The Ugly American (22 page)

During all of this discussion, Jeepo did not speak. He tinkered with the pump and bicycle mechanism, tightening gears, checking valves, and tightening the bicycle chain. When the two elders had finished talking, he turned around and came through the mud of the rice paddy to where the group was talking.

"I have listened without speaking to what you foolish old men have been saying," Jeepo said, his voice harsh with anger. "This American is different from other white men. He knows how to work with his hands. He built this machine with his own fingers and his own brain. You people do not understand such things. But men that work with their hands and muscles understand one another. Regardless of what you say, I will enter into business with this man if he will have me." There was a quick flush of shame on the headman's face. "I think that Jeepo is correct," he said. "This man can be trusted. I will now write up the document which will assure that he and Jeepo share the profits and the work equally."

"And the document should say that neither I nor the American shall license or patent the idea of the pump," Jeepo said. "We will make the idea available to anyone else who can make it. But on the ones we make, we deserve the profit. That is the way of working men."

Jeepo looked at Atkins. Atkins was pleased, and he nodded "Also, when we have made some pumps and sold them we will print little books and it will show others how to do it," Atkins said. "We will send it around the whole of Sarkhan, and the village of Chang 'dong will become famous for its mechanical skills."

Jeepo and Atkins did not wait for the headman to complete their contract before beginning work. Two days later they had rented a large old rice warehouse on the edge of Chang 'dong. In another day they had hired twelve workers. Jeepo and Atkins drove into Haidho, bought used tools and supplies, and carted them back to the warehouse. In a week the plant was in full operation. Over the entrance to the warehouse a small sign written in Sarkhanese said: "The Jeepo-Atkins Company, Limited." Inside the warehouse was a scene of incredible and frantic effort. Jeepo and Atkins worked eighteen to twenty hours a day. They trained the Sarkhanese; they installed a small forge which glowed red-hot most of the day; they tested materials; they hammered; they swore; and several times a day they lost their tempers and ranted at one another. Their arguments, for some reason, caused the Sarkhanese workmen a great deal of pleasure, and it was not until several months had passed that Atkins realized why— they were the only times that the Sarkhanese had ever seen one of their own kind arguing fairly and honestly, and with a chance of success, against a white man.

Emma Atkins did not stay long in the suburb outside of Haidho. Within a week she had moved their belongings to a small house in Chang 'dong. She bustled about her home and through the village, buying chickens and vegetables, and making huge casseroles of rice and chicken. Every day at noon she and several of the village women brought two of the casseroles to the warehouse and all of the men ate from them. Emma seemed to find it not at all unusual that her husband should be in a tiny hillside village constructing something as outlandish as bicycle water pumps.

Once a technical advisor from the American Embassy called at the warehouse and watched quietly for several hours. The next day the counsellor of the Embassy called. Taking Atkins to one side, he pointed out to him that for white men to work with their hands, and especially in the countryside, lowered the reputation of all white men. He appealed to Atkins' pride to give up this project. Moreover, he pointed out that the French, most experienced of colonizers, had never allowed natives to handle machinery. Atkins' reply was brief, but it was pointed, and the counsellor drove away in anger. Atkins returned joyfully to his work in the warehouse.

At the end of six weeks they had manufactured twenty-three pumps. When the twenty-fourth pump was finished, Atkins called all of the men together. He and Jeepo then faced the group and between them outlined what now had to be done. Jeepo did most of the talking.

"This is the difficult part," Jeepo started quietly. "You have worked hard and well to build these pumps—now you must sell them. Our friend Atkins here says that in America one of the best things that can happen to engineers like yourself is to be allowed to sell what they make. So each of you will now take two of these pumps as samples, and go out and take orders for more. For each pump that you sell you will get a ten per cent commission."

One of the men interrupted. He did not understand what a commission was. There was a confused five minutes while Atkins and Jeepo explained, and when they were finished the prospective engineer-salesmen were smiling cheerfully. They had never heard of such a proposal before, but it struck them as both attractive and ingenious. When the discussion was over, twelve contracts were laid out on a table; and each of the Sarkhanese signed a contract between himself and The Jeepo-Atkins Company, Limited.

The next morning twelve oxcarts were lined up outside the warehouse. Two of the pumps were carefully laid out on beds of straw on each of these carts. By noon the twelve salesmen had left for all parts of the province.

Now the waiting began. Jeepo, the headman, the elders, and everyone else in the village realized that everything rested on the persuasiveness of the engineer-salesmen and the performance of the bicycle-powered pump. If no orders were placed, Atkins would have to leave, and the excitement of the factory would disappear. In only a few weeks all of this activity had become very important to the people of Chang 'dong. The people drifted into the warehouse, and watched Jeepo and Atkins at work, and many of them began to help. The tension grew steadily; and when four days had passed and not one of the salesmen had returned, a blanket of gloom as thick as a morning mist settled over the village.

Then on the morning of the fifth day one of the salesmen returned. He drove at a speed which, for an oxcart, is rare. The ox stumbled and splashed mud in the air, and the salesman beat the animal with gusto and enthusiasm. As the ox labored up the hill, everyone in the village came to the warehouse to learn what would happen. When the cart, covered with mud, drew to a halt, there was a low murmur. They could all see that the cart was empty. The driver got down from the cart slowly, fully aware of his importance. He walked over calmly and stood before his two employers.

"I have the pleasure to inform you, sirs, that I have done wrong," he began, a grin on his face. "You told me that I should bring back the two samples, but I was unable to do it. I have taken orders for eight pumps. But two of my customers insisted that I deliver the pumps at once. Because their paddies were in desperate need of water and the crops might have been ruined, I reluctantly gave them the pumps. I hope I have not made a mistake."

