Elmer Allen said, "Yes, and there. See those mobs?" He looked at Homer
Crawford and said sourly, "Let's try and remember who it was who first
thought of the El Hassan idea. Then we can blame it on him."
Kenny Ballalou grumbled, "We all thought about it. Remember, we pulled
into Tessalit and found that prehistoric refrigerator that worked on
kerosene and there were a couple of dozen quarts of Norwegian beer, of
all things, in it."
"And we bought them all," Abe recalled happily. "Man, we hung one on."
Homer Crawford said to Cliff, "The Mopti airport is about twelve miles
over to the east of the town."
"Yeah, I know. Been here before," Cliff said. He called back to
Ballalou, "And then what happened?"
"We took the beer out into the desert and sat on a big dune. You can
just begin to see the Southern Cross from there. Hangs right on the
horizon. Beautiful."
Bey said, "I've never heard Kenny wax poetic before. I don't know which
sounds more lyrical, though, that cold beer or the Southern Cross."
Kenny said, "Anyway, that's when El Hassan was dreamed up. We kicked the
idea around until the beer was all gone. And when we awoke in the
morning, complete with hangover, we had the gimmick which we hung all
our propaganda on."
"El Hassan is turning out to be a hangover all right," Elmer Allen
grunted, choosing to misinterpret his teammate's words. He peered down
below. "And there the poor blokes are, rioting in favor of the product
of those beer bottles."
"It was crazy beer, man," Abe protested. "Real crazy."
Homer Crawford said, "I wish headquarters had more information to give
us on this. All they said was there were demonstrations in favor of El
Hassan and they were afraid if things went too far that some of the hard
work that's been done here the past ten years might dissolve in the
excitement; Dogon, Mosse, Tellum, Sonrai start fighting among each
other."
Jake Armstrong said, "That's not my big worry. I'm afraid some ambitious
lad will come along and supply what these people evidently want."
"How's that?" Cliff said.
"They want a leader. Someone to come out of the wilderness and lead them
to the promised land." The older man grumbled sourly. "All your life you
figure you're in favor of democracy. You devote your career to expanding
it. Then you come to a place like North Africa. You're just kidding
yourself. Democracy is meaningless here. They haven't got to the point
where they can conceive of it."
"And--" Elmer Allen prodded.
Jake Armstrong shrugged. "When it comes to governments and social
institutions people usually come up with what they want, sooner or
later. If those mobs down there want a leader, they'll probably wind up
with one." He grunted deprecation. "And then probably we'll be able to
say, Heaven help them."
Isobel puckered her lips. "A leader isn't necessarily a misleader,
Jake."
"Perhaps not necessarily," he said. "However, it's an indication of how
far back these people are, how much work we've still got to do, when
that's what they're seeking."
"Well, I'm landing," Cliff said. "The airport looks free of any kind of
manifestations."
"That's a good word," Abe said. "Manifestations. Like, I'll have to
remember that one. Man's been to school and all that jazz."