The Gladiator

Gianfranco said something that should have scalded the gray tabby trotting down the street. But it just kept going-cats were tough beasts. Then Gianfranco said, "Whoever thinks so is nuts. We sit. We play. We talk. That's it."

"You don't talk about politics?" A

"Of course not. The guys who play the railroad game talk about railroads. Some of them build model railroads, but I don't think that's interesting. The other guys talk about soccer-we all do that sometimes, 'cause soccer's important. And the others go on about dragons and ogres and using zoning laws to get ores out of a pass they need to go through and stuff like that."

"Zoning laws?" A

Gianfranco only shrugged again. "I don't know, not really. Like I said, I don't play that game much. Stuff like that, though. Politics?" What he said about politics was even hotter than anything he'd come out with before. He went on, "Why don't you come and see for yourself what we're up to? Then you won't have to listen to nonsense." That wasn't exactly what he called it.

"All right, I will," A

"You can go by yourself if you want to. It's a shop. It's looking for customers," Gianfranco answered. "People might talk to you more if you come in with somebody they know. It's like a restaurant or a bar-it has regulars."

She nodded. "Fair enough. Will you take me this afternoon, then?"

"Why not?" he said. "I'm going over there. I've got to finish Carlo off-you just see if I don't. Meet me at the entrance right after classes get out."

"I will. Grazie, Gianfranco. The sooner we get this settled, the better off and the happier everybody will be."

"See you then," Gianfranco said. By that time, they'd just about got to school. He hurried on ahead of A

A

Because she was curious about The Gladiator, she didn't pay as much attention in class as usual. She messed up a Russian verb conjugation that she knew in her sleep. Comrade Montefusco clucked and wrote what was probably a black mark in the roll book. She almost complained, but what could she complain about? Even if she knew better, she did make the mistake.

She kept doing silly little things like that all day long. She wondered if Gianfranco was doing the same thing. From what she'd heard, he did that kind of stuff all the time, so how was anybody supposed to tell? She didn't, though. Whenever she fouled up, her teachers looked surprised. She kept on being surprised herself, not that it did her any good.

After what seemed like forever, the dismissal bell rang. No after-school meetings today. She could just go. Gianfranco was waiting when she got outside. "You ready?" he asked.

She laughed at him. He really was eager as a puppy. "What would you do if I told you no?" she teased.

He just shrugged one more time. "I'd go by myself, that's what."

So there, A

She liked the Galleria del Popolo. You could find almost anything there-when you could find anything at all, that is.

The buildings that housed the shops were a couple of hundred years old. They might not have been as efficient as the Stalin-gothic blocks of flats that dominated Milan 's skyline along with the Duomo, but they were prettier.

Or was that a counterrevolutionary thought? They'd been built long before the Communist takeover of Italy. If you liked them more than buildings that went up after the takeover, did that make you a reactionary? Could you get in trouble if someone found out you did? She hadn't said anything to Gianfranco. She didn't intend to, either. He seemed harmless, but you never could know for sure who reported to the Security Police.

"Here we are." He pointed.

THE GLADIATOR. The sign wasn't too gaudy. The front window also showed a painting of a man in Roman-style armor holding a sword. Under his feet, smaller letters said, BOOKS AND GAMES AND THINGS TO MAKE YOU THINK. She hadn't expected that. "Well, take me in," she told Gianfranco. He nodded and did.

"Hey, Gianfranco!" called the man behind the counter. "Come sta?"

"I'm fine, Eduardo. How are you?" Gianfranco said. "This is my friend, A

"Ciao, A

Gianfranco blushed like a schoolgirl. That made A

The Gladiator also sold miniatures: soldiers and locomotives and soccer players made of lead or plastic. Some were already painted, others plain-you could buy paints, too, in tiny bottles, and hair-thin brushes with which to apply them.

And there were books about costumes from every period from Babylon to now. There were books about military campaigns. There were soccer encyclopedias. There were books about railroads, and about what stock markets had been like when there were stock markets.

"This is quite a place." A

"You'd better believe it." Gianfranco had no doubts. He sounded as proud as if The Gladiator belonged to him. "Is Carlo here yet?" he asked Eduardo.

"No, but I don't think he'll be long," the older man-he had to be close to thirty-said.

"He's not as bold as he was yesterday, though," Gianfranco boasted. "'Loss leader,' was it? He found out!"

"He wasn't very happy when he headed for home. I will say that," Eduardo answered.

Gianfranco set money on the counter. "I'm going to go in there and set up the game," he said. When Eduardo nodded, he went into the back room.

That left A

She shook her head. "No, grazie, I don't think so. I just wanted to see what it was like. I've heard Gianfranco talk about it a lot. Our families share a kitchen-you know how it is."

"Oh, sure. Who doesn't?" Eduardo replied. "Tt shouldn't be that way, but it is, and what can you do about it?"

He had nerve, finding anything wrong with the way the world worked with somebody he'd just met. For all he knew, A

"What do you think?"

"I've never seen anything like it," A