up at the other end. She was careful to keep looking at him; and never to try to escape him.
They will watch you night and day,
Harrington had warned.
That’s their beastly way, my dear. There’s no time to train you in techniques for losing surveillance, and even if we did, your newfound abilities would only make you stand out. This way, it isn’t personal. They think every Westerner is a spy, poor lambs. The more nervous you are around them, the more they’ll be sure you’re the rare one who isn’t.
The Bulgarians were fascinated by her blackness, particularly once they learned that she was not African—she was of the branch enslaved rather than colonized by the capitalists. People came up to her in the street to ask innocently aggressive questions about America: What was it like to live in a country ruled by the Central Intelligence Agency? Was it true that millionaires could have their servants flogged, orwere they simply thrown in prison these days? Once a prosperous-looking family commanded her disdainfully to pose with them for a photograph, snapped by a stylish woman holding a Kodak camera that looked suspiciously like the one stolen from her hotel room the day before. But when she tried to inquire, the family’s English, theretofore quite serviceable, deserted them.
Still, Margo loved the city. She adored the architecture and the art. The people were friendly despite the weight of history, for this was a land whose polyglot culture stood as testimony to its frequent occupation over the past thousand years by larger powers. And there was something else. During World War II, Bulgaria, under Tsar Boris III, had been one of the Axis powers. Following the Nazi lead, the country had enacted severe restrictions on its Jewish population, limiting everything from property rights to education to permissible names. But, unlike other Axis countries, Bulgaria had refused Nazi demands to send its Jews to the camps. Forty-eight thousand Jews lived in Bulgaria when the war began; nearly all of them survived the Holocaust.
The Bulgarians at their best were a brave and charitable people; Margo would be counting on those qualities tonight.
V
Bobby proved unbudgeable.
It was nearly nine, and time to leave. Margo had been waiting outside Bobby’s room when he arrived from the first session of the game with Botvinnik. He didn’t look so much at her as through her, and when he opened the door, he seemed surprised that she followed him in.
“Go away.”
“The interview, Bobby. It’s at ten. We have to hurry.”
“Interview?” He was setting up the adjourned position on one of the boards. “You’re out of your mind. Go away. I have to analyze.”
“Bobby—”
“There isn’t time for this!”
She fought the urge to grind her teeth. “We have to go, Bobby. This is why we’re here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to play chess, and I have to analyze. This is
Botvinnik.
The world champion.” Throwing up his hands. “Why are women so
stupid
?”
“This is important—”
“So is this.” Waving a wild hand at the board. “I’m a pawn up, but he’s just sitting there, so confident. I don’t think I missed anything—I think I win—but I don’t know for sure until I study it. That’s why the meeting is tonight. I told you. They don’t want me to analyze the position. They’re trying to cheat me, the way they cheated me in Curaçao!”
She tried womanly persuasion, just as Agatha had suggested; she just didn’t know how it was done, and had always looked down on those who did. She tried every line that popped into her head:
Come on, Bobby.… We can have a nice dinner, Bobby.… We’ll get to spend time together, Bobby.… Don’t you want to take a night off, Bobby?
None of it did any good. Either she wasn’t very good at this, or Bobby was unpersuadable.
She returned to her room alone.
“Then you go,” said Agatha.
“What?”
“You meet the interviewer yourself.”
They will watch you night and day,
Harrington had warned.
That’s their beastly way, my dear. There’s no time to train you in techniques for losing surveillance, and even if we did, your newfound abilities would only make you stand out. This way, it isn’t personal. They think every Westerner is a spy, poor lambs. The more nervous you are around them, the more they’ll be sure you’re the rare one who isn’t.
The Bulgarians were fascinated by her blackness, particularly once they learned that she was not African—she was of the branch enslaved rather than colonized by the capitalists. People came up to her in the street to ask innocently aggressive questions about America: What was it like to live in a country ruled by the Central Intelligence Agency? Was it true that millionaires could have their servants flogged, orwere they simply thrown in prison these days? Once a prosperous-looking family commanded her disdainfully to pose with them for a photograph, snapped by a stylish woman holding a Kodak camera that looked suspiciously like the one stolen from her hotel room the day before. But when she tried to inquire, the family’s English, theretofore quite serviceable, deserted them.
Still, Margo loved the city. She adored the architecture and the art. The people were friendly despite the weight of history, for this was a land whose polyglot culture stood as testimony to its frequent occupation over the past thousand years by larger powers. And there was something else. During World War II, Bulgaria, under Tsar Boris III, had been one of the Axis powers. Following the Nazi lead, the country had enacted severe restrictions on its Jewish population, limiting everything from property rights to education to permissible names. But, unlike other Axis countries, Bulgaria had refused Nazi demands to send its Jews to the camps. Forty-eight thousand Jews lived in Bulgaria when the war began; nearly all of them survived the Holocaust.
The Bulgarians at their best were a brave and charitable people; Margo would be counting on those qualities tonight.
V
Bobby proved unbudgeable.
It was nearly nine, and time to leave. Margo had been waiting outside Bobby’s room when he arrived from the first session of the game with Botvinnik. He didn’t look so much at her as through her, and when he opened the door, he seemed surprised that she followed him in.
“Go away.”
“The interview, Bobby. It’s at ten. We have to hurry.”
“Interview?” He was setting up the adjourned position on one of the boards. “You’re out of your mind. Go away. I have to analyze.”
“Bobby—”
“There isn’t time for this!”
She fought the urge to grind her teeth. “We have to go, Bobby. This is why we’re here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to play chess, and I have to analyze. This is
Botvinnik.
The world champion.” Throwing up his hands. “Why are women so
stupid
?”
“This is important—”
“So is this.” Waving a wild hand at the board. “I’m a pawn up, but he’s just sitting there, so confident. I don’t think I missed anything—I think I win—but I don’t know for sure until I study it. That’s why the meeting is tonight. I told you. They don’t want me to analyze the position. They’re trying to cheat me, the way they cheated me in Curaçao!”
She tried womanly persuasion, just as Agatha had suggested; she just didn’t know how it was done, and had always looked down on those who did. She tried every line that popped into her head:
Come on, Bobby.… We can have a nice dinner, Bobby.… We’ll get to spend time together, Bobby.… Don’t you want to take a night off, Bobby?
None of it did any good. Either she wasn’t very good at this, or Bobby was unpersuadable.
She returned to her room alone.
“Then you go,” said Agatha.
“What?”
“You meet the interviewer yourself.”
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