Pavel Kohout - The Widow Killer

“Why not yesterday?” Morava racked his brains. “Or did he come back and was warned? How? By whom?”

Buback was comparing the times as well.

“The ice,” he guessed. “He saw them carrying out the ice and figured they’d find the hearts.”

An hour later the supposition was confirmed by the conductor from the tram that had passed the theater yesterday. A bit later they had two witnesses, who recognized the picture: It was the man with nerves of steel, who sat through a bomb raid in the train without putting down his newspaper. Finally the railway ticket agent on the evening shift confirmed that a traveler he had previously seen only in the morning had yesterday quite exceptionally bought a ticket on the last train to Prague.

“So, back again,” Morava ordered. “The needle has returned to the haystack.”

“To Bartolom jská?” Litera asked.

“No, home.”

He realized two pairs of eyes were fixed on him, and for a moment despair overwhelmed him as he thought of the other half of his body and soul freezing in one of Pathology’s sliding drawers. Then awareness of his obligation resurfaced and sheathed him in its armor, protecting him from hurtful memories and thoughts. He checked that he had his old keys and specified: “Back to the dormitory.”

They rode back silently and swiftly. Their side of the road was empty, while an uninterrupted column of military vehicles dappled generously with staff cars and moving vans rolled westward toward them from Prague.

The yellowed centers of the blue-painted headlights passed by Morava, as indolent as the eyes of giant cats.

Judges!” Grete snorted contemptuously. “They judged humanity, but didn’t quite manage to hang all of it, so now they’re fleeing its revenge. Your neighbor, for instance, took to his heels as soon as it got dark, like a criminal. So, downstairs to his stores, love; we’ve drunk our reserves and I’m thirsty.”

“I don’t have the keys,” Buback responded confusedly.

“And don’t tell me: You’re a man of the law! Except this isn’t robbery; it was all stolen goods to begin with. Doesn’t matter, I’ll go myself. These might be the last treats we get.”

In the end, of course, he accompanied her down and broke the backdoor window with his elbow. Then they reached in and turned the key from inside. The open, half-empty cupboards and half-full drawers bore witness to a hasty departure. The judge either had not been a drinker or had taken the remaining alcohol with him. However, they found unbelievable riches in the icebox and the pantry: a hunk of Swiss Emmenthal, a slab of bacon, sardines, and nuts. Behind the teapot they finally discovered a bottle of English rum and two packs of American cigarettes. Buback shook his head. What a mockery of their insistence that all right-thinking Germans should hate the products of enemy civilizations!

They made themselves some grog with the rum and hot water, and their tension slackened; after the second glass they were pleasantly relaxed.

“Love,” she said, returning to her theme, “how long do you intend to stay here on this Titanic? Everyone’s already in the lifeboats.”

“Not everyone. A couple of people think once you’ve made your bed you should lie in it.”

“What bed did you make,” she flared at him. “You hunted criminals and murderers.”

“Wasn’t it you who pointed out that I let the biggest ones go unpunished? You were right; I even applauded them! Just last year I ruined my last visit with Hilde in an argument where I took the Führer’s side against her.”

She grinned bitterly.

“I’m a fine one to lecture you. I fought my battles in the bedroom. Buback, how could an entire nation fall so far so fast?”

“An epidemic of obedience. The greatest scourge of mankind. A couple of people think up a recipe for a happy future and shout it so loud and long that all the lost souls take up the cause. The careerists follow. And suddenly they’re a force that no longer clamors and offers; instead they demand and direct. Disobedience is punished, obedience rewarded: An easy choice for the average person.”

“And then comes the bill.”

“Yes. And once again it’s time to pay.”

“But haven’t the two of us paid enough, love? Don’t we have the right to get off the boat? Except it’s harder for you than for me, I guess; the military police are waiting for you.”

“That’s not the issue___What bothers me more is that suddenly I

don’t know what honor is and what’s disgrace.”

“Can we stop the riddles? I’m not in the mood just now.”

“Schörner intends to turn Prague into a fortress.”

“Then it’s high time to turn tail like the jackass downstairs. We both know what happens to fortresses. And you were assigned here; why can’t you go back?”

“To where?”

“For God’s sake,” she snapped, “couldn’t you think of something and arrange it?”

“Grete, you’ve had this German guilt far longer and harder than I have. Maybe I can mitigate it.”

“You!”

“I was born in Prague. And it’s the last city in central Europe whose beauty is still intact.”

“And you’re going to save it!”

“Calm down! Listen to me. I’m working with the Czechs, after all. I could warn them in time.”

She stopped short. Her aggressiveness ceased; the thought intrigued her.

“So do it.”

It’s not real till you say it, he chanted to himself for the last time, but now there was no way out.

“No matter what language you speak, that’s called treason, Grete.”

“Aha… and who are you betraying?”

“Well…”

Now he stopped short.

“Your homeland, maybe,” she snapped. “That lunatic and his henchmen betrayed it a long time ago. Their secret weapon was a con game for the softheaded from day one, and you’ll excuse me, but they’ve made a fuckup of the war — how long do you intend to keep this up, Buback?”

He felt awkward, but couldn’t not say it.

“I took an oath.”

“Loyalty to Führer and the Reich, right? But he’s stone dead and the Reich’s practically fallen apart. Anything else you’d like to die for? Or anyone? Maybe you’d care to show your devotion to the Nibelun-gen, to have the honor of falling in battle for Schörner and Meckerle? Now that’s what I call a disgrace! Disgrace? Try stupidity!”

She poured herself a nearly full glass of rum and topped it off with boiling water.

“If you think you can prevent those sons of bitches from destroying this city too, then you should tell this Morava of yours what you know; you made him out to be a decent person, and he looks it, but there’s got to be some give-and-take!”

He did not understand. She bristled again.

“Do you need me to point out the obvious? We’re in a lion’s den. All Prague knows this is the German quarter, and believe me, the lions will come — excuse me, did I say lions? More like hyenas! — as soon as they sense Germany is flat on its back. And for them you’re Gestapo and I’m a Kraut whore; there’ll be no mercy for us. My love, why leave me hanging here? Do you want me to end up like those widows?”

He was shocked by the thought.

“Why would you—?”

“The murderers’ holiday is already starting, love. They’re flying in, converging on the feast like bugs on a lamp; the killing is never better than when your nation has its moment in the spotlight, and Germany is proof of it.” Then she spoke calmly and practically, as he’d never heard her before.

“I’m a silly woman and can’t understand how a man of your position can and should act in this situation. But I’m depending on you to find a way to save us both in time. At the very least your Czechs owe me something.”