“Interesting,” Emma said. “And do you?”
Chairs were produced for us. A few inches of space was made at the table for Ryan to sit beside Emma. I was squished in between two young men in black, both of whom smelled unwashed. Now I had a chance to look around the table, I noticed that the company was composed entirely of young, earnest-faced men in black, with the exception of Emma and one equally dark and severelooking young woman. This latter was staring at me now, so intensely that I felt uncomfortable.
“Who are these people?” I heard her ask the man beside her. “Look at them. They're not one of us. What are they doing here?”
“Ryan's a friend of Emma's. He used to come to meetings,” I heard the man reply in a low voice, also glancing my way. “I don't know who she is.”
“So I hear you've just come from Europe, Emma darling,” Ryan said. “What news?”
“A very successful year, so I'm told,” Emma said. “Our Italian and Baltic comrades have been very busy.”
“They have dealt more stunning blows for democracy over there following last year's successful coup,” the rather good-looking man beside her added.
“Death to all tyrants,” one of the unwashed young men beside me muttered.
“So what have these blows for democracy achieved, do you think?” Ryan asked. “Are the Italian peasants now living like Medicis?” He reached across, grabbed himself a tall glass mug in a raffia case and poured himself tea from a curiously shaped teapot in the middle of the table. I was still doing splendidly on the effects of champagne and had no wish to follow suit.
Emma didn't even smile at the quip. In fact, none of these people looked as if they smiled at all. “To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what we've achieved,” Emma said. “Frankly, I question whether the masses are ready to take control in many of these countries. As long as they go on breeding like rabbits, I don't see much hope.” She paused to sip tea. “I met one young woman who had just had her tenth child, and she was younger than me. When I questioned her about it, she said it was God's will.‘Rubbish,’ I replied,‘it was the will of some man who can't keep his pants buttoned up.’” She looked around at us with intensity in those dark eyes. “This is our next big crusade, comrades. How do we make people take control over their own bodies? How can women ever achieve equality if they can't stop having children all the time?”
“Is that what you think we should be doing over here?” the young woman asked. “Not try to bring down the rich until the poor can stop having children? I fear we have a long task ahead of us. I know. I come from an Italian family. Tell the Italians not to have bambinos and they'd rather die.”
“She's right, Emma,” one of the unwashed males chimed in. “The average laborer doesn't see children as a liability, but an asset—making sure someone is there to take care of them in their old age.”
“I didn't say no children at all,” Emma replied. “Of course there must be children if the human race is to continue. My point is that there do not have to be ten or twelve children anymore. As medicine advances, more children will live to grow up. If a woman has three or four children in her life, and those by choice, when she wants them, think how productive she could be to the cause. She could be a full member of society, protesting, voting, making sure laws are carried out fairly. That is my aim.”
“And wonderful it is too, Emma,” Ryan said, taking her hand and kissing it.
“But what of the cause?” the young woman demanded. “You're not going to abandon the cause, are you?”
“I'm not abandoning any causes,” Emma replied sharply. “In fact I aim to stir up as much trouble as possible for the rest of my life. It's just that I have started to question whether our aim should continue to be to bring down without the means to build up again. Trade unions, birth control, equal rights for women—those should be our aims here in America.”
“And what about tyrants?” the girl asked. “Surely it is our sworn duty to bring equality to the people, and to make filthy millionaires pay for their greed.”
“Ryan would be happy to join you in that cause, wouldn't you, Ryan?” The speaker was yet another haunted-looking young man in die darkness at the far end of the table. He was wearing the same uniform black worker's cap and a large black jumper, even though the heat in the saloon was uncomfortable.
“Oh, Leon. I didn't notice you. What are you doing here?” Ryan asked.
“Just passing through, like Emma,” Leon said. “I didn't expect to see you here.”
“Nor I you. Exactly what cause should I be happy to join?”
“Making millionaires pay for their sins—or at least a certain millionaire.”
Ryan looked amused. “Why do you say that?”