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Authors: Harry Turtledove

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BOOK: The Gladiator
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“You don't talk about politics?” Annarita asked.
“Of course not. The guys who play the railroad game talk about railroads. Some of them build model railroads, but I don't
think that's interesting. The other guys talk about soccer—we all do that sometimes, 'cause soccer's
important
. And the others go on about dragons and ogres and using zoning laws to get orcs out of a pass they need to go through and stuff like that.”
“Zoning laws?” Annarita hadn't thought she could get more confused. Now she discovered she was wrong.
Gianfranco only shrugged again. “I don't know, not really. Like I said, I don't play that game much. Stuff like that, though. Politics?” What he said about politics was even hotter than anything he'd come out with before. He went on, “Why don't you come and see for yourself what we're up to? Then you won't have to listen to nonsense.” That wasn't exactly what he called it.
“All right, I will,” Annarita said. “Do I need to have you along, or can I go by myself?”
“You can go by yourself if you want to. It's a shop. It's looking for customers,” Gianfranco answered. “People might talk to you more if you come in with somebody they know. It's like a restaurant or a bar—it has regulars.”
She nodded. “Fair enough. Will you take me this afternoon, then?”
“Why not?” he said. “I'm going over there. I've got to finish Carlo off—you just see if I don't. Meet me at the entrance right after classes get out.”
“I will.
Grazie,
Gianfranco. The sooner we get this settled, the better off and the happier everybody will be.”
“See you then,” Gianfranco said. By that time, they'd just about got to school. He hurried on ahead of Annarita, something he hardly ever did. She didn't think he was that eager to learn things from his teachers. No, more likely he was excited about showing off The Gladiator to her.
Annarita was curious. Gianfranco sure didn't think the place was subversive—but then, he wouldn't. Well, she'd find out … something, anyway. She could report to the Young Socialists' League. And that, with any luck, would be that.
Because she was curious about The Gladiator, she didn't pay as much attention in class as usual. She messed up a Russian verb conjugation that she knew in her sleep. Comrade Montefusco clucked and wrote what was probably a black mark in the roll book. She almost complained, but what could she complain about? Even if she knew better, she did make the mistake.
She kept doing silly little things like that all day long. She wondered if Gianfranco was doing the same thing. From what she'd heard, he did that kind of stuff all the time, so how was anybody supposed to tell?
She
didn't, though. Whenever she fouled up, her teachers looked surprised. She kept on being surprised herself, not that it did her any good.
After what seemed like forever, the dismissal bell rang. No after-school meetings today. She could just go. Gianfranco was waiting when she got outside. “You ready?” he asked.
She laughed at him. He really was eager as a puppy. “What would you do if I told you no?” she teased.
He just shrugged one more time. “I'd go by myself, that's what.”
So there,
Annarita thought. But she'd sassed him first, so she had it coming. “I'm not saying no, though. I want to see what got you all excited about this place.” And she wanted to see if it really was reactionary and subversive, but she didn't say that.
She liked the Galleria del Popolo. You could find almost anything there—when you could find anything at all, that is.
The buildings that housed the shops were a couple of hundred years old. They might not have been as efficient as the Stalin-gothic blocks of flats that dominated Milan's skyline along with the Duomo, but they were prettier.
Or was that a counterrevolutionary thought? They'd been built long before the Communist takeover of Italy. If you liked them more than buildings that went up after the takeover, did that make you a reactionary? Could you get in trouble if someone found out you did? She hadn't said anything to Gianfranco. She didn't intend to, either. He
seemed
harmless, but you never could know for sure who reported to the Security Police.
“Here we are.” He pointed.
THE GLADIATOR. The sign wasn't too gaudy. The front window also showed a painting of a man in Roman-style armor holding a sword. Under his feet, smaller letters said, BOOKS AND GAMES AND THINGS TO MAKE YOU THINK. She hadn't expected that. “Well, take me in,” she told Gianfranco. He nodded and did.
“Hey, Gianfranco!” called the man behind the counter.
“Come sta?
”
“I'm fine, Eduardo. How are you?” Gianfranco said. “This is my friend, Annarita.” He didn't say she was there to investigate The Gladiator. That had to be because they
were
friends. He probably would have been more loyal to the shop than to some other member of the Young Socialists' League.
And why not?
Annarita thought.
What's the League ever done for him?
“Ciao,
Annarita,” Eduardo said, and then, to Gianfranco, “I didn't know you had such a pretty friend.”
Gianfranco blushed like a schoolgirl. That made Annarita smile, but she looked away so Gianfranco wouldn't see her do it. She got to glance at what was in the shop. It sold every different kind of game, all in brightly printed boxes. She'd never
heard of any of them.
Rails across Europe, World Cup, Swords and Sorcery, Eastern Front, Waterloo, Tycoon, Hannibal …
She could figure out what they were about easily enough.
The Gladiator also sold miniatures: soldiers and locomotives and soccer players made of lead or plastic. Some were already painted, others plain—you could buy paints, too, in tiny bottles, and hair-thin brushes with which to apply them.
And there were books about costumes from every period from Babylon to now. There were books about military campaigns. There were soccer encyclopedias. There were books about railroads, and about what stock markets had been like when there were stock markets.
“This is quite a place.” Annarita wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or not.
“You'd better believe it.” Gianfranco had no doubts. He sounded as proud as if The Gladiator belonged to him. “Is Carlo here yet?” he asked Eduardo.
