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Authors: Harry Turtledove

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BOOK: The Gladiator
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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. If 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.
“
Sorry
,” Eduardo said. The irate gamer rolled his eyes and went back to his board and his cards and his dice. Eduardo and Gianfranco and Alfredo laughed harder than ever. That life should get in the way of the games … Well, heaven forbid!
As Gianfranco had seen during the game, Alfredo was stubborn. When the laughter faded, the older man said, “You still didn't answer my question.”
“Why don't you ask other places why they don't have them?” Gianfranco said.
Alfredo looked at him as if he wasn't so bright after all. “I've done that,” he said. “They tell me they can't get them. They say they don't know where to get them.”
“See?” Eduardo said. “They don't have the telephone number for the zeks in the basement.”
That made Gianfranco laugh again, but Alfredo didn't think it was so funny. “Confound it, Eduardo, how can you have games nobody else can get his hands on? What do you do, bring them down from the moon?”
“Sure,” the clerk said. “If you go out to the alley behind the shop, you'll see the launch tower for our rocket ship.”
Alfredo gave him a very odd look. “You know, I almost wouldn't be surprised.
Ciao
, Eduardo. One of these days,
maybe you'll tell me the truth.
Ciao
, Gianfranco. You played a fine game there.” He walked out before either of the other two could answer him.
Eduardo tried to make light of it, saying, “He doesn't like mysteries.”
“Neither do I,” Gianfranco said, which seemed to startle the clerk. He went on, “I put up with them, though, because I like the games so much. Alfredo's the same way. Now that he's one win away from taking the tournament, you think he'll kick up a fuss?”
“Well, I hope not,” Eduardo said slowly.
 
 
At supper, Gianfranco was full of all the details of his epic match with Alfredo. Annarita heard much more about the railroad game than she ever wanted to. Trying to shut Gianfranco up, her mother said, “Then you won, did you? Congratulations!”
“Oh, no, Signora Crosetti,” Gianfranco answered. “He beat me. But it was a good game. That's what really counts.”
Annarita's father eyed Gianfranco over the tops of his glasses. “If you can say that and really mean it—and I think you do—you've taken a long step toward growing up. You deserve more congratulations for that than you would for winning.”
“
Dottor
Crosetti is right,” Gianfranco's father said. “Things don't always go the way you want them to. You have to learn to roll with the punches.”
Comrade Mazzilli was always good for a couple of clichés. An ordinary man, he had ordinary thoughts, and they came out in ordinary ways. The next new idea he had would be the first. But Annarita thought he and her own father were right about this. She wouldn't have expected Gianfranco to lose a game and
be as proud as if he'd won. But he was, plainly. The Gladiator had more going for it than she would have guessed.
When they were walking to school the next morning, he asked Annarita, “Did you manage to get that nonsense about The Gladiator being a capitalist plot taken care of?”
“
Sì
,” she said. “Ludovico went along with me on the report, so you don't need to worry about that any more.”
“
Grazie
,” he told her. Then he said, “You know, I almost asked my old man where The Gladiator gets its games. He could probably find out through purchase records and things. Alfredo was pitching a fit about that last night.”
It had puzzled Annarita, too. The games and a lot of the books there looked to be in a class by themselves. “Why didn't you?” she asked.
He looked sheepish. “I didn't want to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, that's why. Maybe they aren't as legit and legal as they ought to be, you know? I just plain don't care. I have too much fun there to want to take any chances about getting those people in trouble. I kept my big mouth shut.” He mimed zipping it closed with the hand that wasn't carrying his notebook and books.
“If they are doing something under the table, chances are it'll come out sooner or later, you know,” Annarita said.
“Better later than sooner,” Gianfranco answered. “Another tournament'll start soon, and I'm going to win this one!”
“You've got it bad, don't you?” Annarita might almost have been talking with a girl friend who had a crush on a boy.
Gianfranco grinned at her—he must have recognized the tone. “I have fun. What's wrong with that?” he said. “I haven't found anything I enjoy more.” He grinned again, in a slightly different way. “And if I don't still feel like that once I find a
girl … well, I'll worry about it then. I've seen it happen with other guys.”
“All right,” she said, because that was in her mind, too.
And then he looked at her again, thoughtfully. “Eduardo said I was a fool because
you
weren't my girlfriend.”
“Did he?” Annarita said. Gianfranco nodded. She wagged a finger at him. “If Eduardo wants to tell you how to run your railroads, that's one thing. If he wants to tell you how to run your life, that's different. It's none of his business, you hear?”
“
Sì
, Annarita.” Gianfranco sounded more subdued than usual. “But you know, it might not be so bad.”
