reservoir. Some of it, if you're lucky, comes out of your tap. But there are some very leaky pipes along the way. Now when that water is donated out of the goodness of the general public's heart, you can't just let it seep away into nowhere, can you? Certainly not if you're dependent on the fickle voter for your job.”
“Who does this committee job bring Justin into contact with?” Rob asked.
“Ranking diplomats. Drawn from the international community here in Nairobi. Mostly counselor and above. The odd First Secretary, but not many.” He seemed to think this required some explanation. “EADEC had to be exalted, in my judgment. Head in the clouds. Once it allowed itself to be dragged down to field level, it would end up as some kind of super nongovernmental organization—NGO to you, Rob —and be tarred with its own brush. I argued that strongly. All right: EADEC must be here in Nairobi, on the ground, locally aware. Obviously. But it's still a think tank. It must preserve the dispassionate overview. Absolutely vital that it remains—if you'll allow me to quote myself—an emotion-free zone. And Justin is the committee secretary. Nothing he's earned: it's our turn. He takes the minutes, collates the research and drafts the fortnightlies.”
“Tessa wasn't an emotion-free zone,” Rob objected after a moment's thought. “Tessa was emotion all the way, from what we hear.”
“I'm afraid you've been reading too many newspapers, Rob.”
“No, I haven't. I've been looking at her field reports. She was right in there with her sleeves rolled up. Shit up to her elbows, day and night.”
“And very necessary, no doubt. Very laudable. But hardly conducive to objectivity, which is the committee's first responsibility as an international consultative body,” said Woodrow graciously, ignoring this descent into gutter language, as—at a different level entirely —he ignored it in his High Commissioner.
“So they went their different ways,” Rob concluded, sitting back and tapping his teeth with his pencil. “He was objective, she was emotional. He played the safe center, she worked the dangerous edges. I get it now. As a matter of fact, I think I knew that already. So where does Bluhm fit in?”
“In what sense?”
“Bluhm. Arnold Bluhm. Doctor. Where does he fit into the scheme of things in Tessa's life and yours?”
Woodrow gave a little smile, forgiving this quirkish formulation. My life? What did her life have to do with mine? “We have a great variety of donor-financed organizations here, as I'm sure you know. All supported by different countries and funded by all sorts of charitable and other outfits. Our gallant President Moi detests them en bloc.”
“Why?”
“Because they do what his government would do if it was doing its job. They also bypass his systems of corruption. Bluhm's organization is modest, it's Belgian, it's privately funded and medical. That's all I can tell you about it, I'm afraid,” he added, with a candor that invited them to share his ignorance of these things.
But they were not so easily won.
“It's a watchdog outfit,” Rob informed him shortly. “Its physicians tour the other NGO'S, visit clinics, check out diagnoses and correct them. Like, ”Maybe this isn't malaria, doctor, maybe it's liver cancer.“ Then they check out the treatment. They also deal in epidemiology. What about Leakey?”
“What about him?”
“Bluhm and Tessa were on their way to his site—correct?”
“Purportedly.”
“Who is he exactly? Leakey? What's his bag?”
“He's by way of being a white African legend. An anthropologist and archaeologist who worked alongside his parents on the eastern shores of Turkana exploring the origins of mankind. When they died he continued their work. He directed the National Museum here in Nairobi and later took over wildlife and conservation.”
“But resigned.”
“Or was pushed. The story is complex.”
“Plus he's a thorn in Moi's breeches,
“Who does this committee job bring Justin into contact with?” Rob asked.
“Ranking diplomats. Drawn from the international community here in Nairobi. Mostly counselor and above. The odd First Secretary, but not many.” He seemed to think this required some explanation. “EADEC had to be exalted, in my judgment. Head in the clouds. Once it allowed itself to be dragged down to field level, it would end up as some kind of super nongovernmental organization—NGO to you, Rob —and be tarred with its own brush. I argued that strongly. All right: EADEC must be here in Nairobi, on the ground, locally aware. Obviously. But it's still a think tank. It must preserve the dispassionate overview. Absolutely vital that it remains—if you'll allow me to quote myself—an emotion-free zone. And Justin is the committee secretary. Nothing he's earned: it's our turn. He takes the minutes, collates the research and drafts the fortnightlies.”
“Tessa wasn't an emotion-free zone,” Rob objected after a moment's thought. “Tessa was emotion all the way, from what we hear.”
“I'm afraid you've been reading too many newspapers, Rob.”
“No, I haven't. I've been looking at her field reports. She was right in there with her sleeves rolled up. Shit up to her elbows, day and night.”
“And very necessary, no doubt. Very laudable. But hardly conducive to objectivity, which is the committee's first responsibility as an international consultative body,” said Woodrow graciously, ignoring this descent into gutter language, as—at a different level entirely —he ignored it in his High Commissioner.
“So they went their different ways,” Rob concluded, sitting back and tapping his teeth with his pencil. “He was objective, she was emotional. He played the safe center, she worked the dangerous edges. I get it now. As a matter of fact, I think I knew that already. So where does Bluhm fit in?”
“In what sense?”
“Bluhm. Arnold Bluhm. Doctor. Where does he fit into the scheme of things in Tessa's life and yours?”
Woodrow gave a little smile, forgiving this quirkish formulation. My life? What did her life have to do with mine? “We have a great variety of donor-financed organizations here, as I'm sure you know. All supported by different countries and funded by all sorts of charitable and other outfits. Our gallant President Moi detests them en bloc.”
“Why?”
“Because they do what his government would do if it was doing its job. They also bypass his systems of corruption. Bluhm's organization is modest, it's Belgian, it's privately funded and medical. That's all I can tell you about it, I'm afraid,” he added, with a candor that invited them to share his ignorance of these things.
But they were not so easily won.
“It's a watchdog outfit,” Rob informed him shortly. “Its physicians tour the other NGO'S, visit clinics, check out diagnoses and correct them. Like, ”Maybe this isn't malaria, doctor, maybe it's liver cancer.“ Then they check out the treatment. They also deal in epidemiology. What about Leakey?”
“What about him?”
“Bluhm and Tessa were on their way to his site—correct?”
“Purportedly.”
“Who is he exactly? Leakey? What's his bag?”
“He's by way of being a white African legend. An anthropologist and archaeologist who worked alongside his parents on the eastern shores of Turkana exploring the origins of mankind. When they died he continued their work. He directed the National Museum here in Nairobi and later took over wildlife and conservation.”
“But resigned.”
“Or was pushed. The story is complex.”
“Plus he's a thorn in Moi's breeches,
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