Paco waggled a finger negatively at him. "We've had open minds all
along, my friend. It is yours that seems closed. In spite of the fact
that I spent four years in your country I sometimes confess I don't
understand you Americans. I think you are too immersed in your TV
programs, your movies and your light fiction."
"I can feel myself being saddled up again," Hank complained. "All set
for another riding."
Loo laughed softly, his perfect white teeth gleaming in his black
face.
Paco said, "You seem to have the fictional _good guys and bad guys_
outlook. And, in this world of controversy, you assume that you are
the good guys, the heroes, and since that is so then the Soviets must
be the bad guys. And, as in the movies, everything the good guys do is
fine and everything the bad guys do, is evil. I sometimes think that
if the Russians had developed a cure for cancer first you Americans
would have refused to use it."
Hank had had enough. He said, "Look, Paco, there are two hundred
million Americans. For you, or anyone else, to come along and try to
lump that many people neatly together is pure silliness. You'll find
every type of person that exists in the world in any country. The very
tops of intelligence, and submorons living in institutions; the most
highly educated of scientists, and men who didn't finish grammar
school; you'll find saints, and gangsters; infant prodigies and
juvenile delinquents; and millions upon millions of just plain
ordinary people much like the people of Argentina, or England, or
France or whatever. True enough, among all our two hundred million
there are some mighty prejudiced people, some mighty backward ones,
and some downright foolish ones. But if you think the United States
got to the position she's in today through the efforts of a whole
people who are foolish, then you're obviously pretty far off the beam
yourself."
Paco was looking at him narrowly. "Accepted, friend Hank, and I
apologize. That's quite the most effective outburst I've heard from
you in this week we've known each other. It occurs to me that perhaps
you are other than I first thought."
_Oh, oh._ Hank backtracked. He said, "Good grief, let's drop it."
Paco said, "Well, just to change the subject, gentlemen, there is one
thing above all that I noted here in Leningrad."
"What was that?" Loo said.
"It's the only town I've ever seen where I felt an urge to kiss a
cop," Paco said soulfully. "Did you notice? Half the traffic police in
town are cute little blondes."
Loo rolled over. "A fascinating observation, but personally I am going
to take a nap. Tonight it's the Red Arrow Express to Moscow and rest
might be in order, particularly if the train has square wheels, burns
wood and stops and repairs bridges all along the way, as I'm sure Hank
believes."
Hank reached down, got hold of one of his shoes and heaved it.
"Missed!" Loo grinned.
* * * * *
The Red Arrow Express had round wheels, burned Diesel fuel and made
the trip between Leningrad and Moscow overnight. In one respect, it
was the most unique train ride Hank Kuran had ever had. The track
contained not a single curve from the one city to the other. Its
engineers must have laid the roadbed out with a ruler.
The cars like the rest of public transportation, were as comfortable
as any Hank knew. Traveling second class, as the Progressive Tours
pilgrims did, involved four people in a compartment for the night,
with one exception. At the end of the car was a smaller compartment
containing two bunks only.
The Intourist guide who had shepherded them around Leningrad took them
to the train, saw them all safely aboard, told them another Intourist
employee would pick them up at the station in Moscow.
It was late. Hank was assigned the two-bunk compartment. He put his
glasses on the tiny window table, sat on the edge of the lower and
began to pull off his shoes. He didn't look up when the door opened
until a voice said, icebergs dominating the tone, "Just what are you
doing in here?"