Flushing, General O'Reilly apologized, but the Arab was already talking
excitedly to his fellow delegates. Puzzled, O'Reilly heard a confused
babble of Arabic, then sudden silence.
The Arab delegate had a glint in his eye as he asked for the floor.
"In the name of my country," he said proudly, "we agree!"
The word "agree" had not been heard in this chamber for many months, and
General O'Reilly wondered if he had heard aright. "Agree?" he stared.
"Agree to what?"
"To toss a coin for it, as the chairman has proposed," the Arab said.
"That is, it the Israeli delegation has the courage, the sportsmanship
to agree." He looked tauntingly to his rivals across the room.
The Israeli leader sprang to his feet, indignant. "I protest, Mr.
Chairman, to this frivolous treatment of a serious matter, which will
affect the future of--"
He felt silent, aware of the contemptuous smiles on the faces of the
Arabs.
General O'Reilly kept his countenance. He said mildly: "Of course, if
you are not willing to risk the luck of--"
"We are afraid of nothing, sir!" the Israeli snapped. "We are as
sporting as anyone else, but--" One of his fellow delegates whispered
something to him. Then the whole Israeli delegation talked in low
voices. Finally the leader rose again. "Will you permit me to telephone
my minister?"
Gravely the general recessed the meeting for thirty minutes. In his own
room, he stared at himself in the mirror, still dazed.
"My God!" he breathed. "They can't be taking it seriously!"
But why not? If the arguments were so evenly balanced that not even
Solomon could have chosen, if they really wanted a settlement, if they
could never give in without losing "face"--why, what better method than
to trust it to the fall of a coin? Still--things just didn't happen that
way.
When the thirty minute recess ended, the Israeli delegate arose. He
glared across the room and announced defiantly: "My government also
agrees! Let the coin decide!"
The conference broke into clamor, but General O'Reilly had long since
learned the value of prudence in Jerusalem. "The chairman agrees," he
said judicially, "that in the circumstances, this is perhaps an
excellent solution, perhaps the only solution. But this has been, to say
the least, somewhat impulsive. Let me suggest both sides return to their
governments and consider this well. Then, if you are both still
willing, let us meet here one week from today, in this room--and the
coin will decide!"
* * * * *
He had expected second thoughts, and he was not disappointed. Extremists
on both sides of the Jordan screamed with indignation. Yet, oddly, most
people seemed strangely excited, even pleased by the sporting
proposition. They began to lay bets on the outcome.
And both governments held firm. Probably, the general speculated,
because they both wanted a solution--and there was no other solution in
sight. Also, each hated to be the first to back down from a fair bet. It
became a matter of honor.
On the week end, General O'Reilly flew to Cairo to meet some friends
passing through on a world tour. Like all tourists, they went to the
Mouski, Cairo's great bazaar, and it was there, in the Street of the
Goldsmiths, that the general got his idea.
It cost him a chunk of money, out of his own pocket, but like most
Irishmen, he was a sporting man himself. After all, he grinned to
himself, I started the whole business, and I might as well do it up in
style.
He had decided that no ordinary coin would do for such an historic
occasion. So he had a goldsmith make him a heavy solid-gold medallion
almost twice as big as a twenty-dollar gold piece. He was not very much
pleased with the design he sketched out hastily, but on the spur of the
moment, he could think of nothing better.
The "Heads" side of the great coin bore a _front_ view of the blind
goddess of justice, with her scales. The "Tails" side had a _rear_ view
of the same lady.
It was rather crudely done, but time was short. "It'll have to do," the
general chuckled, as the plane bore him back to Jerusalem.
* * * * *
When the appointed day came, the United Nations conference room in
Jerusalem was jammed with Israeli and Arab officials, and with a pack of
correspondents who had magically appeared.
General O'Reilly had decided against asking each side to put its
agreement into writing. A true gentleman's agreement shouldn't be
written, he concluded. He merely asked the leaders for each side if they
agreed to abide by the fall of the coin. Solemnly, both assented.
