rave".

It was then that their enunciation and the silent murder of
the letter "T" came back to me. Like the Cockney unable
to say "h" in elocution class, their confusion was furthered
by knowing only one word for "final resting place." My
own use of grave was causing them grave concern.

They were looking curiously at one another. I doubt if they
had ever heard North American accented English. I might
have been their first authentic "American," short of a
simulated war games exercise. Certainly, though all cities
are polyglots, I had never seen two so authentically attired
citizens of "The People's Republic."

It was an amusing moment, life with the sang-froid
of the unspoken.

I gave them their dues. They had their directions. They
pranced off smartly and melted into the morning traffic.

And I thought of trying to explain that Marx, at least
in unofficial circles here, is not considered with their same
deference.

"I'm sorry if this jars with what you've been told, Wu."

"And no, this is not counter-revolutionary lies. The truth is,
Mr. Han, Marx was ... a chiseler. He died owing nearly
every wage earner in The Village."

Talk of irony and final verdicts. How one who numbers
among the age's savants could so brazenly ignore such hard
economic fact seemed incredible to me. Skulduggery aside,
such a thing, even if only partially true, would be scant
tribute to the fabled man. I thought of the British
Museum's collection of his writings, then remembered it
mentioned nothing of this fact. Glowing tributes, of course,
but no unofficial flack.

And I thought of the possibility of a third world war being,
in part, based on this development. Marx's embitterment,
that is his inability to pay even the most modest debt
through his writing. And should there ever come another
global catastrophe, I imagined how Marx would extend his
wrath.

At the doctrine of dialectic materialism's doorstep. Between
the incompatibility of work and her governing classes.
Exportable revolution. The decadent bourgeoisie struggling
to maintain their stranglehold on comfort. The Gospel
completely according to Karl.

That would be without considering the question of Marx's
alleged incest with his daughter. But, then, most everything
in the Marx story is "alleged." The alleged politics of
confrontation. The alleged incompatibility of those who t