Windmills of the Gods

When Pastemak had come to work for Groza, he had wondered about the man’s family. Groza would never speak of them, but the officer who had arranged’for Pastemak to meet Groza told him the story.

“Groza was betrayed. The Securitate picked him up and tortured him for five days. They promised to free him if he would give . them the names of his associates in the underground. He wouldn’t talk. They arrested his wife and his fourteenyear-old daughter and brought them to the interrogation room. Groza was given a choice: talk or watch them die. It was the hardest decision any man ever had to make. It was the lives of his beloved wife and child against the lives of hundreds of people who believed in him.” The man paused, then went on more slowly. “I think in the end what made Groza decide the way he did was that he was convinced he and his family were going to be killed anyway. He refused to give them the names. The guards strapped him in a chair and forced him to watch his wife and daughter being tortured until they died.”

“How he must hate them!”

The officer looked into Ley Pastemak’s eyes and said, “The most important thing for you to understand is that Marin Groza does not want to return to Remania to seek vengeance. He wants to go’back to free his people. He wants to make certain that such things can never again happen.”

Ley Pastemak had been with Groza from that day on, and the more time he spent with the revolutionary, the more he came to love him. Now he would have to decide whether to give up his return to Israel and go to Remania with Groza.

PAsTERNAK was WALKING down the hallway that evening, and as he passed Marin Groza’s bedroom door he heard the familiar screams of pain ring but. So It’s Friday, Pastemak thought; Marin Groza’s day of penance.

Every Friday night the halls of the villa resounded with Groza’s screams. That was the day of the week when Groza would shut himself in his room and whip himself mercilessly, until his blood flowed, even though no amount of self-inflicted pain would ‘ever eradicate the terrible guilt that consumed him. Each time he felt the lash of the whip, he would see his wife and daughter screaming for help. And he would cry out, “I’m sorry! I’ll talk. Oh, God, please let me talk. .

..”

THE telephone call came ten days after Harry Lantz’s body was found. The Controller was in the middle of a staff meeting in the conference room when the intercom buzzer sounded. “I know you asked not to be disturbed, sir, but there’s a Miss Neusa Mufiez calling from Buenos Aires. It sounds urgent. I told her-“

“It’s all right.” He kept his emotions under tight control. “I’ll take the call in my private office.” He went into his office and locked the door. “Hello. Is this Miss Mufiez?”

“Yeah. I got a message for you from Angel. He din’ like the nosy messenger you sent.”

The Controller chose his words carefully. “I’m sorry. But we would still like Angel to go ahead. Would that be possible?”

“Yeah. He say he wanna do it.”

“Excellent. How shall I arrange his advance?”

The woman laughed. “Angel, he don’ need no advance. Nobody cheats Angel.” Somehow the words were chilling. “When the job is finished, he say you put the money in-Wait a minute. I got it wrote down. Here it is-the State Bank in Zurich. I think That’s someplace in Switzerland.” She really did sound like a moron.

“I’ll need the account number.”

“Oh, yeah. Hol’ on. I got it here somewhere.” He heard the rustle of papers, and finally she was back on the telephone. “Here it is. j three four nine zero seven seven.”

“How soon can he handle the matter?”

“When he’s ready, sehor. Angel say you’ll know when I ees done. You’ll read ‘bout it in the newspapers.”

“Very well. I’m going to give you my private telephone number in case Angel needs to reach me.”

He gave it to her slowly.

Thilisi, Russia. The meeting was being held in an isolated dacha bordering on the Kura River.

The chairman said, “Two urgent matters have arisen. The first is good news. The Controller has had word from Angel. The contract is moving forward.”

“That’s very good news indeed!” Freyr exclaimed. “What’s the bad news?”

“I’m afraid it concerns the Presiden’s candidate for the ambassadorship to Remania, but the situation can be handled… .”

IT was difficult for Mary Ashley to keep her mind on her class. Too much had changed. The Junction City newspaper had carried a feature story on her rejection of the ambassadorship to Remania, and the fact that she had declined the Presiden’s offer had made the story even bigger than if she had accepted it. In the eyes of the community and her students she had become a celebrity. It was a heady feeling.

Remania, she mused. Welcome to Remania, Madam Ambassador. Your limousine is here to drive you to your embassy. Her embassy. She had been invited to live in Bucharest, one of the most exciting capitals of the world, reporting to the President, being in the center of his people-to-people concept. I could have been a part of history.

Mary was roused from her reverie by the sound of the bell. Class was over. Time to go home and,change. Edward was taking her out to the country club for dinner. As befitted an almost ambassador.

IT was late by the time Edward and Mary arrived at the country club There was only a sprinkling of guests’left in the dining room. They stared, watching as Mary sat down, and whispered to one, another.

Edward looked at his wife and felt guilty. He was responsible for her turning down the Presiden’s offer, and his reasons were valid. But there’s more to it than that, Edward admitted to himself I was jealous. I reacted like a spoiled brat. What would have happened if the President had made me an offer like that? I’d probably have jumped at it. All I could think of was that I wanted Mary to stay home and take care of me and the kids.