Fall 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 4 Nonfiction |

Some Snapshots from the Soviet Zone

I The dismal Danes had lost our bags … cartons of books … gifts to our hosts. A darling blond "girl scout" in an SAS coat had assured us we might leave any unessential burdens at the airport while we rested overnight in our Copenhagen hotel. "It will be sent on," she said. "Why carry it back and forth to your rooms?" Because it will be lost, I did not answer. So we entrusted a dozen boxes of books to some airport storeroom. Muriel Murphy and William Gaddis threw in a couple of suitcases they would therefore not see for a while. British Air had already delayed Harrison Salisbury's London luggage, so he missed the opportunity to have it mislaid in Stockholm. Since our unnecessaries were a constant visual comfort, even when not in use, neither my wife Mary nor I would let go of a single handle. The books, however, were only books, and would not mind the cold of collective storage. Let them seek the safety of the Swedes. The consequence of this fallacious reasoning was that many

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