The Third Reich

THE CONVENTION

I decided to go with Conrad to the convention just to watch. The first few days were boring, and although I occasionally did some interpreting for my German, French, and English colleagues, I es-caped as soon as I was free and spent the rest of the time taking long walks around Paris. For better or for worse, all the papers and speeches were delivered, all the games were played, and all the plans for a European Federation of players were sketched out and deliberated on. For my part, I came to the conclusion that eighty percent of the speakers needed psychiatric help. As consolation, I kept reminding myself that they were harmless until finally I was convinced, for lack of a better option. The main attraction was the arrival of Rex Douglas and the Americans. Rex is a guy in his for-ties, tall, strong, with thick, glossy brown hair (does he use pomade? hard to say), who radiates energy wherever he goes. It might be said that he was the undisputed star of the convention and the driving force behind every idea hatched, no matter how random or stupid. As for me, I chose not to greet him, though it would be closer to the truth to say that I chose not to make the effort to approach him, permanently surrounded as he was by a cloud of organizers and admirers. The day of his arrival, Conrad exchanged a few words with him, and every night at Jean-Marc’s house, where we were staying, all he talked about was how interesting and intelligent Rex was. Apparently Rex even played a round of Apocalypse, the new game just launched by his publishing house, but that evening I wasn’t there and I didn’t see him. My chance came on the second-to-last day of the convention. Rex was standing with a group of Germans and Italians and I was just fifteen feet away, at the Stuttgart group’s booth, when I heard my name being called. This is Udo Berger, our German champion. When I came over, the others stepped aside, and there I was, face-to-face with Rex Douglas. I tried to say something, but the only words I could get out were gar-bled and incoherent. Rex shook my hand. He didn’t remember our brief correspondence, or maybe he preferred not to make it public. He turned straight back to his conversation with someone from the Cologne group and I stood there for an instant, listening, with my eyes half-closed. They were talking about Third Reich and the strategies to be used with Beyma’s new variants. At the convention they were playing Third Reich and I hadn’t even gone for a stroll around the games area! By what they said, I inferred that the guy from Cologne was playing the German side and that the war had reached a stalemate.

“That’s good for you,” said Rex Douglas brusquely.

“Yes, if we hold on to what we’ve won, which won’t be easy,” said the guy from Cologne.

The others nodded. Praises were sung of a French player who was leading the team playing the USSR, and immediately they began to make plans for the dinner that night, another “brother-hood banquet,” like all the rest. Unnoticed, I slipped away from the group. I went back to the Stuttgart booth, which was empty except for the projects sponsored by Conrad, and I straightened it up a little, adjusting a magazine here, a game there, and left the convention hall without a sound.