She was shaking her head. "Oh, no. A group I belong to. Very interesting. We're to be addressed by an American journalist."
Suddenly he was all but sober.
He tried to smooth over the short space of silence his surprise had precipitated. "An American journalist? Under government auspices?"
"Hardly." She smiled at him over her glass of Pilsen. "I forget," she said. "If you're from Moscow, you probably aren't aware of how open things are here in Prague. A whiff of fresh air."
"I don't understand. Is this group of yours, ah, illegal?"
She shrugged impatiently. "Oh, of course not. Don't be silly. We gather to hear various speakers, to discuss world affairs. That sort of thing. Oh, of course, theoretically it's illegal, but for that matter even the head of the Skoda plant attended last week. It's only for the more advanced intellectuals, of course. Very advanced. But, for that matter, I know a dozen or so Party members, both Czech and Russian, who attend."
"But an American journalist? What's he doing in the country? Is he accredited?"
"No, no. You misunderstand. He entered as a tourist, came across some Prague newspapermen and as an upshot he's to give a talk on freedom of the press."
"I see," Simonov said.
She was impatient with him. "You don't understand at all. See here, why don't you come along tonight? I'm sure I can get you in."