Colonels will be colonels and boys, even boys like Murugan, will be gun-loving boys. There would always be plenty of jobs for special correspondents on the trail of death.

"So you'll strengthen Pala's army?" Will said aloud.

"Strengthen it? No-I'll create it. Pala doesn't have an army."

"None at all?"

"Absolutely nothing. They're all pacifists." The p was an explosion of disgust, the s's hissed contemptuously. "I shall have to start from scratch."

"And you'll militarize as you industrialize, is that it?"

"Exactly."

Will laughed. "Back to the Assyrians! You'll go down in history as a true revolutionary."

"That's what I hope," said Murugan. "Because that's what my policy is going to be-Continuing Revolution."

"Very good!" Will applauded.

"I'll just be continuing the revolution that was started more than a hundred years ago by Dr. Robert's great-grandfather when he came to Pala and helped my great-great-grandfather to put through the first reforms. Some of the things they did were really wonderful. Not all of them, mind you," he qualified; and with the absurd solemnity of a schoolboy playing Polonius in an end-of-term performance of Hamlet he shook his curly head in grave, judicial disapproval. "But at least they did something. Whereas nowadays we're governed by a set of do-nothing conservatives. Conservatively primitive-they won't lift a finger to bring in modern improvements. And conservatively radical- they refuse to change any of the old bad revolutionary ideas that ought to be changed. They won't reform the reforms. And I tell you, some of those so-called reforms are absolutely disgusting."

"Meaning, I take it, that they have something to do with sex?"

Murugan nodded and turned away his face. To his astonishment, Will saw that he was blushing.

"Give me an example," he demanded.

But Murugan could not bring himself to be explicit.

"Ask Dr. Robert," he said, "ask Vijaya. They think that sort of thing is simply wonderful. In fact they all do. That's one of the reasons why nobody wants to change. They'd like everything to go on as it is, in the same old disgusting way, forever and ever."

"Forever and ever," a rich contralto voice teasingly repeated.

"Mother!" Murugan sprang to his feet.

Will turned and saw in the doorway a large florid woman swathed (rather incongruously, he thought; for that kind of face and build usually went with mauve and magenta and electric blue) in clouds of white muslin. She stood there smiling with a conscious mysteriousness, one fleshy brown arm upraised, with its jeweled hand pressed against the doorjamb, in the pose of the great actress, the acknowledged diva, pausing at her first entrance to accept the plaudits of her adorers on the other side of the footlights. In the background, waiting patiently for his cue, stood a tall man in a dove-gray Dacron suit whom Murugan, peering past the massive embodiment of maternity that almost filled the doorway, now greeted as Mr. Bahu.