Courteously, the Israelis had allowed the Arabs to call while the coin
was still in the air. There was silence as General O'Reilly flipped it
high up towards the ceiling.
"Tails!" cried the Arab leader.
The spinning coin glittered, falling onto the green baize table. The
general looked at it. The goddess had her back turned.
"It is tails," he announced, and the Arab delegation broke into happy
shouts.
And, astonishingly, that was that. The leading Tel-Aviv newspaper summed
up Israeli feeling when it wrote in an editorial: "Certainly there were
many heavy hearts in our country when the coin fell against us. But let
us show the world that we are true sportsmen. We risked, and we lost.
Let this be the end of it."
Work began on the dams at last, without interference or protest. Not a
word was ever written on paper, but it was the only agreement between
the two countries that was scrupulously kept by both sides.
It was, of course, a wonderful story. The name of Terence O'Reilly swam
suddenly into the headlines, and his wife began keeping a scrapbook of
all the clippings. One among them was destined to be more potent in
world affairs than all the rest. It was a "profile" of General O'Reilly
published in a great American magazine, and it was notable for two
things.
To begin with, it was the author of this profile who first gave the coin
the name by which it soon became so famous--the "Golden Judge."
But it also contained a casual, seemingly insignificant remark by
General O'Reilly. When the interviewer had asked how he happened to
think of the coin-tossing idea, the general had grinned. "Why not?" he
said. "Aren't the Irish the gamblingest people on earth?"
And it was this innocent sentence, hardly noticed at the time, that
started the "Golden Judge" on its fantastic career, and kept it from
being a mere nine-day wonder.
For a Chinese Communist diplomat in Berne, Switzerland, happened to see
it and, one night at a dinner party, he said mockingly: "This stupid
American general in Jerusalem is obviously ignorant of the world.
Otherwise, he would realize that no nation on earth loves gambling so
much as the Chinese. Anyone who knows the Orient will tell you this."
This made good cocktail party talk, a thing desperately needed in Berne,
and eventually reached the ears of an Associated Press correspondent. He
filed a paragraph on it for a box story and, in the inevitable way of
the press, a reporter in Jerusalem asked General O'Reilly for his
comment.
"Well," he said, "I've heard the Chinese are great gamblers indeed,
although whether more so than the Irish I beg leave to doubt."
Then his eyes twinkled. "Why don't they prove it? Why don't they toss a
coin, say, for Quemoy and Matsu? The danged little places aren't worth a
nickel to either side, and well they both know it. But they'll neither
of them back down a hair, for losing face. I say, if they think they're
the greatest gamblers on earth, let 'em prove it!"
This sped into print, caused a world-wide stir, and brought General
O'Reilly a sizzling reprimand from the Department of the Army. He was
not REPEAT NOT to express opinions about the value of allied territory.
He read the reprimand ruefully, reminded himself that another great
Irish failing was too much talk--and said good-by to any hopes for a
third star.
* * * * *
But this was before the black headlines from Formosa. With popping eyes,
General O'Reilly read that the Chinese Nationalist Foreign Minister had
taken up the challenge. He offered to toss a coin with the Chinese
Communists for Quemoy and Matsu!
"I'll be jiggered!" the general breathed. "They'll fight about
everything else, but be damned if they'll admit the Irish are bigger
gamblers than the Chinese! Now let's see what the Commies say."
Peking was silent for two weeks. Then, in a broadcast from Radio Peking,
Chou En-Lai made his reply.
He agreed--but with conditions. He insisted on a neutral commission to
supervise the toss, half Communist members, half non-Communist. World
observers, weary of neutral commissions that never achieved anything,
interpreted this as a delaying tactic and agreed the whole thing would
fall through.
"This is further proof," the Nationalist Foreign Minister commented with
icy scorn, "that the Communists are no longer real Chinese. For any
Chinese worthy of the name would not be afraid to risk the fall of the
coin."
But Marx had not quite liquidated the gambling fever that runs strong in
the blood of any Chinese, be he ever so Communist.