Now the Russian teacher frowned. He'd run out of obvious answers-and he'd seen something else that was pretty obvious. "1 think you people are trying to waste time till the bell," he said, but he couldn't quite keep from sounding amused. And then something else did occur to him: "When you're talking with Russians, never remind them Marx said theirs would be the last country where a revolution happened. Never, you hear me?"
"Why not?" asked a student who was earnest but naive.
Comrade Montefusco rolled his eyes. "Why not? Because they're sensitive as the devil about it, that's why not. The least that'll happen is, you'll make them angry. If you get a punch in the nose, you shouldn't be surprised. And if you do it in the Soviet Union and there's a knock on your hotel door at midnight, you shouldn't be real surprised about that, either." Two or three people raised their hands then. The teacher frowned. "One more question-and I mean one. Luisa?"
"Grazie, Comrade," the student said. "How are Russian camps worse than the ones we've got here?"
"How? I'll tell you how," Comrade Montefusco answered. " Russia has all of Siberia to put zeks in. Everything you've ever heard about Siberia is true, except the real thing is worse-and colder-than you can imagine. And the Russians really, really mean it. Sometimes you'll see security people here going through the motions. Not there. In the USSR, you climb to the top through the KGB. The smart, eager people are the ones who join."
"Do you have fewer rights in the USSR if you're a foreigner?" Luisa asked.
That was another question, but the Russian teacher answered it-in a way. "Don't be silly," he said, and then, firmly, "Now-prepositions."
Annarita followed the lesson only halfheartedly. Don't be silly how? she kept wondering. Only one answer occurred to her. It doesn't matter whether you're a foreigner in the USSR or not. Nobody has any rights there.
And how was that so different from Italy?
Alfredo rolled the dice-a nine. He moved his train into Athens and unloaded the soft coal he'd carried from Dresden. "That puts me over the top," he said.
"Si, so it does," Gianfranco said. He'd just picked up a cargo that would have given him enough cash to win once he delivered it, but his train was still hundreds of kilometers from where it needed to be. He stuck out his hand across the board. "You got me, all right. Congratulations."
"Thanks." Alfredo shook it. "You played a devil of a game. When I saw you were so young, I thought I'd have an easy time of it. But it didn't work like that. You weren't especially lucky, either. You know what you're doing, all right."
"I gave it my best shot. I really wanted it," Gianfranco said. "But you're good. I knew going in you were. You didn't make any mistakes I could latch on to. Good luck in the finals. I bet you win."
"If you were in the other bracket, I'd probably see you there instead of here," Alfredo said. "When the next tournament starts, you'll be somebody to watch out for."
Gianfranco shrugged. "We'll see what happens, that's all. Some of it's skill, but some of it's luck, too. That's part of what makes it fun, because you can't be sure ahead of time what'll happen."
"I think so, too." Alfredo sent him a curious look. "1 don't want to make you mad or anything, but you are just a kid. 1 thought you'd be more disappointed if you lost."
"Part of me is. I wanted to win," Gianfranco said. "But I played as well as I could, so what's the point of getting all upset? And 1 showed myself I could play in your league even if I didn't win."
"I'm not going to tell you you're wrong, because you're right," Alfredo said. "That was quite a game, and I could see it was no fluke. You've got the right attitude to be a good player, too. You don't get too high when things go well, and you don't get too mad if they don't."
Gianfranco climbed to his feet. Several joints in his back popped like knuckles. He'd been sitting hunched over in a hard chair for a long time. He hadn't noticed till he stood up. Stretching and twisting felt good. "Let's go tell Eduardo," he said.
The clerk eyed both of them when they came out of the back room. "Who won?" he asked. "I can't tell by looking at you."
"He got me," Gianfranco said. "I made him work for it, but he got me."
"He gave me a big scare," Alfredo said. "With a little more luck, he would have beaten me."