She almost laughed in his face. Only the thought that she'd keep on seeing him at breakfast and supper every day held her back at first. Her family and the Mazzillis needed to be able to get along with each other if they could. Because they'd shared so much for so long, though, they did have some notion of what made each other tick. Yes, Gianfranco was a year younger than she was. But there was more to him than she'd thought, even if it came out in his game and not in something really important. He might not be her very first choice for a boyfriend, but she realized she could do worse. A couple of years earlier, he would have been an impossible object. These days … ? She looked at him with new eyes. No, he wasn't so bad.
She tried not to let any of that show. She didn't want Gianfranco getting a swelled head. That
would
make him impossible. All she said was, “Well, we've both got other things to worry about right now.” He just nodded, which was a point in his favor.
Annarita found out how right she was when she came out of Russian that morning. She ran into Maria Tenace on the way to her next class. No, that wasn't how it happened. Maria was lying
in wait for her outside Comrade Montefusco's door, and waved a newspaper in her face as soon as she came out.
“Did you see this?” Maria shouted. “
Did
you?”
“If you don't get out of my way, Maria, you'll see stars, I promise,” Annarita said.
The other girl paused for a moment, then decided Annarita wasn't kidding and backed up a step. That was smart, because Annarita would have loved an excuse to knock her block off. But Maria kept waving the paper. “Did you see the
Red Banner
? Did you see what's in it?” Her loud, shrill voice reminded Annarita of the noise a dentist's drill made.
“What's in the
Red Banner
, Maria?” Annarita asked resignedly. She paid as little attention to the Party newspaper as she could. Any newspaper was full of propaganda, but the
Red Banner
stuffed it in the way a sausagemaker shoved ground meat and spices into a salami casing.
“Here. See for yourself.”
Maria pointed to the story she had in mind. CAPITALIST PLOTTERS ARRESTED IN ROME! the headline screamed. The article said the Security Police had seized seven men and a woman on suspicion of trying to undermine Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism. They were accused of planning to set up a corporation to enrich themselves and grind down their workers. And they were supposed to have got their ideas from playing games at a shop called The Conductor's Cap, a place that sounded an awful lot like The Gladiator.
When the Security Police came to this wicked den of iniquity, they found the proprietor and his henchmen fled
, the story said.
Their capture is expected momentarily, for they cannot hope to escape the aroused forces of Socialist justice
.
“You should have listened to me.” Vindictive pleasure
glowed on Maria's face. It bubbled in her voice, like noxious gas bubbling up in swamp water.
Even if she knew what she was talking about, her attitude disgusted Annarita. “Why should anyone listen to you, Maria?” she asked.
“Because I was right!” Maria exclaimed.
“A stopped clock is right twice a day. Nobody pays any attention to it anyway,” Annarita said.
She got what she wanted—she made Maria angry, too. It wasn't pretty. It
was
scary, because Annarita could see Maria putting her in a mental card file.
Subversive
, the card said.
Reactionary. Capitalist sympathizer.
Those were the cards that spawned denunciations, all right.
“Go ahead. Have your joke,” Maria said now. “But they'll come after The Gladiator, too. And do you know what they'll do then? They'll come after
you
. And do you know what else? I'll be glad!”
She stalked off, as well as anyone so dumpy could stalk. People stared from her to Annarita and back again. Annarita tried to laugh it off. But laughter didn't come easy, not this time.
Gianfranco heard about The Conductor's Cap from Annarita the next morning. “It might be a good time to stay away from The Gladiator for a while,” she said. “If the Security Police do crack down, you don't want to be there when it happens.”
“Why? Do you think they won't get my name?” Gianfranco said. “Not likely, not with the time and money I've spent there. Besides, I hope I know who my friends are.”
The look Annarita gave him said she might be seeing him for the first time. “That's … brave, Gianfranco,” she said after a long pause. “It's brave, but how smart is it? What can you do for your friends if the Security Police are feeding you truth drugs or beating you with rubber hoses or doing any of the other wonderful things they do?”
He shivered. He couldn't help it. Stories about what the Security Police did to people were limited only by the storyteller's imagination. The worse they sounded, the more likely they were to be true. So everybody said, anyway. Gianfranco didn't know whether what everybody said was true, but he didn't have any reason to doubt it here.
Maybe my father could keep me safe
, he thought. Plenty of Party officials' children stayed out of trouble when other kids without connections ended up in deep. But if he got arrested on
charges having to do with capitalism, would the Security Police care whose son he was? He didn't think so.
And he didn't think he ought to rely on his father here anyway. “All I've done is play games and read books,” he said. “How bad can that be?”
“As bad as the Security Police want to make it,” Annarita said, which was bound to be true. “Don't do anything silly, that's all.”
