Pavel Kohout - The Widow Killer

“What’s happening here?”

The corporal lowered his weapon and clicked his heels.

“Raid on the Czech police.”

“When did it start?”

“Once the workday was under way.”

Buback’s throat closed up. Grete’s nightmare!

“Come on,” he shouted at his companions. “Quickly! To Kav í Hory!”

He kept running, even when he rattled and gasped for breath and his blood threatened to burst his arteries; he swerved from street to street, always heading downward, seeing no one behind him, meeting no one, and still in the back of his mind loomed the fear that they would catch him. Idiot, I’m an idiot! The words echoed in his ears, idiot, idiot, IDIOT!

Why didn’t the whore’s walk tip him off, that strange walk, too slow for such a young woman; why didn’t the location of the house, that street ending in a steep craggy slope, make him think twice; why didn’t the unlocked door and the way she called “come in” warn him off?

Half a dozen chickens in his roaster had spoiled him, made him overconfident; without a moment’s hesitation he’d walked in, convinced this would be the easiest catch of all — and meanwhile he’d practically put his head under the blade!

When he finally looked into her face from the kitchen threshold, he realized immediately she’d been waiting for him, that she must have known, that she’d led him here TO BE TRAPPED! Then it happened again: He froze, seized up, and turned to stone in the kitchen doorway, knowing their strong hands were about to grab him.

He knew that DEATH HAD COME for him, and just like the last time, when the grenades had fallen all around him, he felt anger seeping into his fear. IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED, MOTHER?

Then a miracle happened.

Fear crept into her eyes, the sort he was used to seeing.

Their plan had clearly gone wrong….

“He’s here,” she screamed, “he’s here! Where are you?”

Instantly he came to, pulled his knife from the sheath, and sprang at her.

AT LEAST I’lL GET YOU!

She did better than he had counted on. As she fled around the table, she grabbed a porcelain vase with flowers in it and hurled it at the window with such force that it broke through both the inside and outside panes.

so THEY’RE WAITING OUTSIDE!

Before he dealt with them he had to silence her. Otherwise he wouldn’t be safe for long.

Don’t let her distract you! He leaped back to the kitchen doors, cutting off her escape, and stabbed her in the back. She fell instantly as if cut down.

ONE DOWN!

His brain was still working. From the kitchen door he spied a dark alcove under the stairs and nipped into it a fraction of a second before someone ran in off the street.

A moment later he spied the back of a man bent over the woman. The man’s right hand curled round a pistol. Time for a risky move.

As he jumped he swung wide and buried the long knife up to the hilt beneath the man’s left shoulder blade.

The other twisted around and in doing so almost pried open his hand; still, he managed to get the knife out of the man’s back and stab him a second time right in the heart.

TWO DOWN! WHAT NEXT?

He had no idea how many of them were still left, but now he had a pistol too, which he easily ripped from the man’s enfeebled palm. He felt sure he was still a pretty good shot.

THANK YOU, MR. POLICEMAN!

A look at the two of them told him they’d cause him no trouble. No regrets on account of the policeman. Shame, though, that he’d have to leave THAT NASTY DOVE.

His pistol drawn, he looked carefully out the doors the kid had not closed onto the street.

NO ONE, NOWHERE!

He went out slowly, hiding the weapon under a hat that had fallen off the dead man’s head. He felt relieved when he reached the first cross-street where he could head downhill. The hat he simply tossed aside; it didn’t go with the canvas overcoat of the Werkschutz. A gust of wind blew it alongside him for a while until he changed its direction with a kick. He shoved the pistol into the front pocket of his pants, but it was uncomfortable there, so finally he moved it and the knife to his briefcase (a miracle he hadn’t left it there in the confusion). Now he was trotting along the surprisingly deserted street that linked up with the riverside road below. He was puffing like a steam engine; it was a good thing he heard the car coming.

The squeal of tires racing up around the curves wasn’t a normal sound for this corner of the city. He halted, rooted to the spot, and looked wildly around for cover. There were no passageways between the houses, the garbage cans would not hide him, and it was a good hundred yards to the sparse copse beyond. Once again he improvised. He sauntered off downhill along the sidewalk, suppressing with all his might the ragged heaving of his chest as his lungs gasped for breath.

Suddenly a car loomed up in front of him. He caught sight of three men in civilian garb inside, but the way they roared past betrayed what they were after. He managed to pull out his handkerchief in time and pretended to blow his nose so they wouldn’t see his face, but once again he felt his strength ebbing away.

He was sure this was a HUGE TRAP they had laid for him. Today he’d escaped it by a hair, but now they were drawing the net closed and he had no idea how tight it was. The fact that the car hadn’t stopped didn’t mean there weren’t more waiting below, and here he was, caught in this treacherous, craggy defile like a cork in a bottle.

WHAT NEXT?

He certainly couldn’t go back, so he trudged on aimlessly. His evident exhaustion made him as conspicuous as an autumn bumblebee. And as his conviction grew that SHE HAD BETRAYED HIM, he turned, after years of silence, back to HIM.

You above all know I WAS ONLY FOLLOWING HER ORDERS. I wanted to IMPROVE YOUR KINGDOM, not destroy it; save me and I swear I WILL NEVER DO IT AGAIN, and that I’ll serve you AS YOU COMMAND ME TO!

In answer he heard a ringing sound.

The tram terminus lay before him. The empty vehicle’s driver was urging him to hurry.

Morava knew they were in an awful mess, but the first thing he felt was relief: Grete Baumann was at the cemetery today. His Jitka was protected by that very same impenetrable cordon of SS men. How absurd!

He knew he ought to be ashamed of himself, so he tried to feel some of the anguish of the man sitting next to him. It was evident in Buback’s face, and he did not even try to hide it.

They barreled along the embankment; Litera overtook other cars whenever he could. Once Morava could think again, their panic seemed unreasonable. He tried to calm his companion.

“Mr. Buback! It would have to be an awful coincidence for him to strike today of all days.”

The German gave no reaction; his eyes remained fixed on the pavement in front of him, as if concentrating could increase their speed.

“And ebesta would have gone after her; the three of them were supposed to start their shifts there.”

At this Buback finally nodded weakly and fell silent. He did not move or speak again until Litera veered full speed into the narrow street that led from the tram terminus up to Kav í Hory. The turn threw him across the seat into Morava.

“I know…,” he said, and shrank back into his corner.

Morava thought of his recent conversation with Jitka. So he loves her too, he realized; he wouldn’t be so worried about a passing acquaintance. In the end, that wave of fear will join him to her. Jitka will be pleased….