“Mr.
Roosevelt,” she said.
Roosevelt looked up and saw a young girl with white hair and blue eyes standing before him, holding a blue cane in her hand.
He did not recognize who she was—the Italian princess was far less famous in the United States than in Europe—but he could tell at a glance what kind of person she was.
Not a tourist, not a socialite; the way she stood there was like someone who had taken a look at the board before playing a game of Chess.
“Young lady,” Roosevelt smiled kindly, “have we met?” “No, but I know who you are.
I am Italian, sir.
Cerydra di Savoy.” Roosevelt’s expression changed slightly, not with surprise—a politician’s instinct prevented him from showing surprise—but with a kind of recalibrated look, as if replacing an old judgment on the board with a new Chess piece.
“Your Highness, the Princess of Italy,” he said, “I have read reports about you in the newspapers; you have caused quite a stir in the world of Chess.” “Does sir also follow Chess?” “I follow everything in human endeavor that can produce order.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Roosevelt’s mouth, “Playing Chess, governing, playing poker, building houses—all are about finding order in chaos.” “And governance?” Cerydra asked, “Has sir found order in the chaos?” Roosevelt looked at her, the wheels of his wheelchair turned slightly on the marble floor, and Eleanor gently adjusted his blanket.
The crystal chandelier in the lobby cast a warm golden light over their heads, and a pianist was playing Gershwin’s new song “I Got Rhythm” in the corner; the light, cheerful notes formed a strange contrast with the atmosphere in the lobby.
“No,” Roosevelt said, the teasing tone in his voice disappearing, “this country is experiencing a collapse of trust.
Not an economic collapse—a collapse of trust.
Banks do not trust customers, and customers do not trust banks.
Farmers do not trust the railroads, and the railroads do not trust farmers.
Everyone is hoarding—hoarding money, hoarding fear, hoarding resentment.
I cannot rebuild trust alone, but I can use my voice to make enough people believe that rebuilding trust is possible.” He paused.
“Your Highness, what do you think trust is?” Cerydra tapped her cane lightly against the floor.
“Trust is a Chess piece, sir.
It is not the board, not the rules, not the end point.
It is the lightest Chess piece you can place.
But if you place it in the correct position, it can capture the opponent’s Queen.” Roosevelt stared at her for about ten seconds, then he laughed.
It was a genuine laugh—not the smile a politician wears when facing the cameras, but a heartfelt smile that only reveals itself when one discovers someone worth talking to.
“Your Highness,” he said, “if you were American, I would ask if you were willing to come to Washington to work.
It is a pity you are not.” “I do not need to go to Washington,” Cerydra said, “to do the right thing.” Roosevelt smiled and nodded, suddenly as if remembering something: “After this visit, Your Highness, where is your next stop?” “Japan.” Roosevelt’s expression darkened slightly; he did not speak immediately, but adjusted his wheelchair slightly forward to face Cerydra’s eyes directly.
The piano music in the lobby suddenly changed to a slower tune, and the air seemed to sink along with it.
“Japan,” he repeated, “does Your Highness know what happened in Manchuria last September?” “I do.” “Then Your Highness must also know that the Japanese army is bypassing their government.” Roosevelt’s voice dropped very low, low enough that only the two of them could hear, “The actions of the Kwantung Army in Manchuria were not orders from Tokyo.
They acted on their own.
And then Tokyo ratified it.
When a country’s army no longer obeys the government, and the government ratifies the army’s actions—once this door is opened, it can never be closed again.
If Your Highness goes to Tokyo, you will see many things.
But the most important things are not in the palace, nor in the newspapers.
They are in the corridors of the Ministry of War and the Ministry of the Navy, in the eyes of those lieutenant colonels and majors.
If Your Highness can read something in their eyes, you will know—this country is choosing a path.
There are no traffic lights on that road, nor are there any brakes.” Cerydra did not respond to this topic; she just held her blue cane and was silent for a moment.
“Mr.
Roosevelt,” she finally said, “we will meet again.” Roosevelt nodded slightly; he did not say polite phrases like “I hope so.” He just watched this sixteen-year-old Italian princess turn and leave, her cane tapping on the marble floor, making a faint and firm sound.
Her short white hair shimmered with a faint blue in the light of the crystal chandelier, like a moving, quiet aurora.
Until she had walked far away, Roosevelt whispered to Eleanor beside him: “That girl understands how to listen to others better than any politician I have ever met.” Eleanor did not answer; her gaze still lingered in the direction where Cerydra had disappeared.
It might not seem tempting right now but who knows what the future holds?
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”