Hank scowled over at him. "What'd you mean by that Loo? That has all
the elements of a nasty crack."
"Or tell it to the Mexicans. Isn't that where you got your whole
South-west?"
Hank looked from Loo to Paco and back.
* * * * *
Paco brought out cigarettes and tossed one to each of the others.
"Aren't these long Russian cigarettes the end? I heard somebody say
that by the time the smoke got through all the filter, you'd lost the
habit." He looked over at Hank. "Easy my friend, easy. On a trip like
this it would be impossible not to continually be comparing East and
West, dwelling continually on politics, the pros and cons of both
sides. All of us are continually assimilating what we hear and see.
Among other things, I note that on the newsstands there are no
publications from western lands. Why? Because still, after fifty
years, our Communist bureaucracy dare not allow its people to read
what they will. I note, too, that the shops on 25th October Avenue are
not all directed toward the Russian man on the street, unless he is
paid unbelievably more than we have heard. Sable coats? Jewelery?
Luxurious furniture? I begin to suspect that our Soviet friends are
not quite so classless as Mr. Marx had in mind when he and Mr. Engels
worked out the rough framework of the society of the future."
Loo said seriously, "Oh, there are a great many things of that type to
notice here in the Soviet Union."