“It’s eight thousand dollars in American currency, and we wish to contribute it as a token of our belief in the regime and our desire to support it. I’ll tell my son what I have said so he may indicate his concurrence.” He turned to me. “Alex, I’m telling them that we donate our cache of eight thousand dollars to the regime. If you agree, please nod at them.”
I did so, first at Stritar and then at Zov. But if I know anything about men’s faces, having seen the look they exchanged as Wolfe spoke, all the regime would ever see of that eight grand wouldn’t get the windows washed in that one room. I took in their expressions as Wolfe proceeded to furnish in careful detail the location of the cache, and I’ll bet I had them right. Zov was thinking: It ought to be an even split. I brought them here. Stritar was thinking: Ten per cent is enough for Zov. He’s lucky to be in on it at all.
Wolfe went on, “Of course that amount is nothing, it’s merely a gesture, but we wish to make it. When we get back to America we’ll see what we can do. You suggested our going to Belgrade, but that doesn’t appeal to us. Our interest centers in the people of these mountains, and even under the present progressive regime they seem to be a little neglected. Also I like to deal with men I have met, men I know. From America I would rather be in touch with you than with names in Belgrade that mean nothing to me personally. I suppose you regard that as a bourgeois sentiment.”
“Well.” Stritar considered it. “It’s human.”
Wolfe looked apologetic. “I admit I have acquired some bourgeois habits of thought during my years in America, and that is regrettable. I am of peasant origin. The peasant is out of date, and the bourgeois is doomed. You and your kind represent the future, and my son wants to be a part of the future. I intend to teach him Serbo-Croat, and in time, when our affairs in America have been properly arranged, he hopes to return here for good. Meanwhile I shall communicate with you, and you can tell me now if you have any suggestions how we can be of use.”
“We need friends in America,” Stritar said.
“Naturally. You need friends everywhere. We will do what we can in that direction. Would you advise us to join the Communist Party of the United States and try to influence them in your favor?”
“Good God, no.” Stritar was contemptuous. “They belong to Moscow, body and soul, and they’re a nest of slimy vermin. Where do you live in America?”
“In Philadelphia.”
“Where is that?”