Judgment on Deltchev (12 page)

‘Are laws waived in England for the benefit of persons in high position?’

‘Then you agree, Minister, that it would be to Monsieur Deltchev’s benefit if he could defend himself?’

‘It would be to the benefit of you gentlemen, I have no
doubt. I apologize for our reluctance to have the court turned into a circus entertainment.’

‘Will the Minister say if, as a result of the Prosecutor’s unhappy efforts yesterday to provide the court with entertainment, the prisoner will now be allowed proper medical attention in the prison?’

Brankovitch rose to his feet with a smile. ‘The prisoner is receiving ample medical attention,’ he said, ‘and as much insulin as he wishes. It was nothing more sinister than a stupid administrative blunder that prevented his having attention a few days ago. Disciplinary action has been taken against those responsible. Naturally the prisoner took the utmost advantage of his plight to gain sympathy …’

‘When driven to do so by the Prosecutor?’

‘Or when a favourable opportunity presented itself.’ Brankovitch smiled again. ‘We interpret motives from the standpoint of our own prejudices. But please note that the prisoner was not prevented from addressing you.’

‘What he said was not reported in the official press, Minister.’

‘Quite properly. The fact that a man is diabetic surely does not affect his responsibility to the community for criminal acts. Gentlemen, perhaps you would care to continue our discussion over the refreshments. I hope you will not think I am attempting to corrupt you if I say that there is champagne and caviar for you to sample. I am merely performing another of my functions as a Minister in introducing to you two products of our agricultural and fishing industries which we are anxious to export. The champagne is not French, of course, but it is a dry, sparkling wine of pleasing character and I think you will like it.’

There were one or two murmurs of amused assent and
a scraping of chairs. Waiters entered, obviously in response to a signal, and whisked away the napkins from the buffet.

‘He is clever, the Minister,’ said Pashik seriously.

‘Yes, he is. Shall we go?’

He looked shocked. ‘Do you not wish to ask questions, Mr Foster?’

‘What about? Napoleon the Third?’

‘I think it would be impolite to go,’ said Pashik earnestly. ‘The Minister will surely wish to meet you. There is protocol to be observed.’

‘There are others going.’ Though most of those present had moved over to the buffet and stood in groups talking, I noticed several making unobtrusive exits.

‘Those are local agency men, Mr Foster. They have met the Minister before.’

‘All right. Shall we go over?’ Brankovitch was talking to a group that included Sibley, the man who drank too much and was indiscreet.

‘No, Mr Foster. Let us quietly have some refreshments. Presently matters will arrange themselves.’

We were joined after a moment or two by an American I had chatted with once or twice at the courthouse. A waiter brought us wine and caviar sandwiches. One of the secretaries delivered copies of a long blood-curdling piece on the Officer Corps Brotherhood.

‘Did you know that Byron was a member of the Carbonari?’ the American was saying. ‘I think we ought to rechristen our friend Brankovitch. When Ferdinand of Italy tried to liquidate the Carbonari he had his Minister of Police set up another secret society called “the braziers of the counterpoise”,
Calderai del Contrappeso
. The Minister recruited all the worst characters in the country for it
and what they did to the Italian liberals makes Little Bopeep of that Shatev story. The Minister was a man called Prince Canosa. What about Creeping Canosa for our friend?’

Pashik had left us. I talked to the American and ate sandwiches. After a few minutes Pashik came back rather breathlessly with one of the secretaries, a stony-eyed young man with over-neat clothes.

‘This is Monsieur Kavitch,’ he said; ‘he is of the Minister’s bureau.’ The secretary bowed and we shook hands. ‘The Minister is most anxious to meet you, Herr Foster,’ he said stiffly.

‘I shall be honoured.’ I caught the American’s eye and he put his tongue very obviously in his cheek.

The secretary stared hard at me. ‘Have you yet had time, Herr Foster,’ he said, ‘to visit any of the well-known beauty spots that abound in the vicinity of our city?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t.’

‘At this time of year,’ the secretary continued steadily, ‘there are many varieties of the most remarkable rose blooms in the world to be seen and savoured. Our country is very beautiful. However, it is to be hoped that you will wish to be present on Saturday at the official parade and celebration in honour of the twenty-seventh anniversary of the founding of the People’s Party.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Herr Foster’s special pass has already been applied for,’ Pashik put in smartly.