Eduardo wrote the results on the tournament chart. "Cheer up, Gianfranco," he said. "You've still got the third-place game. You win that, you get a little trophy and a free book."
"I'm not down," Gianfranco said. "It's like I told Alfredo- I gave it my best shot, and it was pretty good. I know which book I want if I do win the third-place game, too-that one about the way the Prussian Army organized their railroads for war. I bet I can get a lot of ideas out of it."
Eduardo glanced over at Alfredo. "He is going to be dangerous."
"He sure is," Alfredo said. "I've got a copy of that one myself. He's right. It gives you all sorts of notions about the best way to put your rail net together."
"So you've read it?" Gianfranco asked. Alfredo nodded. Gianfranco winked at him. "One more reason for me to want to get my hands on it, then."
"You sure don't act like somebody who just lost a big game," Eduardo said.
"I told him the same thing," Alfredo put in.
"Oh, I wish I'd won," Gianfranco said. "But playing against Alfredo helped me take my game up a notch. I've never seen anybody who makes as good a capitalist as he does-in the game, of course." He didn't want to insult the older man.
And he didn't. "I understood you, ragazzo," Alfredo said. "Where else can we be capitalists except in games? If we tried to do it for real… Well, we'd get in trouble, so we don't."
"Here, look-I have to be a capitalist," Eduardo said. "1 have to take money from both of you for sitting at a table in my shop and playing."
"I don't think you're being a capitalist for that," Gianfranco said. "I think you make a perfect Marxist, as a matter of fact."
Both the clerk and Alfredo raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?" Eduardo asked.
"You have the ability to give us a place to sit, and we have a need to play your games," Gianfranco said. "What could be better?"
Eduardo looked thoughtful, but Alfredo laughed and wagged a finger at Gianfranco. "You've got it backwards, amico. It's from each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs. By that logic, Eduardo ought to be paying us."
"Works for me." Gianfranco held out his hand, palm up.
Eduardo had a can of Fanta on the counter. He made as if to pour some soda into Gianfranco's hand. Gianfranco jerked it away. That set all three of them laughing.
Alfredo said, "I've got a question for you, Eduardo, if I can ask it without getting wet."
"Well, you can try," Eduardo said, but he made a point of keeping his hand near the can.
"Where do you get your games?" Alfredo asked. "T've looked all over Milan, and this is the only place that sells them."
"Of course it is," Eduardo said. "This is the only place in town where the elves make their deliveries."
Gianfranco laughed again. He'd got the same kinds of answers when he asked questions like that. But Alfredo frowned and said, "Come on, Eduardo. You can do better than that. What am I going to do, take your answer to the Security Police?"
"Well, you might," the clerk said. That turned Alfredo's frown into a scowl. You couldn't say much worse about a man than that he was an informer. Gianfranco wondered why that was true, when so many people really were informers. Memories of days gone by, he supposed. But before Alfredo could say anything everybody would regret, Eduardo went on, "You see, the true secret is that we have a sharashka full of zeks down in the basement, and they turn out the games for us."
That was only a little less unlikely than the story about the elves. A sharashka was a lab where privileged prisoners went on working for the state. Ff they came through, they might get their terms cut. If they didn't, they went back to being ordinary zeks. Somebody who knew his Dante once called sharashkas the first circle of Hell: they were bad, but you knew there were worse places. That was the kind of joke you could repeat only to the people you trusted most. The USSR had got some good work out of sharashkas. The Germans and the Chinese also used them a lot. They weren't so common in Italy and most other fraternal Communist countries.
Gianfranco clicked his tongue between his teeth. "Now I know you're telling us lies, Eduardo," he said sadly.
"Oh, you do, do you?" The clerk stood on his dignity. "And how do you know that?"
"Because The Gladiator hasn't got a basement."
For some reason, that set all three of them off. They laughed so loud, somebody came out of the back room to complain that players there couldn't concentrate on the games. "And that's important" he finished, as if they were too dense to know it.