There was a deep sigh from the crowd and everyone turned and looked at Jeepo and Atkins. These two squat, ugly, grease-splattered men stared at one another for a moment, and then let out shouts of joy. Jeepo hugged Atkins. Atkins hugged Jeepo, and then Jeepo hugged Mrs. Atkins. Then everyone in the village hugged everyone else. For several hours an improvised party involved the entire village.

The next morning the village was up early, but not as early as Atkins and Jeepo. As the people went down to the warehouse, they heard the clank of hammers and wrenches. They peered into the dim interior of the warehouse and smiled at one another. Atkins and Jeepo were in the midst of a terrible argument over a modification of the pump. Emma Atkins was laying out a huge breakfast in front of the two men, and they were ignoring it as they continued their argument.

The Bent Backs of Chang 'Dong

Emma Atkins was a simple and straightforward person. She was not a busybody; but she had learned that when she wanted to know something the best way to find out was to ask a direct question. She had been in Chang 'Dong only two weeks when she asked an unanswerable question.

She was working in her kitchen with two of her Sarkhanese neighbors, trying to make a small guava which grew in the jungle into a jam. The glowing charcoal stove and the sweet aroma of the bubbling fruit gave the kitchen a cozy and homey atmosphere. Emma felt good. She had just finished telling her neighbors about how a kitchen was equipped in America; then through the open window, she saw an old lady of Chang 'Dong hobble by, and the question flashed across her mind. She turned to the two women and spoke slowly, for the Sarkhanese language was new to her.

"Why is it that all the old people of Chang 'Dong are bent over?" Emma asked. "Every older person I have seen is bent over and walks as if his back is hurting."

The two neighbor women shrugged.

"It is just that old people become bent," one of them answered. "That's the natural thing which happens to older people."

Emma was not satisfied, but she did not pursue the problem any further then. Instead, she kept her eyes open. By the time the rainy season was over, she had observed that every person over sixty in the village walked with a perpetual stoop. And from the way they grimaced when they had to hurry, she realized that the stoop was extremely painful. The older people accepted their backaches as their fate, and when Emma asked them why they walked bent over, they only smiled.

Three weeks after the monsoon ended, the older people in the village began to sweep out their own homes, the paths leading from their houses to the road, and finally the road itself. This sweeping was inevitably done by older people. They used a broom made of palm fronds. It had a short handle, maybe two feet long, and naturally they bent over as they swept.

One day, as Emma was watching the wrinkled and stooped woman from the next house sweep the road, things fell into place. She went out to talk to the woman.

"Grandmother, I know why your back is twisted forward," she said. "It's because you do so much sweeping bent over that short broom. Sweeping in that position several hours a day gradually moulds you into a bent position. When people become old their muscles and bones are not as flexible as when they were young."

"Wife of the engineer, I do not think it is so," the old lady answered softly. "The old people of Southern Sarkhan have always had bent backs."

"Yes, and I'll bet that they all got them from sweeping several hours a day with a shorthandled broom," Emma said. "Why don't you put a long handle on the broom and see how it works?"

The old woman looked puzzled. Emma realized that in her excitement she had spoken in English. She put the question to the woman in Sarkhanese.

"Brooms are not meant to have long handles," the old lady said matter-of-factly. "It has never been that way. I have never seen a broom with a long handle, and even if the wood were available, I do not think we would waste it on long handles for brooms. Wood is a very scarce thing in Chang 'Dong."

Emma knew when to drop a conversation. She had long ago discovered that people don't stop doing traditional things merely because they're irrational. She also knew that when people are criticised for an action, they stubbornly persist in continuing it. That evening Emma had a talk with Homer.

"Homer, have you noticed the bent backs of the old people in this village?" Emma asked.

"Nope, I haven't," Homer said, washing down a bowl of rice with a bottle of beer. "But if you say they're bent, I'll believe it. What about it?"

"Well, just don't say 'what about it'," Emma said angrily. "I'm getting to the age where when my bones get stiff, it hurts. Imagine the agony those old people go through with their backs perpetually bent. It's worse than lumbago. I've asked them, and they tell me it's excruciating."

"All right, all right, Emma," Atkins said. "What are we going to do about it?"

"Well, the first thing we're going to do is get longer broom handles," Emma said with heat.

However, Emma found that it was difficult to get longer handles. Wood of any kind was scarce in that area, and expensive. The handles the Sarkhanese used for their brooms came from a reed with a short strong stem about two feet long. For centuries this reed had been used; and, centuries ago people had given up looking for anything better. It was traditional for brooms to have short handles, and for the brooms to be used exclusively by people too old to work in the rice fields. But Emma wasn't bound by centuries of tradition, and she began to look for a substitute for the short broom handle.

It would have been simple, of course, to have imported wooden poles, but long ago Homer had taught her that only things that people did for themselves would really change their behavior. With mid-western practicality, Emma set about researching her problem. It was a frustrating task. She tried to join several of the short reeds together to make a long broomstick. This failed. Every kind of local material she used to try to lengthen the broomstick handles failed.

Emma refused to be defeated. She widened the scope of her search, until one day she found what she was after. She was driving the jeep down a steep mountain road about forty miles from Chang 'Dong. Suddenly she jammed on the brakes. Lining one side of the road for perhaps twenty feet was a reed very similar to the short reed that grew in Chang 'Dong —except that this reed had a strong stalk that rose five feet into the air before it thinned out.

"Homer," she ordered her husband, "climb out and dig me up a half-dozen of those reeds. But don't disturb the roots."

When she got back to Chang 'Dong, she planted the reeds beside her house and tended them carefully. Then, one day, when several of her neighbors were in her house she casually cut a tall reed, bound the usual coconut fronds to it, and began to sweep. The women were aware that something was unusual, but for several minutes they could not figure out what was wrong. Then one of the women spoke.