‘Yes.’
‘What did you talk about?’
I gave him the gist of our conversation in front of the interpreter. His eyes kept glancing down to the paper on his desk and I knew that he was checking my account with the interpreter’s report. When I had finished he nodded as though satisfied. ‘You speak our language very well, pan Parrel. Where did you learn?’
‘In the air force,’ I answered. ‘I find languages come quite easily to me and I was stationed with Tucek’s Czech squadron for several months.’
He smiled. ‘But on Wednesday, when you see Tucek, you do not speak any language but English. Why?’ The question was barked at me suddenly and his little button eyes were fixed on mine. ‘Why do you lie and make it necessary for an interpreter to be found?’
‘I didn’t lie,’ I answered hotly. ‘It was Tucek who said I spoke nothing but English.’
‘Why?’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘How should I know? Probably he felt it was not very nice to talk to an old friend in front of a spy.’ I was speaking in English now and I saw him straining to translate.
‘Are you sure you do not come with a message to him?’ The fact that he was now speaking haltingly in English, together with the negative phrasing of the question made it clear that he had nothing definite against me.
‘What message could I bring him?’ I asked. ‘I hadn’t seen him for over ten years.’