Breakthroughs

again.”

“You’ll lose again,” Reggie said. “Aren’t enough of you, and you still won’t have enough guns. And we won’t be fighting the damnyankees any more.”

“Mebbe they give us a hand,” Rehoboam said. “Mebbe they give us guns.”

“Not likely.” Now Reggie’s voice was blunt. “They don’t much fancy black folks themselves, you know. If we deal with you, that’d suit them fine.”

And Rehoboam, who had answered back as boldly as if he were a man who had known himself to be free and equal to all other men since birth, now fell silent. His eyes flicked from one of the wounded U.S. soldiers with whom he shared the ward to the next. Whatever he saw there did not reassure him. He buried his face in his hands.

Pete said, “I guess you told him.”

“I guess I did,” said Reggie, who had not expected the Negro to have so strong a reaction over what was to him simply a fact of nature. He called to Rehoboam, “Come on, stick your chin up. It’s not that bad.”

“Not for you.” Rehoboam’s voice was muffled by the palms of his hands. “You’re white, you goddamn son of a bitch. You got the world by the balls, just on account of the noonday sun kill you dead.”

“If I had the world by the balls, none of these damnyankee bastards would have shot me,” Bartlett pointed out.

Rehoboam grunted. Finally, he said, “You had the world by the balls when you wasn’t in the Army, anyways. It’s the rich white bastards who don’t never have to fight got the world by the balls all the time.”

“See? I knew you were a Red,” Reggie said.

“Maybe he’s just a good Socialist,” Pete said.

“What the hell’s the difference?” Reggie demanded.

Rehoboam and Pete both got offended. They both started to explain the difference. Then they started to argue about the difference, as if one of them were a Methodist preacher and the other a hardshell Baptist. Reggie lay back and enjoyed the show. It was the most entertainment he’d had since he got wounded.

Bertha came back into Flora Hamburger’s private office. “Congresswoman, Mr. Wiggins is here to see you. Your two o’clock appointment.”

“Thank you,” Flora told the secretary. “Send him in.”

She put away the Transportation Committee report she’d been reading and wondered again whether she should have made the appointment with Mr. Edward C.L.-he’d insisted on both middle initials-Wiggins. Over the telephone, he hadn’t described his reason for wanting to see her as anything more specific than “a matter of possible common interest.” Well, if that was a polite way of leading up to offering her a bribe, she’d show him out the door one minute and put the U.S. marshals on his trail the next.

In he came. He proved to be a chunky little man in his late forties, sweating in a wool tweed suit and vest and fanning himself with a straw hat. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance in person, ma’am,” he said, giving Flora a nod just short of a bow. His manner was courtly, almost stagily so.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” Flora answered, wondering if she was lying. She did not believe in beating around the bush: “Now that we are meeting in person, I hope you will tell me what you have in mind.”

“I certainly aim to,” Edward C.L. Wiggins replied. “I want you to know, I truly do admire the way you’ve spoken out against the war, both before you got elected to Congress and since. I think it does you great credit.”

Flora had not expected that tack. “Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t quite see what that has to do with-”

“I’ll tell you, then,” Wiggins broke in. “You are not the only one who thinks this war was a mistake from the beginning and has gone on far too long already. I do hope your brother is doing well.”

“As well as you can with one leg,” Flora said tightly. Then she stared at her visitor. “How do you know about David and what happened to him? Are you connected with the War Department, and coming around here to gloat because I wouldn’t play along with you?”

“No, ma’am.” Edward C.L. Wiggins raised his right hand, as if taking an oath. “I have nothing to do with the U.S. government, nothing whatsoever. The people I have to do with don’t want this war to go on any more. They want to end it as soon as may be. That’s why I’m here: because you’ve been bold enough and brave enough and wise enough to want the killing stopped, too.”

“Thank you,” Flora repeated. “Who are the people you have to do with?” He was not a Socialist. She was sure of that. He behaved like a prominent man in his own circle, whatever that was, and it was not hers. Were the remnant Republicans approaching her with some kind of deal? Was he a renegade Democrat? A capitalist who’d grown a conscience?

“You must understand, this is at present highly unofficial, ma’am,” Wiggins said. Flora did not reply. In another moment, she was going to ask her visitor to leave. He must have sensed that, for he sighed and went on more quickly than he’d spoken before: “Very well, ma’am; I rely on your discretion. Unofficially, I have to do with President Gabriel Semmes, down in Richmond. The Confederate States are looking to see if there might be an honorable way to put an end to this ghastly war.”

Flora Hamburger gaped. That was among the last answers she’d expected. “Why me?” she blurted. “If President Semmes wants peace, why not go straight to President Roosevelt, who can give it to him?”

“Because President Roosevelt has made it plain he does not want peace, or peace this side of subjugation,” Wiggins replied. “Sooner than accept that, the CSA will go on fighting: I was instructed to be very clear there. But a fair peace, an equitable peace, a peace between equals, a peace that will let both sides rebuild after this devastation-that, President Semmes will accept, and gladly.”

“I see,” Flora said slowly. She had no great love for President Gabriel Semmes, reckoning him as much a class enemy of the proletariat as Theodore Roosevelt. His unofficial emissary had approached her in defense of no principle save his country’s interest. Still…“I will take what you have said to President Roosevelt. I can urge him to accept the kind of peace you are talking about, though you have given me no details. Kentucky has rejoined the USA, for instance. How do you stand on that?”

“We would accept the results of plebiscites as binding, there and elsewhere,” Wiggins answered. Flora nodded in understanding and some admiration. That not only had a fine democratic ring to it, it was likely to favor the CSA. Edward C.L. Wiggins went on, “We are also ready to negotiate all other matters standing in the way of peace between our two great American nations.”

“If President Roosevelt wishes to reach you, how may he do so?” Flora asked.

“I am at the Aldine Hotel, on Chestnut Street,” Wiggins said. Flora nodded again and wrote that down, though she had not taken notes on any other part of the conversation. Wiggins rose, bowed, and departed.

Flora stared down for a long time at the address she’d written. Then she picked up the telephone and told the switchboard operator she wished to be connected with the Powel House. “Congresswoman Hamburger?” President Roosevelt boomed in her ear a couple of minutes later. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?” Why does a radical Socialist congresswoman want to talk with me? was what he meant.

She gave him the gist of what Wiggins had told her, finishing, “In my opinion, Mr. President, any chance to end this horrible war is a good one.”

Roosevelt was silent for a while, a novelty in itself. Then he said, “Miss Hamburger, your brother-in-law lost his life in the service of his country. Your brother has been wounded in that service, and my heart goes out to him and to you and to your family. I am going to speak plainly to you now. In a fight, if you have a man down, you had better not let him up until you have finished beating him. Otherwise, he will think he could have beaten you, and he will try to beat you again first chance he sees. If the Confederate States want to say ‘Uncle,’ they shouldn’t come pussyfooting up to you and whisper it. Let them cry ‘Uncle!’ for the whole wide world to hear.”

“Haven’t you seen enough fighting yet, Mr. President?” Flora asked.

“As for seeing it, I’ve seen a great deal more than you have,” Roosevelt answered. “I’ve seen enough that I don’t want to see more in a generation’s time. And that is why, before I make peace with Confederate States, I aim to lick them till they don’t dream about getting up any more, and Canada right along with ’em.”

“If the Confederate States are seeking terms of peace, don’t you think they’ve seen enough war?” Flora said.

“If they want peace, Miss Hamburger,” Roosevelt told her again, “let them come right out and say so instead