‘Ah, then he will see some of the beauties of the country brought to the city,’ pursued the secretary steadily. ‘This year the parade will be a symbolic integration of peaceful
husbandry and armed might – the plough and the sword in harmony together.’

‘Very interesting.’

‘Yes. It is of the utmost importance that all our visitors leave us with a correct impression. I will myself see that you have an advantageous place, Herr Foster. Here, now, is the Minister.’

He stepped aside nimbly, like a compère effacing himself for the entry of the star. Brankovitch, with the other secretary in attendance, had stopped to say a word to a Scandinavian group. Now he turned in my direction. The secretary beside me said something in his own language with my name in it. Brankovitch held out his hand and turned on a watery smile.

‘How do you do?’ he said in English. His warm hand released mine almost as soon as it touched it. He nodded to Pashik as I answered him. ‘You have not been to our country before, Mr Foster?’

‘No, Minister. But I’m finding my first visit most interesting.’

He nodded. ‘Much fiction has already been written about it, but mostly by strangers. Now that cultural activities are being widely encouraged, however, perhaps a native school of writers will emerge. There is the language difficulty, of course. A knowledge of our language is rare. Yet Ibsen, also writing in a narrowly spoken language, achieved world fame.’

‘Ibsen’s heroes and heroines were not obliged to be positive, Minister.’

‘Ah, I see you have heard of our special problems. Yes, we are compelled to consider the standard of education of the public here. We must pay still for past injustices. The
percentage of illiteracy is high and those who are literate are for the most part still uneducated in the Western sense of the word. But in other cultural fields – the visual arts and music, for example – greater freedom is already possible.’

‘Ideas do not have to be expressed in words to be dangerous, Minister.’

‘We do not hinder truth, Mr Foster – only the facile repetition of lies. But we must have a long undisturbed conversation about such things, for I would be glad to hear your opinions. Tell me, how did you find Madame Deltchev last night? In good health?’

I sensed rather than heard Pashik’s sharply indrawn breath. Brankovitch’s gaze rested on me with unwavering affability.

‘She seemed very well.’

He smiled again. ‘She is not being persecuted?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘We have tried to spare her as much as possible. Naturally her position is difficult and we have to protect her against possible demonstrations. But I am glad to hear that she is well. You are the only journalist who has interviewed her, I think.’

‘I think so.’

He nodded vaguely. ‘I am so glad to have had this opportunity of meeting you, Mr Foster,’ he said. ‘We must have another talk. Most interesting.’

He nodded again and turned away. The secretary slid past me after him. The interview was at an end.

I looked at Pashik. His face was quite expressionless. He stepped up to me.

‘Do you wish to go now, Mr Foster?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘You did not tell me that you had seen Madame Deltchev,’ he said as we walked away.

‘No. I thought you’d prefer not to know.’

‘We must hope no harm is done.’

‘What harm can be done?’

He shrugged. ‘Such things attract attention.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘We must hope not. But I would have preferred that you had told me. I could at least have prevented the embarrassment.’

‘What embarrassment? The sentries on the house looked at my permit. They reported. What of it?’

‘You do not understand.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t. I think you’re over-anxious, as I’ve said before.’

‘I think my opinion about that may be better informed, Mr Foster.’

‘I’m sorry, Pashik. I certainly have no wish to compromise you, but I have a job to do.’

‘I have the responsibility, Mr Foster.’

‘You must try to shoulder it.’

Before he could answer, there were quick footsteps behind us. Pashik turned round as if he expected to be attacked. It was Sibley.

‘Hullo there,’ he said breezily; ‘how are you, Foster? And you, Georghi my friend? What a dreadful party! When are we going to have that drink? Now? I feel the need.’

‘Please excuse me,’ said Pashik hastily, ‘I must go to my office. Mr Foster, you have messages to send.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He hesitated. We had reached the door. He gave up. ‘Very well. Good night, Mr Foster. Good night, Mr Sibley.’

‘Good night.’

He went, leaving a slip-stream of malodorous disapproval.

