“I vant to vork for the revolution.”

“Why?”.

“Because I believe ‘U.S. government’ is another vord for ‘Mafia.’ They take labor of vorking people and use money to support dictators. I believe in equality.”

“Come in, young man. Lets talk awhile.”

Ragen followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

“Where are you from?” Bottorf asked.

“Yugoslavia.”

“I thought you were a Slav. Of course we will have to check you out, but I see no reason why you cannot join us to help our cause.”

“I vould like to go to Cuba someday,” Ragen said. “I have great admiration for Dr. Castro. He took band of rebel vorkers from sugar-cane fields into hills and created revolution. Now all people in Cuba are equal.”

They spoke for a while and Bottorf invited him to attend the meeting of the local communist cell that afternoon.

“Is here?” Ragen asked.

“No. Its near Westerville. You can follow me in your car.”

Ragen followed Karl Bottorf to a wealthy-looking neighborhood. Ragen was disappointed. He had expected it to be in the slums.

He was introduced as “the Yugoslavian” to several nondescript people, and sat in the back to observe the meeting. But as the speakers droned on in abstractions and slogans, his mind wandered. He struggled to stay awake for a while, but finally he gave in. Just a short cat nap, and he would be alert again. He had found his people. This was what he had always wanted to be part of, the peoples struggle against the oppressive capitalist system. His head nodded …

Arthur sat up straight, alert, on edge. He had observed just the last part of Ragen s trip and had become fascinated watching Ragen follow the other car. But now he was amazed that such a bright fellow should be taken in by all this. Communism indeed! He had a good mind to get up and tell these mindless robots that the Soviet Union was nothing more than a monolithic dictatorship that had never turned power over to the people. Capitalism was the system that had brought freedom of conscience and opportunity to people all over the world in a way that communism could never hope to. So inconsistent was the Yugoslavian that he would rob banks, live off the fruits of narcotics traffic and yet convince himself that he was involved in the liberation of the people.

Arthur stood up, gave the entire assembly a withering glance and, in an even, unemotional tone, said, “Balderdash.” The others turned and stared in astonishment as he left.

He found the car and sat there for a few moments. He hated to drive on the right-hand side of the road. But try as he might, he couldn’t reach anyone to come and take the car. “Damn these damnable mix-up times!” he said. Slowly he eased himself behind the wheel, and craning his neck to see the center line, he pulled away from the curb. He drove tensely at twenty miles an hour.