“What would you feel,” Ruth asked, ignoring her husband, “if you were a whole government, and another government flatly refused to take your treaty oath and your word?”
“The Soviet Government,” Charles replied, “goes on the principle that its own word is no damned good whatsoever. That’s why we can’t trust their mere promise to disarm. That’s why we have to test A-bombs and keep up a draft army and remain powerful, until and unless Russia permits the world to see for itself that it is doing what it has promised to do. There’s no other way! Our Government would have found it long ago if there had been.”
“You’re wrong!” Ruth was shaking with anger.
Marie came in the front door and stood in the hall, holding the hand of six-year-old Don.
She looked very mature for not-yet-fourteen—and very pretty.
“See here,” Charles said, trying to restore the tone of good will, “suppose we do accept world peace under Soviet terms? Okay. We disarm. We destroy all our atomic weapons, as per the terms. We cut our army and air force and navy down to the bone. Do we feel better? That’s what you say you want, Aunt Ruth. But suppose you got it? Would you then quit worrying?
Would you then feel safe, knowing the Soviets had made a big promise, and knowing, at the same time, you didn’t have the faintest idea of what they were really doing behind an Iron Curtain that would still be down?” Charles shrugged. “I think you’d find yourself, in exactly no time at all, so terribly much more worried about A-bombs, you would really be a nervous wreck.
And you’d have a right good reason for being afraid, too. Because then you’d know the Russians could fly over us any time, and we couldn’t even hit back!”
At the doorway, Don began to whine. “Stop talking about atomic bombs.”
“Why?” Charles asked calmly. The little boy’s face twisted. “It scares me. I don’t want to hear about it. I hate talking about cities blowing up.”