“No, but I don't think he'll be long,” the older man—he had to be close to thirty—said.
“He's not as bold as he was yesterday, though,” Gianfranco boasted. “‘Loss leader,' was it? He found out!”
“He wasn't very happy when he headed for home. I will say that,” Eduardo answered.
Gianfranco set money on the counter. “I'm going to go in there and set up the game,” he said. When Eduardo nodded, he went into the back room.
That left Annarita out front by herself, and feeling it. “Can I help you with something in particular, Signorina?” Eduardo asked. “Maybe you want a present for a brother or somebody else? Maybe even for Gianfranco?” He looked sly.
She shook her head. “No,
grazie
, I don't think so. I just
wanted to see what it was like. I've heard Gianfranco talk about it a lot. Our families share a kitchen—you know how it is.”
“Oh, sure. Who doesn't?” Eduardo replied. “It shouldn't be that way, but it is, and what can you do about it?”
He had nerve, finding anything wrong with the way the world worked with somebody he'd just met. For all he knew, Annarita was a government spy. In fact, she wasn't that far from being one. “So anyway, he's been going on about it, and finally he asked me if I wanted to see it,” she said. “And I said
sì
, and here I am.”
“What do you think?”
“I've never seen anything like it,” Annarita said truthfully. “Where do all the games come from?”
“We have crazy people locked up in a psychiatric hospital who make them up,” Eduardo told her.
She blinked. He really did like to see how close to the wind he could sail. Everybody knew the Party put troublemakers in psychiatric hospitals. Getting into one of those places was easy. Coming out? Coming out was a different story.
Everybody knew that, but hardly anybody talked about it. If you talked about it to the wrong people, you might wind up inside a psychiatric hospital yourself. But Eduardo didn't seem worried. He grinned at her.
Annarita wondered if he was a provocateur. Maybe the whole store was a front, a trap to catch dissidents. Would everybody who played games in here end up in a psychiatric hospital or in jail or in a labor camp or dead? She didn't like to think so, but the authorities could be sneaky. Everybody knew that, too.
She walked over to the shelves. There were titles like
Making Your Corporation Profitable
and
Economics of Club Ownership
alongside others like
Greece and Rome at War
. “You sell … interesting books,” she said.
“Well, if they weren't interesting, who'd buy them?” Eduardo spread his hands and answered his own question: “Nobody, that's who. Then I couldn't make my living having fun. I'd have to do something honest instead.” He grinned again.
Even though Annarita grinned back, she still found herself wondering about him and about what the shop sold. “Some of these books look almost … capitalist,” she said, wondering how he would answer.
“They are,” he said simply.
“But—how can you sell them, then?” Annarita asked. Anybody would have—she was sure of that.
“Because they're just for the games,” he replied. “Everybody who buys them knows it. If there were real capitalists, that would bring back the bad old days. But these are like books on chess openings and endgames. They help people play better, that's all.”
He was as smooth as silk, as slick as olive oil. That only made Annarita wonder about him more. “You can't use books on openings and endgames in the real world,” she said. “You could use these. It would be wrong, but you could do it.” She had to make sure she said that, in case a camera and a mike were picking up her words. You never could tell. Never. “Somebody who bought one might get the wrong ideas about the way things are supposed to work. How does the state let you sell them?”
“You're smart. Not many people asked questions like that.” Eduardo sounded admiring. Then people in the back room started yelling. “Excuse me,” he said, and ducked back there. A moment later, Annarita heard him yelling, too. He could call people some very rude things without really cursing. He could make them laugh while he did it, too, which was a rarer talent.
He came out a few minutes later shaking his head. “Argument over the rules.
Dumb
argument over the rules. Where were we, pretty lady?”
Annarita pegged him for the sort who gave out compliments as readily as insults. That meant she didn't need to take them seriously. She said, “You were telling me how you get away with selling books like these.”
“That's right.” Eduardo nodded. “Nothing fancy about it. We do it the same way the Church gets away with teaching what it teaches.”
“This isn't religion. This is economics,” Annarita said severely.
“Of course. But a lot of what the Church says goes against science and against dialectical materialism and against Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism. Everybody who thinks about it would say that's so. Why does the state let the Church do it, then?”
Because people would riot if the state didn't
, Annarita thought. Eduardo had a different answer: “Because it's religion, that's why. What the Church says only counts in religion, nothing else. And what we sell here only counts in our games, nowhere else. See? It's simple, really.”
He made it sound simple, anyway. How many complications lurked under that smooth surface? Quite a few, unless Annarita missed her guess. But some of what he said was likely true, or the Security Police would have closed this place down.
Unless he belongs to the Security Police
, she reminded herself. She wondered how she could find out.
 
 
Gianfranco counted out his latest payment for delivering Russian oil to Paris. “Twenty-three million there,” he said, as if the
bright play-money bills were real. “That puts me at 509 million.” As soon as you went over 500 million, you won. Carlo was still a good sixty million away.
“Sì, you got me,” he said, and stuck out his hand across the board. Gianfranco shook it. Carlo went on, “When we got into that second price war, that ruined me. You were smart there, Gianfranco. I didn't think you'd do anything like that.”
“I'm not always as dumb as I look,” Gianfranco said, which made the university student laugh. They got up and went out to the front counter together.
“Who won?” Eduardo asked.
BOOK: The Gladiator
7.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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