bout de papier, Vol. 3, No. 3 (1985) — Fall 1985 // Automne 1985, p. 34
by Alfred Pick
•n 1946 I was serving alone in Pretoria, a junior as Acting High Commissioner. One day I interviewed a candidate for immigration to Canada, an Austrian Jew who was living in the administrative capital of the British Protectorate of Bechauanaland, now the state of Botswana. He was frail with a badly mutilated face, such that I was conscious that I must avoid either staring in horrified fascination or looking away with revulsion. He was a furrier (he obviously had suffered grievously at the hands of the Nazis) who wished to settle in Montreal, where he had some distant associations.
I carefully explained that he would have to qualify either on the ground of bringing substantial capital or having specially desired skills. He had no real funds but contended with some persuasion that he had considerable knowledge and skill in the treatment of Persian lamb, known as karakul in the trade in Southern Africa. I sent off the application to Ottawa, warning him I was not too hopeful.
Shortly thereafter a large bundle arrived at the office by railway freight, which turned out to be a magnificent fur rug of a number of matched skins of some African beast. It looked splendid rolled out on the broadloom of the big office designated for a High Commissioner. I telephoned my wite to come to see it before it was shipped back to the sender, an applicant for immigration. I had no other officer to consult and quickly decided to avoid yielding to any temptation.
I wrote a short note to the applicant saying that I could not accept his gift. He replied in a touching letter that he meant no wrong, that I had befriended him, (I had indeed given him rather more time than my work load allowed), he was without family and Christmas was approaching. I felt I had acted without grace.
Soon thereafter, before a reply had come from Ottawa, I received a brief report from the Commissioner of the Bechuana Police telling me that my applicant had died. The file was closed.
I had made one mistake; I had forgotten Talleyrand’s advice to the young diplomt: pas trop de zèle.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 3, No. 3 (1985) — Fall 1985 // Automne 1985, p. 34. Read the rest of this issue →
