Judgment on Deltchev Read Free

mean that you would like me to give my stuff to you for submission to the censorship and onward transmission. Is that it?’
    He did not reply for a moment or two and began to rock slowly on the back legs of his chair. ‘Mr Foster, these are not ordinary times here in this country,’ he said.
    I waited. His glasses, reflecting the light of the desk lamp, winked steadily as he rocked. He went on, ‘As I understand it, your articles may contain satirical matter hostile and derogatory to this regime.’
    ‘They might do so, yes.’
    He shook his head solemnly. ‘I can tell you now, Mr Foster. That’s out. Right out.’
    ‘Well, we’ll see.’
    ‘Didn’t they warn you at head office that things might be difficult here?’
    I smiled amiably. ‘They said that you might be, Mr Pashik.’
    He stopped rocking. ‘Oh now, Mr Foster, please. You don’t at all understand. The censorship is very powerful here. For writing matter antagonistic to the People’s Party regime you would be liable under the February decrees to imprisonment and a heavy fine.’
    ‘Yes, but only liable.’
    ‘I agree. In your case there would naturally be no question of enforcing the decree, but your permit for the trial would certainly be cancelled and you would have a very disagreeable interview with the police.’
    ‘I could make an article out of that, too.’
    His lips tightened. ‘Obviously your papers would beconfiscated, Mr Foster. If it amuses you to write articles so that they may be confiscated, that is your affair. I am concerned with practical newspaper work.’
    He had me there; I was not. But I felt that at the moment he was not either. I thought he was trying to show me how helpless I should be without him. I said, as calmly as I could, ‘Very well, you’re the paper’s representative here and you tell me it’s very difficult. I understand. Now, how do we get over the difficulty?’
    I had to wait while he lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the end of it like a bad actor pretending to think. ‘You could try going down into Greece over Saturday night and Sunday and sending your work from there.’ He blew some more smoke. ‘Of course, the police would guess what you were attempting. An American on a Chicago paper tried it.’
    ‘Yes?’
    Now he looked directly at me. ‘He just wasted a lot of time, Mr Foster. Of course he had no written matter when they searched him at the frontier; it was memorized; but they made difficulties about his visa, took his passport away to get it fixed, and kept him at the frontier station for a week. He had a very uncomfortable time.’
    ‘I see. Well, now you’ve told me how it can’t be done, what’s the answer?’
    He was rocking again. ‘There is no answer, Mr Foster. Other ways have been tried. The crews of foreign airliners were used as couriers for a while, but no longer. It is too dangerous for them. I have tried to make all this clear to the head office, but what is real here does not seem so in New York and London.’
    ‘In fact, you think it’s a great waste of time my being here at all.’
    ‘No, I do not say that.’
    ‘In effect you say it.’
    ‘You misunderstand me. I am in favour of these articles. This trial is
dramatisch
 … er—’ He broke off, feeling for the word.
    ‘Theatrical?’
    ‘Yes, theatrical. Thank you. The trial of a political leader on ideological grounds is most theatrical to Western ways of thinking. So I say that to have a distinguished playwright, such as you, Mr Foster, write matter about the Deltchev trial is a very cute editorial idea. I am myself looking forward to reading the series. But –’ he leaned forward impressively – ‘you cannot write it here and send or take it out of the country; that is, not unless you paraphrase the Propaganda Ministry’s official matter and get every page stamped by the censorship. You must resign yourself to that.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘See the trial, Mr Foster, memorize’ – he stabbed his forehead