Pavel Kohout - The Widow Killer

“Thanks!” he said.

“No fucking problem.”

The stocky, balding man in a wildly checked pullover reeking of sweat grinned at them. Three ugly gaps broke his smile; he looked decrepit, although he could hardly be more than thirty.

“What’s happening?” he asked the man.

“Zilch. Waiting for the Americans, they say. I thought it’d be different.”

“How?”

“A chance to have some fun with the browncoats. I owe them.”

“They knock your teeth out?” Ladislav inquired.

“Yeah. Deployed me to Düsseldorf in the Totaleinsatz. I was gettin’ on real well with this German bitch. So they gave me this and the camps — for ’corrupting racial purity’—’cept then the Brits rolled in and threw the brig wide open. Couple of weeks I slept in ditches and ate last year’s potatoes. Wouldn’t mind a bit of Kraut, now.”

“We made two of them into grenade stew,” Ladislav bragged. “On the can! Shoulda flushed, y’know.”

The grenade wasn’t enough, he thought as he listened; you can’t see it up close and it’s too fast. Those son-of-a-bitch Germans deserve a drawn-out punishment, just like the widow whores. And suddenly he knew what it would be. The idea was…

ALL MINE!

And it was completely new. He made a mental note.

“Great!” The dental avenger was praising him. “Need another hand? Call me Lojza.”

The stoker repeated what was clearly his favorite question: What next, since the evening was still young? Then the deathly silence outside ended. Individual shouts soon merged into a joyous noise. Both the side streets and the main road, where Czechs killed at the beginning of the battle now lay, were swarming with people.

He and his companions set off for the intersection. Above the front portal of the radio building, strips of white tablecloths and towels fluttered from the first and fourth floors. An excited throng had formed an arc at a respectful distance from the main entrance. Through the broken doors a curtain of smoke still hung behind the barbed-wire barricades. For several long minutes nothing happened. The Czechs’ anticipation gave way to fear: Was it a trap? You could cut the silence with a knife; one shot, he felt, and hundreds of people would panic and flee.

Instead, a Czech policeman came out of the building, unstrapping his helmet and fingering a wayward lock of white hair. Then he picked up a megaphone.

“Citizens!” he rumbled. “The radio is ours. The Germans have capitulated.”

Fear turned instantly to intoxication; the crowd went wild.

He and his two companions waited curiously.

The policeman waved his megaphone around for a while until the throng quieted down.

“They have ceased their resistance under the condition that all Germans, employees and soldiers, are offered free passage without weapons down to the main train station.”

There were a few indignant shouts from the crowd.

“Citizens! This agreement was concluded at the behest of the Czech National Council. President Bene has named a new Czechoslovak government, but until they can return here from Ko ice, which has already been liberated, the council is assuming control in Prague. We have been empowered to conduct similar negotiations with all German offices in the former Protectorate, first and foremost so that our beloved Prague can be spared the further ravages of war, and so that we can safeguard the fundamental human rights we will uphold again in the future!”

The cop was getting on his nerves more and more. Then he flinched when someone next to him whistled so loudly his ears rang. It was the balding Lojza, now shouting through cupped hands.

“Germans aren’t humans!”

He clapped along with Lojza and a couple of bystanders. They began to chant.

“Germans aren’t humans! Germans aren’t humans!”

The white-haired man strode purposefully toward them, droning on through his megaphone.

“Masaryk, the founder of our state, taught us that humanitarian ideals do not admit the collective guilt of races or nations. These men were soldiers; they followed orders and in spite of them capitulated. We cannot change the decision of the Czech National—”

“Then they should fuck off!” Lojza shouted at him. “We shed blood and we want an eye for an eye!”

He almost laughed at Lojza for not saying “a tooth for a tooth,” but it made him angry to see the policeman gaining the upper hand among the crowd. THOSE BASTARDS ARE LISTENING TO HIM!

At that the first of the Germans exited the building, flanked by Czech guards. The foursome of ashen women in front — probably secretaries — caused some confusion, but the male employees, marked by white bands on their sleeves, drew whistles of derision. Their escorters smiled, as if acknowledging the onlookers’ annoyance, but implying the crowd must surely understand their position too.

Lojza was arguing wildly with the policeman; leaving them to their quarrel, he stepped forward to see better.

The soldiers had begun to come out. The orderly rows of men had neatly polished and buttoned their hated uniforms, and held their heads up as if on review. Their commander had made a mistake in thinking this would boost their morale; signs of defeat would have been more to their credit. Any feeble sympathy the onlookers might have had now disappeared.

Now, finally, there arose in him a strong, almost holy wrath against Germans, similar to the one his mother had instilled in him years ago against feminine infidelity.

Before anyone noticed, he raised his submachine gun, took aim so as not to threaten any of the Czechs, and began to squeeze the trigger. He heard another rifle at his side — must be Ladislav! — and in the corner of his eye saw Lojza fighting with the policeman.

The women shrieked, the whole transport dove against the pavement for cover, but shots rang out from it as well.

Those whore bastards had guns!

HE WAS RIGHT!

The irritable policeman with the wispy white hair immediately deflected his aim by shoving his gun barrel into the air, but in the ensuing chaos he had so many other problems that he was soon distracted; it was necessary to round the prisoners up again, look them over and send them and their dead away as fast as possible. The cop had managed, however, to infect a decent-sized group of people who instantly turned against the three gunners. Among them was the four-eyes who’d irritated him over by the garbage cans.

“Degenerate!” Now the kid was taunting him with this completely nonsensical word. “Go back to the nuthouse; this is a democratic revolution!”

You’re the crazy one, he wanted to shout back; and a TRAITOR TO OUR CAUSE, who deserves the same treatment!

SHOULD I JUST BLOW HIM AWAY?

This time right in the heart, so as not to horrify the more delicate bystanders…. He quickly came to his senses. Many in the crowd were just as well armed as he was.

In addition he remembered that he had a new name, but the same old face. There were clouds of police swarming about; what if by coincidence..?

“Men,” he said to his companions, “the fun’s over, anyway. The hell with these cowards; there are plenty of Krauts left in Prague.”

M’love!” Grete said. “Oh, my love, finally! It’s been forever since I saw you!”

Of course her time dragged, while his flew, it seemed only moments since he had left her at the house. In the meanwhile, however, yesterday’s city had changed into a jungle which even the natives did not recognize.

The neighborhood called Pánkrac, where he and Kroloff had been sent, was an exception; it was still firmly in German hands. A single barricade of derailed trams beneath the court building reminded them of the unrest; its builders had been driven down into the Nusle Valley. Immediately thereafter a merry-go-round of motorized watches went out, discouraging other potential barricaders.