By the way she talked, he half expected to see Security Police vans in front of Hoxha Polytechnic to carry off all the students who ever went into The Gladiator. No vans there. Everything seemed normal. Everything
was
normal. He had an ordinary day. He didn't butcher his algebra quiz, but he didn't think he aced it, either.
As soon as the closing bell let him escape, he headed for the Galleria del Popolo. It had started to drizzle by then, but the glassed-over roof held the rain at bay. He bought a couple of biscotti and a Fanta to keep his own engine steaming while he played at The Gladiator.
Only one thing wrong—the shop was closed. When he tried the door, it was locked. Looking inside, he didn't see anybody. He went to the leather-goods shop next door. “Where is everybody?” he asked a man setting out wallets.
“Beats me,” the fellow answered. “They never opened up today.”
“It sure looks empty in there.” Gianfranco remembered what had happened to people who played at The Conductor's Cap down in Rome. Worry in his voice, he said, “They aren't in trouble, are they? I mean, the Security Police didn't come for them or anything?”
“Not that I know of. What would the Security Police want
with a game shop, for heaven's sake?” The man laughed to show how silly he thought that was. Gianfranco wished he thought it was silly, too. The man went on, “
Scusi, per piacere
, but I have to put these out.” He reached for more wallets.
Get lost, kid
. That was what he meant, even if he made it sound more polite. “
Grazie
,” Gianfranco said, and mooched out of the shop, his hands in his pockets. He stood there on the sidewalk, staring at The Gladiator. It was as if the place would magically open up if he just stared hard enough.
No matter how hard he stared, The Gladiator stayed dark and quiet. Plenty of people walked past Gianfranco, but nobody paid too much attention to him. Under the roof of the Galleria del Popolo, you didn't have to go anywhere fast—or at all. You could amble along, or you could just stand still.
A couple of minutes later, Carlo came up to him. “What are you doing hanging around out here?” the other gamer asked. “Why aren't you in there playing?”
“Because it's closed,” Gianfranco answered mournfully.
“What? You're crazy. The Gladiator's never closed this time of day.” Carlo walked over to the shop and tried the latch. It didn't open, of course. He looked very surprised and very foolish.
“You were saying?” Gianfranco rubbed it in.
“Why are they closed? Do you know? Is somebody sick? Is somebody short of money? Can we do anything to help?” Carlo could spit questions faster than Gianfranco could possibly hope to answer them.
But he did have an answer: “I think they're in trouble.”
“Of course, they're in trouble. If they weren't in trouble,
ragazzo
, the place would be open,” Carlo said. “But what kind?”
“You call me
kid
again and
you'll
be in trouble,” Gianfranco growled. “And I know what kind of trouble they're in and you don't, so don't you think maybe you ought to keep your big mouth shut and your ears open?”
He didn't impress Carlo. He might have known he wouldn't. “So what kind of trouble are they in, if you're so smart?” the university student asked.
“Political trouble,” Gianfranco said softly.
He wondered if he would have to spell that out for Carlo, but he didn't. The other gamer got it right away. “What happened?” he demanded. “Did some jerk decide he wanted to be a capitalist for real and not just on the game board?”
“Not here. Down in Rome. Guys who play at a place called The Conductor's Cap,” Gianfranco answered.
“Ah,
sì
. I've heard of it,” Carlo said.
Gianfranco hadn't, not till Annarita told him about it, but he didn't let on. “There must be a connection between that place and The Gladiator,” he said. “I hear it was empty when the Security Police came, and now The Gladiator's closed down, too.”
“That's not good,” Carlo said. “You think the Security Police are going to come after us?”
“I don't know.” Gianfranco shrugged. “I don't know what we can do about it if they decide to, either. Do you?”
“Not much you can do,” Carlo said gloomily. “You can't even disappear. They'll run you down and catch you. But we haven't done anything wrong.”
“No, of course not.” Gianfranco would have said the same thing even if he had done something. He didn't
think
Carlo was an informer, but you never knew. He did add, “Will they care, though?”
“Not likely!” Carlo said. That was true, but it also left him vulnerable to Gianfranco. Even if some things were true, you weren't supposed to say them out loud. Carlo went on, “Where are we going to play now?”
There
was an important question! “Well, I've got my own copy of
Rails across Europe
,” Gianfranco said.
“Sure. Me, too. But so what?” Carlo said. “How many people do you know who play? I mean, know away from The Gladiator?”
“A couple,” Gianfranco answered. “Guys who go to my school. Even one teacher.”
“Same here,” Carlo said. “I know a couple, maybe three, at the university. We can still play, but it won't be the same—not even close. All the tournaments, the fools at the next table going nuts when something exciting happens in their game … Won't be the same, trying to have a game in your kitchen.”
