Part 20 (1/2)
In the shade of the tent's interior, Isobel clucked at him and hurried to get a drink of water from a moist water cooler. Homer Crawford motioned the other to a seat, and took one himself. ”Now then, Dr.
Smythe.”
The indignant medic blurted, ”Those confounded bandits out there--”
”Irregular camel cavalry,” Crawford amended gently.
”They've kidnapped me and my staff. I demand that you intercede, if you have any influence with them.”
”What were you doing?” Crawford was frowning at the other. Actually, he had no idea of the circ.u.mstances under which the probably overenthusiastic Tuareg troopers had rounded up the American medical man.
”Doing? You know perfectly well I represent the American Medical Relief. My team has been in the vicinity of Silet, working with the nomads. The country is rife with everything from rickets to syphilis!
Eighty per cent of these people suffer from trachoma. My team--”
”Just a moment,” Moroka said. ”You mean out in those two trucks you have a complete American medical setup? a.s.sistants and all?”
Smythe said stiffly, ”I have two American nurses with me and four Algerians recruited in Oran. This sort of interference with my work is insufferable and--”
The South African was staring at Homer Crawford.
Cliff Jackson cleared his throat. ”It seems as though El Ha.s.san has just acquired a Department of Health.”
”El Ha.s.san?” Smythe stuttered. ”What, what?”
Isobel said softly, ”Dr. Smythe, surely you have heard of El Ha.s.san.”
”Heard of him? I've heard of nothing else for the past month!
Confounded ignorant barbarian. What this part of the world needs is _less_ intertribal, interracial, international fighting, not more. The man's a raving lunatic and--”
Isobel said gently, ”Doctor ... may I introduce you to El Ha.s.san?”
”What ... what--?” For the briefest of moments, there was an element of timorness in the sputtering doctor's voice. Then suddenly he comprehended.
He pointed at Homer Crawford accusingly. ”You're El Ha.s.san!”
Homer nodded, seriously, ”That's correct, Doctor.”
The doctor's eyes went around the four of them. ”You've done what you were driving at there at that meeting in Timbuktu. You're trying to unite these people in spite of themselves and then drag them, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, into the twentieth century.”
Homer still nodded.
Smythe shook an indignant finger at him. ”I told you then, Crawford, and I tell you now. These natives are not suited for such sudden change. Already they are subject to ma.s.s neurosis because they cannot adjust to a world that changes too quickly.”
”I wonder if that doesn't apply to the rest of us as well,” Cliff said unhappily. ”But the changes go on, if we like them or not. Can you think of any way to turn them off?”
The doctor snorted.
Homer Crawford said, ”Dr. Smythe, the die is already cast. The question now becomes, will you join us?”
”Join you! Certainly not!”