Page 364 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"I can't tell which way it's going to go," Natalya said to Dimka on Thursday night. She still worked for Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko. "All the signals from Washington say President Johnson will do nothing if we invade Czechoslovakia. He has too many problems of his own--riots, assassinations, Vietnam, and a presidential election."

They had finished painting for the evening and were sitting on the floor sharing a bottle of beer. Natalya had a single smudge of yellow paint on her forehead. For some reason that made Dimka want to fuck her. He was wondering whether to do it now or get washed and go to bed first when she said: "Before we get married . . ."

That was ominous. "Yes?"

"We should talk about children."

"We probably should have done that before we spent all summer screwing our brains out." They had never used birth control.

"Yes. But you already have a child."

"We have a child. He's ours. You'll be his stepmother."

"And I'm very fond of him. It's easy to love a boy who looks so much like you. But how do you feel about having more?"

Dimka could see that for some reason she was worried about this, and he needed to reassure her. He put down the beer and embraced her. "I adore you," he said. "And I would love to have children with you."

"Oh, thank God," she said. "Because I'm pregnant."

*

It was difficult to get newspapers in Prague, Tanya found. This was an ironic consequence of Dubcek's abolition of censorship. Previously, few people had bothered to read the anodyne and dishonest reports in the state-controlled press. Now that the papers could tell the truth, they could never print enough copies to keep up with the demand. She had to get up early in the morning to buy them before they sold out.

Television had been freed, too. On current affairs programs, workers and students questioned and criticized government ministers. Released political prisoners were allowed to confront the secret policemen who had thrown them in jail. Around the television set in the lobby of any large hotel there was often a small crowd of eager viewers watching the discussion on the screen.

Similar exchanges were taking place in every cafe, works canteen, and town hall. People who had suppressed their true feelings for twenty years were suddenly allowed to say what was in their hearts.

The air of liberation was infectious. Tanya was tempted to believe that the old days were over and there was no danger. She had to keep reminding herself that Czechoslovakia was still a Communist country with secret police and torture basements.

She had with her the typescript of Vasili's first novel.

It had arrived, shortly before she left Moscow, in the same way as his first short story, handed to her in the street outside her office by a stranger who was unwilling to answer questions. As before, it was written in small handwriting--no doubt to save paper. Its sardonic title was A Free Man.

Tanya had typed it out on airmail paper. She had to assume that her luggage would be opened. Although she was a trusted reporter for TASS, it was still possible that any hotel room she stayed in would be turned over, and the apartment allocated to her in the old town of Prague would be thoroughly searched. But she had devised a clever hiding place, she thought. All the same she lived in fear. It was like possessing a nuclear bomb. She was desperate to pass it on as soon as possible.

She had befriended the Prague correspondent of a British newspaper, and at the first opportunity she had said to him: "There's a book editor in London who specializes in translations of East European novels--Anna Murray, of Rowley Publishing. I'd love to interview her about Czech literature. Do you think you could get a message to her?"

This was dangerous, for it established a traceable connection between Tanya and Anna; but Tanya had to take some risks, and it seemed to her that this one was minimal.

Two weeks later the British journalist had said: "Anna Murray's coming to Prague next Tuesday. I couldn't give her your phone number because I don't have it, but she'll be at the Palace Hotel."

On Tuesday Tanya called the hotel and left a message for Anna saying: "Meet Jakub at the Jan Hus monument at four." Jan Hus was a medieval philosopher burned at the stake by the Pope for arguing that mass should be said in the local language. He remained a symbol of Czech resistance to foreign control. His memorial was in Old Town Square.

The secret police agents in all hotels took special interest in guests from the West, and Tanya had to assume that they were shown all messages, therefore they might stake out the monument to see who Anna was meeting. So Tanya did not go to the rendezvous. Instead she intercepted Anna on the street and slipped her a card with the address of a restaurant in the Old Town and the message: "Eight P.M. tonight. Table booked in the name of Jakub."

There was still the possibility that Anna would be followed from her hotel to the restaurant. It was unlikely: the secret police did not have enough men to tail every foreigner all the time. Nevertheless Tanya continued to take precautions. That evening she put on a loose-fitting leather jacket, despite the warm weather, and went to the restaurant early. She sat at a different table from the one she had reserved. She kept her head down when Anna arrived, and watched as Anna was seated.

Anna was unmistakably foreign. No one in Eastern Europe was that well dressed. She had a dark-red pantsuit tailored to her voluptuous figure. She wore it with a glorious multicolored scarf that had to come from Paris. Anna had dark hair and eyes that probably came from her German-Jewish mother. She must be close to thirty, Tanya calculated, but she was one of those women who became more beautiful as they left their youth behind.

No one followed Anna into the restaurant. Tanya stayed put for fifteen minutes, watching the arrivals, while Anna ordered a bottle of Hungarian Riesling and sipped a glass. Four people came in, an elderly married couple and two youngsters on a date: none looked remotely like police. Finally Tanya got up and joined Anna at the reserved table, draping her jacket over the back of her chair.

"Thank you for coming," Tanya said.

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"Please don't mention it. I'm glad to."

"It's a long way."

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