In the morning Hélène Desage managed to look the last word in what
desert fashion should be, when she strolled into Johnny McCord's
office. Although she came complete with a sun helmet that must have
been the product of a top Parisian shop, she would have been more at
place on the beaches at Miami, Honolulu or Cannes. Her shorts were
short and fitting, her blouse silken, her walking shoes dainty.
He considered for a moment and then decided against informing her
that Moslems, particularly in this part of the world, were little
used to seeing semi-nude women strolling about. He'd leave the job of
explanation to Pierre, as a fellow Frenchman and the oldest man present
to boot.
"_Bonjour_," she said. "What a lovely day. I have been strolling about
your little oasis. But you have made it a garden!"
"Thanks," Johnny said. "We've got to have something to do after working
hours. Entertainment is on the scarce side. But it's more than a
garden. We've been experimenting to see just what trees will take to
this country--given water and care through the early years. Besides, we
use it as a showplace."
"Showplace?"
"For skeptical politicians who come through," Johnny said, seating her
in a chair near his desk. "We give them the idea that the whole Sahara
could eventually be like this square mile or so at Bidon Cinq. Palm
trees, fruit trees, pines, shade trees. The works."
"And could it?"
Johnny grinned sourly. "Well, not exactly. Not all in one spot, at
least. You've got to remember, the Sahara covers an area of some
three and a half million square miles. In that area you find almost
everything."
"Everything except water, eh?" She was tapping a cigarette on a
polish-reddened thumbnail. As he lit it for her, Johnny McCord realized
that he hadn't seen fingernail polish for a year. He decided it was too
long.
"Even water, in some parts," he said. "There's more water than most
people realize. For instance, the Niger, which runs right through a
considerable part of the Sahara, is the eleventh largest river in the
world. But until our commission went to work on it, it dumped itself
into the Gulf of Guinea, unused."
"The Niger is a long way from here," she said through her smoke.
He nodded. "For that matter, though, we have a certain amount of rain,
particularly in the highland regions of the central massif. In the
past, with no watershed at all, it ran off, buried itself in the sands,
or evaporated."
"Mr. McCord," she said, "you are amazingly optimistic. Formerly, I must
admit I had little knowledge of the Sahara Reforestation Commission.
And I deliberately avoided studying up on the subject after receiving
this assignment, because I wanted first impression to be received on
the spot. However, I've just driven across the Sahara. My impression
is that your Commission is one great--_Comment dit-on?_--boon-doggling
project, a super-W.P.A. into which to plow your American resources and
manpower. It is a fake, a delusion. This part of the world has never
been anything but wasteland, and never will be."
Johnny McCord heard her out without change in expression.
He'd been through this before. In fact, almost every time a junketing
congressman came through. There was danger in the viewpoint, of course.
If the fantastic sums of money which were being spent were cut off,
such pessimistic views would become automatically correct.
He took the paperweight from a stack of the correspondence on his desk
and handed it to her.
She looked at it and scowled--very prettily, but still a scowl. "What
is this? It's a beautiful piece of stone."
"I picked it up myself," Johnny said. "Near Reggan. It's a chunk of
petrified wood, Miss Desage. From a tree that must have originally had
a diameter of some ten feet. Not quite a redwood, of course, but big."
"Yes," she said, turning it over in her hand. "I can see this part,
which must have once been bark. But why do you show it to me?"
"The Sahara was once a semi-tropical, moist area, highly wooded. It can
become so again."
* * * * *
She put the piece of fossil back on his desk. "How long ago?" she said
bluntly.
"A very long time ago, admittedly. During the last Ice Age and
immediately afterwards. But, given man's direction, it can be done
again. And it must be."