oara, Craiova, Bucharest, Rusçuk, Varna, Stara Zagora, Sofia, Galacs, and Iai. The campaign’s success, however, was difficult to evaluate and there was no attempt to repeat it. During the economic crisis of the thirties, the directors of the fairs did what they could to promote them. In 1929, for example, the Prague Sample Fairs participated in the selection of Miss Czechoslovakia, while the Trade Fair Palace hosted concerts as well as an exhibition of tsarist treasures.
During World War II, in 1941, the buildings of the trade fair grounds were occupied by the Geheime Staatspolizei — Staatspolizeistelle Prag, aka the Gestapo. Later, the Zentralstelle für jüdische Auswanderung, or Central Office for Jewish Emigration, took over several pavilions. Prague’s Jewish inhabitants were sent from this site to their death in the concentration camps. Only one document survives documenting this history, referring to a few dozen discarded chairs “broken by Jews.” In 1942, Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels issued an order canceling all trade fairs on the territory of the German Reich. After the war, the Prague Sample Fairs were restored for a short period. The last one was opened on May 19, 1951, by then Prime Minister Antonín Zápotocký. Reportedly 122 special trains arrived in Prague with 208 shock workers. After that, the fairs were abolished.
The brief history we have assembled here demonstrates that there is but one conclusion we can draw from the past: the future, again, will be difficult. It seems the only thing we can be sure of is that it will be just as unpredictable as the past. If then our bank and our system of society are to exist in more or less approximately the same form as we know them today, it is in our opinion very likely that another “jubilee/universal” exhibition will take place in 2091. Certainly there will be societal pressures not to break with three hundred years of tradition. Therefore we would recommend transferring the debts from the 1991 exhibition to a special account established with an eye to a future exhibition in 2091. Given the national character of the three exhibitions in 1791, 1891, and 1991, with the latter linked to the fairgrounds in Stromovka, it can be more or less inferred that any potential future exhibition in 2091 will be held on the same site, i.e., in Stromovka. We therefore propose monitoring all activity in the area up until 2091, since based on our projections, political-commercial activity should increase proportionately as the date approaches. This will give our institution a head start on our competitors and, we hope, allow us to recover our bad debts, albeit with some delay. Our only wish is that the fairgrounds serve as a place of normal business activity and that no portion of the Czech population be deported anywhere in the future. This is unfortunately one of the potential outcomes in our detailed forecast. This potential negative scenario, however, falls outside the framework of analysis of our department and our financial house. In any case, were any negative signals to appear pointing in this direction, our banking house would most likely relocate to some other democratic country and give up on this region of Central Europe.
21. SUKTHANKAR
The last few messages concerning the three-day conference that Dr. Antonín Lukavský was helping to organize reached him too late. His colleague Dr. Kadlecová, who was co-organizing it with him, had insisted on sending him all the messages by electronic mail. Dr. Lukavský was proud of the fact that he had learned to use e-mail at an age when most people retired, but the day before yesterday, when the computer network administrator had begun explaining to him in intricate detail why his computer was working great again, but great in a slightly different way, he got fed up with the whole thing and as a result he didn’t read her message about their colleague from England until now, on the way to the airport, where he was going to pick him up. His name threw Antonín for a loop. Unconsciously he had been expecting an English name, but the name under Basic Information said “Dr. V. S. Sukthankar.” That didn’t strike him as even slightly English. Indian maybe? He read on. Under Position it said “Consultant.” That’s something like chief physician here, Antonín translated in his head. Under Age it said “35.” Pretty young for a chief physician, Antonín thought. You wouldn’t see that here. Nobody under forty would ever be approved, although on the other hand times were changing, even if slowly. Dr. Lukavský got off the bus at the airport and entered the arrivals hall, where he sat down on a bench and quickly wrote in capital letters on the other side of the paper he had used to print the e-maiclass="underline" DR. SUKTHANKAR. Then, paper in hand, he went and joined the usual cluster of people waiting for the passengers to exit the plane. A few minutes later, the passengers from the London flight began streaming by. He counted around thirty, and not one of them responded to his sign. It must have been only half full, Antonín concluded, looking around. Not only weren’t there many passengers, so he couldn’t have overlooked him, but he didn’t see anyone who looked even remotely Indian. Just what I needed, Antonín thought. Here I am drowning in work and he misses the plane. Now I’ll have to drag myself out here again later. Lucky for me I’m retired and only work quarter-time. I’ll just take next week off and make up for all the hours of sleep I lost. Still. Antonín wasn’t pleased. He walked around the arrivals hall a little while longer, then headed back outside. He waited for the next bus and rode back to his office. He had just brewed a cup of his favorite linden tea when the telephone rang. It was Dr. Kadlecová on the other end, telling him Dr. Sukthankar had just called from the airport. He’d had some problems with customs and was just leaving now for the pensione they had booked for him. The news didn’t improve Antonín’s mood, but he agreed to pick Dr. Sukthankar up at the pensione at five P.M.
A few minutes after five, Antonín entered a narrow entryway with a reception desk on one side and a few high-backed armchairs on the other. An unobtrusive man lifted himself from one of them and introduced himself in English as Dr. Sukthankar. Antonín had been expecting to have problems with his English, so he was pleased to discover that he understood every word. Dr. Sukthankar’s pronunciation was textbook English. In fact the only thing conspicuous about him was his thick blue-black hair. He expressed the usual request of every foreigner to take a walk around Prague, and since that was exactly what Antonín had expected, he readily took on the role of guide. By the time they reached the Old Town, he had learned that Dr. Sukthankar had been detained at the airport, subjected to a thorough search, had his suitcase and ID taken away, and had been locked in a room with no windows for nearly half an hour. Before Antonín could compose the questions he wanted to ask in comprehensible English, Dr. Sukthankar beat him to the punch: