Elmer Allen growled, "You came to Africa to help your race develop its continent. To conquer such problems as sufficient food, clothing and shelter for all. To bring education and decent medical care to a people who have had possibly the lowest living standards anywhere. Can you see any way of achieving this beyond the El Hassan movement?"
Cliff looked at him, still scowling stubbornly. "That's not why I came to Africa."
Their eyes were all on him, but they remained silent.
He said, defensively, "I'm no do-gooder. I took a job with the Africa for Africans Association because it was the best job I could find."
Isobel broke the silence by saying softly, "I doubt it, Cliff."
The big man stood up from where he'd been seated on the bed. "O.K., O.K. Possibly there were other angles. I wanted to travel. Wanted to see Africa. Besides, it was good background for some future job. I figured it wouldn't hurt me any, in later years, applying for some future job. Maybe with some Negro concern in the States. I'd be able to say I'd put in a few years in Africa. Something like a Jew in New York who was a veteran of the Israel-Arab wars, before the debacle."
They still looked at him, none of them accusingly.
He was irritated as he paced. "Don't you see? Everybody doesn't have this dream that Homer's always talking about. That doesn't mean I'm abnormal. I just don't have the interest you do. All I want is a good job, some money in the bank, security back in the States. I'm not interested in dashing all over the globe, getting shot at, dying for some ideal."
Homer said gently, "It's up to you, Cliff. Nobody's twisting your arm."
There was sweat on the big man's forehead. "All I came to Africa for was the job, the money I got out of it," he repeated, insisting.