Island - Aldous Huxley [92]
“Remarkable,” said the Rani, dwelling emphatically on the spoken equivalents of pejorative and laudatory capital letters, “but only as the Blasphemous Caricature of TRUE Initiation. They’ve never learned to make the elementary distinction between the Natural Order and the Supernatural.”
“Quite,” Will murmured. “Quite…”
“What did you say?” the voice at the other end of the line demanded.
“Quite,” Will repeated more loudly.
“I’m glad you agree. But I didn’t call you,” the Rani went on, “to discuss the difference between the Natural and the Supernatural—Supremely Important as that difference is. No, I called you about a more urgent matter.”
“Oil?”
“Oil,” she confirmed. “I’ve just received a very disquieting communication from my Personal Representative in Rendang. Very Highly Placed,” she added parenthetically, “and invariably Well Informed.”
Will found himself wondering which of all those sleek and much bemedaled guests at the Foreign Office cocktail party had double-crossed his fellow double-crossers—himself, of course, included.
“Within the last few days,” the Rani went on, “representatives of no less than three Major Oil Companies, European and American, have flown into Rendang-Lobo. My informant tells me that they’re already working on the four or five Key Figures in the Administration who might, at some future date, be influential in deciding who is to get the concession for Pala.”
Will clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
Considerable sums, she hinted, had been, if not directly offered, at least named and temptingly dangled.
“Nefarious,” he commented.
Nefarious, the Rani agreed, was the word. And that was why Something must be Done About It, and Done Immediately. From Bahu she had learned that Will had already written to Lord Aldehyde, and within a few days a reply would doubtless be forthcoming. But a few days were too long. Time was of the essence—not only because of what those rival companies were up to, but also (and the Rani lowered her voice mysteriously) for Other Reasons. “Now, now!” her Little Voice kept exhorting. “Now, without delay!” Lord Aldehyde must be informed by cable of what was happening (the faithful Bahu, she added parenthetically, had offered to transmit the message in code by way of the Rendang Legation in London) and along with the information must go an urgent request that he empower his Special Correspondent to take such steps—at this stage the appropriate steps would be predominantly of a financial nature—as might be necessary to secure the triumph of their Common Cause.
“So with your permission,” the voice concluded, “I’ll tell Bahu to send the cable immediately. In our joint names, Mr. Farnaby, yours and Mine. I hope, mon cher, that this will be agreeable to you.”
It wasn’t at all agreeable, but there seemed to be no excuse, seeing that he had already written that letter to Joe Aldehyde, for demurring. And so, “Yes, of course,” he cried with a show of enthusiasm belied by his long dubious pause, before the words were uttered, in search of an alternative answer. “We ought to get the reply sometime tomorrow,” he added.
“We shall get it tonight,” the Rani assured him.
“Is that possible?”
“With God” (con espressione) “all things are possible.”
“Quite,” he said, “quite. But still…”
“I go by what my Little Voice tells me. ‘Tonight,’ it’s saying. And ‘he will give Mr. Farnaby carte blanche’—carte blanche,” she repeated with gusto. “‘And Farnaby will be completely successful.’”
“I wonder?” he said doubtfully.
“You must be successful.”
“Must be?”
“Must be,” she insisted.
“Why?”
“Because it was God who inspired me to launch the Crusade of the Spirit.”
“I don’t quite get the connection.”
“Perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you,” she said. Then, after a moment of silence, “But after all, why not? If Our Cause triumphs, Lord Aldehyde has promised to back the Crusade with all his resources. And since God wants the Crusade to succeed, Our Cause cannot fail to triumph.”
“Q.E.D.,” he wanted to shout, but restrained himself. It wouldn’t be polite. And anyhow this was no joking