Windmills of the Gods

“That sounds fine,” Mary said.

The drive from the airport to the city was fascinating. They drove on a heavily traveled two-lane highway, but every few miles the traffic would be held up by plodding Gypsy carts. On both sides of the highway were modern factories next to ancient huts. The car passed farm after farm, with women working in the fields, colorful bandannas knotted around their heads. They drove by an ominous blue-and-gray building just off the main highway.

“What is that?” Mary asked.

Florian grimaced. “The Ivan Stelian Prison. That is where they put anyone who disagrees with the Remanian government.”

At last they reached the center of Bucharest, which was very beautiful. There were parks and monuments and fountains everywhere one looked. Mary remembered her grandfather saying, “Bucharest is a miniature Paris, Mary. They even have a replica of the Eiffel Tower.” And there it was. She was in the homeland of her forefathers.

The streets were crowded with people and streetcars, and the limousine had to honk its way through the traffic.

“The residence is just ahead,” Colonel McKinney said as the car turned into a small tree-lined street.

The ambassador’s residence was a large and beautiful oldfashioned three-story house surrounded by lovely grounds. The staff was lined up outside, waiting to welcome Mary.

jerry Davis made the introductions. “Mihai, your butler; Rosica, your housekeeper; Cosma, your chef; and Delia and Carmen, your maids.”

Mary moved down the line receiving their bows and curtsies. They all seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She took a deep breath. “Bunaziua. Mulfumesc. Nu vorbesc-” Every bit of Remanian she had learned flew out of her head. She stared at them helplessly.

Mihai, the butler, bowed. “We all speak English, ma’am. We welcome you and shall be happy to serve your every need.”

Mary sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

“Let me show you around,” jerry Davis said.

On the ground floor there was a library, a music room, a living room, a large dining room, a kitchen, and a pantry. A terrace ran the length of the building outside the dining room, facing a large park. At the rear of the house was an indoor swimming pool.

“Our own swimming pool!” Tim exclaimed. “Can I go swimming?”

“Later, darling. Let’s get settled in first.”

The pidce de rdsistance was the ballroom, built near the garden. It was enormous. Glistening Baccarat sconces lined the walls, which were covered with flocked paper.

jerry Davis said, “This is where the embassy parties are given. Watch this.” He pressed a switch on the wall. There was a gnding noise, and the ceiling began to split in the center, opening up until the sky became visible. “It can also be operated manually.”

“Hey, That’s neatly” Beth exclaimed.

“It’s called the Ambassador’s Folly,” jerry explained. “It’s too hot to keep open in the summer and too cold in the winter. We use it in April and September.” As the cold air started to descend, he pressed the switch and the ceiling closed.

They followed him upstairs to a large central hall that led to the bedrooms.

“The third floor has servants’ quarters,” jerry continued. “In., the basement is a wine cellar.”

“It’s-It’s enormous,” Mary said.

“Which is my room?” Beth asked.

“You and Tim can decide that between yourselves.”

“You can have this one,” Tim offered. “It’s frilly. Girls like frilly things.”

The master bedroom was lovely, with a queen-size bed with a goose-down comforter, two couches before a fireplace, a dressing table, and a wonderful view of the garden. Mary was so exhausted she could hardly wait to get into bed.

THE American embassy in Bucharest is a white, semi-Gothic two-story building with. an iron gate in front. The entrance is guarded by a marine officer, and a second marine sits inside a security booth at the side of the gate.

Inside, the lobby isornate. It has a marble floor, two closed circuit television sets at a desk guarded by a marine, and a fireplace. The corridors are lined with portraits of U.S. Presidents. A winding staircase leads to the second floor, where a conference room and offices are located.

The guard was waiting for Mary at the desk. “Good morning, Madam Ambassador. I’m Sergeant Hughes. They call me Gunny. They’re waiting for you upstairs. I’ll escort you there.”

“Thank you, Gunny.” Mary followed him upstairs to a reception room, where a middle-aged woman was sitting behind a desk.

She rose. “Good morning, Madam Ambassador. I’m Dorothy Stone, your secretary.”

“How do you do.”

Dorothy said, “I’m afraid you have quite a crowd in there.”

She opened the door, and Mary walked into the room. There were nine people seated around a large conference table. They rose as Mary entered. They were all staring at her, and she felt a wave of animosity that was almost palpable. The first person she saw was Mike Slade.

“I see you got here safely,” Mike said. “Let me introduce you to your department heads. This is Lucas Janklow, administrative consul; Eddie Maltz, political consul; Patricia Hatfield, your economic consul; David Wallace, head of administration; Ted Thompson, agriculture. You’ve met jerry Davis, your public affairs consul. This is David Victor, commerce consul, and you already know Colonel Bill McKinney.”

“Please be seated,” Mary said. She sat at the head of the table and surveyed the group. Hostility comes in all sizes and shapes, Mary thought. It’s going to take time to sort them out.