“Tell me about it!” Gianfranco said. “We share ours with another family.”
“Who doesn't? I can't wait to get my own apartment—but even then, I'll be sharing the kitchen and the bathroom.” Carlo sighed. “What can you do? That's how they build 'em. That's how they've built 'em for the last hundred years and then some.”
Ever since Italy went Communist, probably
, Gianfranco thought. Maybe it had to do with keeping people in groups, not letting them be individuals. Or maybe it wasn't that complicated. Maybe the Italians just started imitating the Russians, who'd been building apartments that way ever since the glorious October Revolution.
“You're right. It won't be the same. Better than nothing, though.” Gianfranco knew he sounded like someone whistling
in the dark. He felt that way. He'd just had a big chunk of his life yanked out by the roots.
“Maybe the people from The Gladiator will turn up somewhere else. We can hope, anyhow.” Carlo sounded like someone whistling in the dark.
Another gamer strolled up then, and looked horrified to discover The Gladiator was closed and dark. He and Gianfranco and Carlo went through a conversation a lot like the one Gianfranco and Carlo had just had. Then they all went away unhappy.
 
 
Annarita was doing Russian homework at the kitchen table when Gianfranco came in. “Why aren't you at The Gladiator, if you were going to go there?” she asked in surprise. Then she took a real look at him. “And why do you look like somebody just ran over your cat with a tank?”
“Remember what you told me about The Conductor's Cap?” he said. “Well, The Gladiator is closed, too.”
“Oh. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't say I'm too surprised,” Annarita said. Gianfranco didn't look consoled. “What are you going to do now?” she asked him.
“I don't know!” he burst out, fiercely enough to startle her. “I'll probably go out of my mind.”
“Is it really as bad as that?” Annarita said.
“No. It's worse.” Gianfranco couldn't have sounded any sadder if he tried for a year. If he was acting, he should have gone out for drama, because he would have grabbed leading roles with the greatest of ease. “How would you like it if somebody took away your favorite thing in all the world?”
“Not very much, I'm sure,” Annarita answered. “But can't you still play somewhere else?”
“
Sì
, but it won't be the same.” Gianfranco explained why not. He brought everything out so pat, it was as if he'd said it before. “No tournaments or anything like that. I'll be lucky to get a game in every once in a while.” He stopped—something new seemed to have occurred to him. “You wouldn't be interested in learning to play, would you? We could have games easier than people who don't live here could come over. It's a good game. It really is. You'd like it, I think.”
He was pathetically eager to have her want to play. No—she changed her mind. He was pathetically eager to have
anybody
to play against, and she seemed handy. She almost told him no, which was her first impulse. Then she remembered all the things her folks said about the need to get along with the Mazzillis. Gianfranco would be very unhappy if she turned him down … and
Rails across Europe
had looked interesting.
“I suppose we could try,” she said slowly. “I'm not going to let it get in the way of my schoolwork, though—and you shouldn't, either.” He couldn't afford that as well as she could. His grades were weaker. He had to know it, so she didn't bother spelling it out for him.
The way his face lit up when she said yes convinced her she'd done the right thing. It was almost like feeding a stray puppy you found in the street. “
Grazie!
” he said, and then, “Do you want to start now?”
“Well …” Again, she almost said no. She didn't quite. “We won't be able to play very long, because I have to help get supper ready—and I do need to study this Russian, and some other stuff, too.”
He hardly heard her—she could tell. “I'll be right back,” he said, and dashed from the common kitchen into the Mazzillis' rooms. Maybe he paused to say hello to his mother and father. Then again, maybe he didn't. He sure reappeared in nothing flat, the box with the game in it clutched firmly in his hands. He sat down across the table from Annarita.
“What do I have to do?” she asked, thinking,
It has to be better than Russian
.
It turned out to be more complicated than Russian. As far as Annarita was concerned, that wasn't easy, but
Rails across Europe
managed. Building your railroad and shipping things from here to there were pretty straightforward. After that, though, things got stickier. You could let the other player use your track if he paid you, but how did you know how much to ask for? What happened if you were both shipping the same product into the same town? How did you deal with natural disasters? And so on, and so on.
Gianfranco did a better job of explaining than Annarita would have expected. He knew the game backward and forward and inside out. Sometimes he tried to tell her more than she needed to know. Mostly, though, he stuck with the basics till they ran into something hard. Then he told her how that worked.
As far as she could see, he didn't try to take unfair advantage because she wasn't sure what she was doing. When she thanked him for that, he looked surprised. “It wouldn't be any fun if I did,” he said. “Who cares if you win if you've got to cheat to do it?”
BOOK: The Gladiator
11.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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