Sibley chuckled. ‘Poor little man,’ he said.

We went to a nearby café and ordered drinks. Then Sibley disappeared to make a telephone call. When he came back the drinks had arrived. He picked his up, peered into it as if it were a crystal ball, then downed it at a gulp.

‘Well, what do you think?’ he said grimly.

‘About this evening’s performance?’

‘Performance! Exactly.’ He snapped his fingers at the waiter for another drink. ‘Incredible, isn’t it?’

‘In what way do you mean?’

‘Oh, all of it. That old, old routine! Prejudice, friends? Not a bit of it! Anyway, judge for yourselves, friends. Here are the simple facts given as simply as we know how – the facts about the Brotherhood. What has that to do with Deltchev? Who said it had anything to do with him? You’re drawing the conclusions, friends, not us. We’re only giving you the nasty facts. And to show you that the facts are really nasty we’ll pull an old atrocity story out of the bag. Castration and rape, friends! Yes, we thought that’d get you where it hurts. What has that to do with Deltchev? Well, we don’t say definitely that it
has
anything to do with him but – well, you’re drawing the conclusions and we can’t stop you, can we? In fact, although we’re not exactly saying so, the same ugly thought is beginning to cross our minds now. How clever of you to think of it first, friends! But it does seem fantastic, doesn’t it? Though, wait! Isn’t
there a historical precedent that fits the situation like a glove? Of course it does. In fact, there is one point of coincidence we didn’t mention. When Murat decided to destroy the Carbonari he gave the job to his police chief. The police chief destroyed a lot of people, and Murat thought the job was done until he found out that the police chief had always been a Carbonaro himself and that the Cousins were stronger than ever. Strange, isn’t it, friends? How clever of you to remember without our telling you! Any more questions? Yes? Well, let’s not get into tiresome arguments. Let’s have some caviare and a nice glass of aerated cat water. They make me tired.’ He swallowed another large plum brandy and sat back.

‘Another drink?’

‘For God’s sake, yes.’ He leaned forward, his face slightly flushed, his lips still wet with brandy. ‘How does one deal with it, Foster?’

‘Brankovitch’s press conference?’ I signalled to the waiter.

‘All of it. The whole phoney business. Perhaps it’s all right for you. You’ve got plenty of time. A series of articles, weeks hence. But I’m supposed to be sending news. All I’ve got through so far are those damned official bulletins. I suppose Pashik sends those to your people?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what I’d like to do?’ His dull, hot eyes brooded on mine.

‘No, what?’

‘I’d like to put it across them. I’d like to split the whole damn business wide open.’ He frowned suddenly as if with irritation at himself. ‘Take no notice. I had drinks before
the party.’ He smiled slyly and lowered his voice. ‘Can you keep a secret, Foster?’

‘Yes.’

‘The funny thing is I can do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘What I said – break it open.’ He looked round cautiously and leaned farther forward. ‘I’ve found a way round this bloody censorship.’

‘Oh, yes?’ My heart began to beat rather unpleasantly.

‘I can’t tell you the details because I swore not to, but there’s a little man in the Propaganda Ministry who doesn’t like the regime any more than we do and he’ll play. Of course, if he was found out he’d be lucky if they hanged him quickly, but he’s prepared to take the risk. There’s only one snag.’ He paused. I waited. ‘He can’t do it more than once and the deadline’s tomorrow.’

‘That should give you time.’

‘It’s a risk.’ He frowned at the table as the waiter put fresh drinks down. ‘A big risk. If I’m caught, I’m out. Of course, that wouldn’t matter to you. It’s not your living. But, by God, it’s a risk I’d like to take.’

‘The little man in the Propaganda Ministry must think it worth while.’

He laughed shortly. ‘You’re right. It’s funny, isn’t it? One minute I’m breathing fire and murder, and the next I’m worrying about a little risk.’ He laughed again. His performance was deteriorating rapidly. I was not helping him and he would have to come to the point himself. I waited, fascinated.

‘Would
you
take the risk?’ he asked suddenly.

‘I don’t know. The question would have to arise.’

‘All right, supposing’ – I thought I detected a note of
genuine exasperation in his voice – ‘just supposing you had a chance to file a short message with mine. Would you take it?’