Chapter 12

12

It was ten days after the first contact had appeared in the bookshop. During this time, Jana had noted the times of Heydrich's arrival each morning and added it to the slip of paper that she kept hidden in the bookmark. Although she had kept her writing small, the paper was full on both sides, and she was beginning to wonder whether she should start a new bookmark.

A stout, middle-aged woman in a bulky coat had been limping around the bookshelves for half an hour ignoring the Wehrmacht soldier who stood near the front surveying the selection of new German editions. After he'd left – without buying anything – the woman approached Jana at the cash register.

‘"You cannot find peace by avoiding life",' she said, after Jana asked whether she could be of any assistance.

Jana's breath caught at the quote. It was from Virginia Woolf and was the password she'd been waiting for. She replied with a quote from the same author.

‘"Why are women so much more interesting to men than men are to women?" '

The stout woman burst out laughing. ‘Never a truer word spoken.'

Jana laughed too, and after a quick glance at the door, she retrieved a book of Czech poetry from beneath the counter. The all-important bookmark lay within the pages.

As she slipped it across to the woman, she whispered, ‘There's an important message; I've added a conversation I over?—'

She stopped short as the woman put a warning finger to her lips.

‘If you tell me nothing, I know nothing.'

Jana nodded, angry with herself for breaking one of the basic rules of the resistance: the least known, the better. Then she looked at the woman questioningly. Did she have any further instructions?

‘Next time,' said the woman, interpreting Jana's gaze. She pulled her own book from her shopping bag and slid Jana's bookmark inside. She moved to the door, surprisingly sure footed and then, Jana saw through the window, she adopted her shuffling gait once more. Jana smiled to herself; resistors came in all guises.

At lunch time, she put the closed sign on the door and strolled towards Josefov, the Jewish Quarter. She had the urge to see Michal's home; maybe speak to a neighbour, find out something more about the boy's family. Soldiers were patrolling the area so she took a detour but lost her way and found herself in a dark alleyway lined with rubbish. A putrid smell punctuated the air.

She heard a cat wailing and slowed her stride. The alleyway came to an abrupt end, a high stone wall blocking the way. The cat's wail came from what appeared to be a heap of abandoned clothes on the ground. Maybe the animal was injured, she thought as she approached, noticing the wall splattered with paint.

The bundle of clothes moved and Jana yelped. Before her was a tiny woman in a man's overcoat, kneeling, her hands folded in prayer, letting out cries of anguish.

Jana rushed to her side, ‘Are you hurt? What's wrong?'

‘My beautiful boy, my grandson. Why dear, God, why?'

In a horrifying moment of clarity, the scene became crystal clear. There was no injured cat hiding in a pile of clothes. There was a devastated grandmother, shrunken from hunger and grief, huddled on the cold ground. And instead of a wall covered in graffiti, she bowed before a wall peppered with bullet holes and scarred with black-crimson blood.

An execution wall.

One of many, where under Heydrich's orders, Jewish men and women were rounded up and promptly shot.

Their crime? None other than their religion.

In bed that night, Jana stared into the darkness, her eyes wide, aching with tiredness, her mind whirring. She turned and thumped her pillow. Images of the woman crumpled before the execution wall fought with pictures of Lenka holding up the baby clothes. She went over every word of her last conversation with her, worried. Had Lenka been evasive about the assignment to carry radio parts?

Sleep eluding her, she climbed out of bed and went to her bedroom window, which overlooked the narrow, cobbled street below. The street lamp was out and not a soul was around – such a contrast to a few years ago, when the noise of footsteps and voices of passersby always accompanied her to sleep. Curfew and electricity shortages had changed the way of life.

Leaning her forehead against the cold glass, she let out a deep sigh. In the short time Heydrich had been in charge, the brutal persecution of Nazi opposers and Jews had dramatically increased; opposition to the Reich was dealt with by interrogation by the Gestapo, torture and execution. People murmured about Heydrich's reign of terror, their eyes full of fear. Citizens walked the frozen streets of Prague with their shoulders slumped. Oppressed. That's what they were. An oppressed people. And Jana was afraid that Heydrich's unrelentless policy of stamping out the resistance was beginning to take effect.

No, that mustn't happen. They couldn't let Heydrich defeat them.

Shivering, she climbed back into bed, and her thoughts returned to Lenka. Tomorrow, she decided, she would ask Papa to mind the bookshop whilst she went to check on her.

