Pavel Kohout - The Widow Killer

“The first retreat went fairly smoothly; the troupe set up camp and we went to walk Jester. We’d been on a horse-drawn cart all day; gas had to be saved for the army. A fire beyond the birch wood drew us over. It radiated a kind of serenity, and we completely forgot that border areas were strictly off-limits all over the Reich. Then we saw a strange group of soldiers, probably deserters, but it was too late. We tried to say hello and quickly turn around. But one of them had already picked Jester up and was playing with him. The dog gave him a smile, which made the rest of them laugh. And we laughed too; suddenly we weren’t as anxious. Then the soldier said in bad German that he’d be good for soup. Martin nervously passed this off as a bad joke, but the man wouldn’t let go of the dog; he held him in his left hand by the scruff of his neck. Martin tried to pull him away. And with his right hand the man pulled out a pistol and shot Martin through the temple. I saw his brain spatter. Then he threw Jester into the cauldron alive. The splash of boiling water scalded my face. I kicked off my boots and fled into the darkness, but went the wrong way. They chased me, but didn’t catch me. I don’t know how I survived that night. In the morning I left the forest. I found the remains of the campfire, but nothing else, not even a bone. Somehow I found my way to the road. Our camp was already gone. A military car stopped for me. It was carrying war correspondents; they had a lot of cognac. I drank and drank and told them jolly stories about the theater all the way to Berlin; it was like a dream. They roared with laughter. One of them fell in love with me and arranged to have me sent to Prague. And that’s all I know. Now I have to sleep, love. But don’t let go…!”

She fell asleep instantly and he held her, motionless; from time to time his lips touched the fiery scar on her neck, as if it could heal her burned soul.

The staircase confirmed that he was deadly tired. Today it had no end, as if they were adding on floor after floor. At last he dragged himself wretchedly up the final flight. Suddenly he was on his guard. What was it? A sharp line of light beneath the door of his room. He was sure he’d turned it off. Most of the dormitory’s residents were single policemen; none of them would enter his room. So who, then? Him, he realized! He must have been nearby when Morava had asked about him at the radio station, and had followed him back to Bartolom jska. But how had he gotten the address? And most important: what now? Go back for reinforcements? And if the killer got away in the meantime? Then Morava remembered the pistol he’d fired that time in the car, almost killing Beran in the process. He pulled it out and carefully removed the safety catch. If he were right and Jitka’s murderer was waiting for him, he would shoot once and only once, to kill. Wait…. did he really want to do that? Hadn’t he taught his recruits what Beran had taught him and generations before him? Never let yourself believe you’re the law; in all cases, gentlemen, you are its servants, and only it is sovereign! Behind the door, however lurked something only superficially human: it was pure Evil, and it mocked heaven by masquerading as a person in the presence of its victims. Could Beran’s principles apply to it as well? No, he decided, if it were waiting there, he would kill it. His only responsibility was to do his best, despite his inexperience, to kill it straight off, so that it would not suffer the way its victims had. He inched the key into the lock bit by bit, so as not to make the slightest noise. With his finger on the trigger he slammed the door open and immediately dropped his gun hand to his side, horrified. His mother sat at a freshly-laid table, smiling back at him, her hands folded peacefully in her lap. Now her smile froze. Child, you frightened me, why all the hullabaloo? Mommy! — he unobtrusively hid the gun, which she fortunately hadn’t noticed — what are you doing…? Well, didn’t you tell me to come if the war got too close? But, he stammered the Russians are already there…! Yes, they came sooner than expected. So how did you get past the front…? I don’t know how, child, the main thing is I’m here; aren’t you happy? Of course, mother, but… who opened the door for you? Who else, she laughed, you silly boy; your Jitka, of course!

Now he knew he was in the grip of a dream, but this deceptive condition was much nicer than full consciousness, which was gradually gaining a foothold. He tried to prolong the fantasy. Lying motionless, his eyes closed, he imagined the unrealized meeting of his life’s two loves. He could see his mother’s face and movements from his March visit: he called up images of Jitka from her last days and had a wonderful few moments when both of them were alive in his memory as if they’d known each other forever. For the first time since Jitka’s death her memory did not tear at his soul. And if his mother was alive, as he felt with every fiber of his being, then he had at least one fixed star in his universe.

At that he remembered the horrible beginning of his dream and the beloved faces faded as quickly as a rainbow. He was back in the bloodstained present. But how could he catch Rypl now, when overnight the killer had switched from widows to Germans and wrapped himself in the mantle of a patriot?

Morava could think of nothing else, even on the trip back from the radio to Bartolom jská yesterday. He had been there within a few minutes, since the city center was suddenly empty, as if everyone was celebrating at the station. However, by the time he reached the office, the revolutionaries had stopped broadcasting. A German turbine aircraft flying close above the roof had attacked the building in a daring raid; the torpedo plunged down precisely into the entrance hall, which Morava had just left. The explosion took many lives and disrupted telephone lines and broadcasting. Despite the chaos, the Czechs were working mightily to repair the transmitters and set up replacements, and Beran chased Morava straight back to prevent Brunát from broadcasting one particular proclamation, which he said could cause a split in the Czech National Council.

He had only recognized the white lion by his voice; a turban of bandages covered his mane. A piece of shrapnel had taken off a portion of Brunát’s ear before ramming into a concrete column. The man who had been talking to the commander in the hall was killed on the spot. Brunát read Beran’s paper, muttered something about pricks, and disappeared.

When he returned to Number Four, Beran finally called him to his old office for a report. He welcomed Morava in, saying he wanted a short break from all this soldiering. It was amazing how quickly his jovial old boss — despite a uniform he swam in like a scarecrow — had truly become a commander. Morava glossed quickly over his noon mission; it was old news. He described in detail how he had found Antonín Rypl’s trail, and put forth his request.

“Sir, this isn’t a personal vendetta, even if it could be seen that way….” They could both feel the emptiness of Jitka’s abandoned desk through the open door behind them. “I’m concerned about the purity of our revolution; it was supposed to put an end to this sort of barbarity. According to witnesses, he’s killed almost ten people since noon today: three sadistically and all of them without provocation, because they’d already surrendered. Anyone who says they were just Germans and brushes it off is making a terrible mistake. He keeps on murdering because he can get away with it. For some people he’s a hero, and apparently he’s found a few thugs with similar tendencies. And what if they become a murder squad? What’ll they do once they run out of Germans? Turn on their fellow countrymen? Start on the collaborators, real and imagined? And who after that? Sir, we have plenty of men who are better than I am at messengering, interpreting, and capturing radio stations, but right now I’m probably the only one who can catch him. It’s a point of honor for the police; he’s a self-appointed executioner and we can’t let him go free when peace comes.”