Eventually, she fell into a troubled sleep.

Ivan was surprised when he opened the front door and saw Jana. ‘Oh, you just missed Lenka. She's on her way to meet you at the coffee shop. To be honest, I would've preferred her to stay at home. She looked very pale, and she's so heavy on her feet?—'

‘I'll catch her up,' said Jana, already dashing down the apartment stairwell, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Lenka had arranged no meeting with her, in a coffee shop or anywhere else. Jana fought down the panic, forcing herself to think clearly. As she stood on the pavement, she looked left and right, trying to decide which way Lenka might have gone. If she were meeting a contact to pass over radio parts, would she have headed towards the busy Old Town centre and attempted a handover in full view of so many people? Or to the quieter streets where she was less likely to be seen?

Precious moments ticked by, indecision paralysing her. Either scenario was possible. She imagined the scene. Lenka jostling through the crowds, maybe around the Astronomical Clock where people pressed shoulder to shoulder looking upwards, waiting for the figures to parade at the top of the hour; Lenka touching arms with a stranger, possibly a woman who'd surreptitiously take a shopping bag from Lenka's hand…

Jana bolted off down the street, heading towards the town centre. As she ran, she chided herself for not having suspected that Lenka would do the drop herself. Jana should have been more alert, taken better care of her friend.

Today was market day in Wenceslas Square: the perfect place to be carrying shopping baskets and bags filled with produce that concealed small electrical parts.

Ivan had said that Lenka had not long departed, and Jana was sprinting at a fast pace. Why hadn't Jana caught up with her? Lenka, heavy with child, would be moving slowly. Cold doubt seeped into her chest; she had got this all wrong. Made the wrong decision. Gone the wrong way.

Ahead, a maze of alleyways wound away from Wenceslas Square; there would be no chance to find Lenka if she turned down one of these.

Despair set in and she slowed her stride, trying to figure out what to do next. A short distance ahead, an old man stood under a lamp post playing a violin. It was a familiar classical tune, beautifully played. A few people had gathered to listen. One passerby threw a coin into the violin case that lay open on the ground. The old man nodded his thanks and as the passerby withdrew from the small group, a figure behind came in to sight .

Jana sighed with relief.

Lenka.

Jana called out, but Lenka didn't turn. Suddenly, two policemen stopped her friend pointing to her shopping bag. Jana's heart plummeted. Why had they stopped her? Was this one of the increasing routine stop and searches that Heydrich had ordered? Or had Lenka been betrayed by a collaborator?

Jana couldn't just stand by and watch; she had to do something.

She ran up to the policemen, shouting, ‘Help, officers. A pickpocket has just snatched my purse. That way.' She waved her hand behind her. ‘Back there.'

They looked up at her. Dull, disinterested eyes.

‘You need to go to the police station and file a formal complaint,' one said as the other reached for Lenka's bag.

Jana dared a glance at Lenka's face; it was frozen in terror.

She jabbered on, ‘The thief knocked a woman to the ground and… he punched someone too…'

The first policeman gave her his attention now, but the one with his hand in Lenka's bag continued his search, grim-faced. He pulled out a scarf, newspaper, knitting wool, patterns for baby clothes and tossed them to one side. His partner, looking in the direction Jana was pointing, said, ‘Shall I take a look at what's going on up there?'

Yes, please , prayed Jana. ‘Come, quick, lest the thief gets away.'

‘He'll be long gone,' said the policeman rummaging in Lenka's bag. He frowned as he pulled out a small package wrapped in newspaper. Jana stopped breathing and watched as everything slowed; he peeled open the paper and the small metal parts were revealed. He stared at Lenka with a triumphant expression. Lenka's eyes fluttered as she clutched her stomach and her knees gave way, and she sank towards the ground. But the police grabbed her and hauled her upright, iron fists gripped around her upper arms, any interest in Jana's fictional thief forgotten…

Jana let out a moan.

The crowd swam before her eyes.

Helpless, lame in mind and body, she witnessed her beloved friend being dragged along in the direction of the police station. She saw how she stumbled and was yanked up, how people stared at the pregnant woman being marched away.

Curled up in the armchair, Jana sought to find solace in the silence of the bookshop. She had moved the chair to face the shop front where she sat in darkness, watching moonshine rays dim and glow as clouds scurried across the full moon. Her eyes were hot and swollen from tears, and her throat raw from her sobs. Now, drained, she sat still and motionless, waiting.

After witnessing Lenka's arrest that morning, she had run back to Ivan who was just about to leave for his work shift. Barely able to get the words out, she'd told Ivan what had happened. His face froze with shock and confusion.

‘What on earth was she doing with radio parts?' he stammered.

Jana's whole body trembled. She was unable to speak.

Ivan held her by the shoulders.

‘What's going on here?' he demanded.

Jana had then told him then about Lenka's work for the resistance, but how Jana wanted her to stop, how she'd pleaded with her to stop. Ivan listened to her words, his face a mask of disbelief, before grabbing his coat and racing out the door. Jana chased after him.

When they arrived at the police station, Ivan marched up to the officer behind the counter, and visibly trying to control his emotion, asked to see his wife. He was told to take a seat. Jana sat with him. They waited two hours before they were told that yes, Lenka was being held for questioning; no, she was not allowed visitors. Furthermore, Ivan and Jana were instructed to leave the police station immediately.

Ivan's chest had heaved with rage and his hands curled into fists.

‘I'm not going anywhere till I see my wife!'

The officer, his face impassive, said, ‘Any moment, you will be going somewhere. And that's directly into a cell.'

Jana had tugged at Ivan's arm. She'd managed to persuade him to avoid further confrontation and they left. As they descended the steps outside the police station, she promised Ivan she would find out more information.

She'd wandered around the city in the rain, up and down the alleyways, back and forth over Charles Bridge, past the statues where rivulets of raindrops ran down their anguished stone faces. Once she'd thought things through, she returned to the police station, hoping that the same officer was not there. He was.

‘You again,' he said.

‘I would like to talk to Captain Kovar.'

The officer raised his eyebrows.

Jana pushed back her shoulders and kept her gaze firm.

The officer eventually shrugged and picked up the phone.

A few minutes later, Andrej appeared and with a jolt of surprise beckoned her into an office. She told him what had happened and he assured her he would find out about Lenka and come to the bookshop that evening.

Now she waited for him, desperate for any news.

‘Oh, Mama,' she whispered on a sigh. ‘How can this be happening?'

It had been a nightmare ever since Hitler arrived in his motorcade in March, nearly four years ago, and strode triumphantly into Prague Castle. In order to stamp out any resistance, there had been ongoing mass executions.

Ice fingers closed around Jana's heart. Surely not Lenka and her baby.

As the bookshop door opened, Jana flicked on the switch of the standing light beside her and sprung across to meet Andrej. In the dim light at the front of the shop, she saw the strain on his face and her heart hammered inside her chest. He removed his hat and placed it on the counter.

‘Tell me,' she said.

‘Lenka was questioned this afternoon?—'

‘Not – not the Gestapo.' Nausea sprung up her throat.

‘No. I managed to talk the chief out of handing a highly pregnant woman, whose arrest was witnessed in a full market square, over to the secret police. I highlighted the unrest it would cause amongst the citizens.'

‘Thank goodness,' she murmured. ‘Will there be a trial?'

Andrej looked at her with pained eyes.

Of course not. What a stupid thing to say.

‘She was sent away about half an hour ago.'

‘Where?'

‘Terezin concentration camp,' he said, softly.

Jana's head swam and her legs went limp. As her body slumped, Andrej steadied her. She fell on his chest, her throat so tight, she could hardly breathe. He held her and stroked the back of her head as she cried.

‘What about the baby?' she asked, her voice muffled against his coat.

He drew back and lifted her chin, his face solemn. He wiped away a tear, his thumb stroking her cheek. A gesture so gentle, it made her stomach twist.

‘I have a contact in Terezin and will try to get news. There are doctors there: good Jewish doctors who will take care of her.'

‘But to be born in a concentration camp? What a start in life. And poor Lenka without Ivan by her side. I must see her, I must…'

She knew she was babbling nonsense, but at that moment, it was better than facing the harsh reality.

‘You know that's not possible. But I might be able to get a letter to her.'

‘You could do that?'

‘Luckily, I've just been promoted and I have connections…' His voice trailed off.

‘I'm confused. Are you a fascist?' she whispered.

‘You are beautiful.' He drew his face closer. His eyes were nearly black in the shadows, but she saw a glimmer before his lips hovered over hers, his warm breath caressing her skin. He brushed a kiss so light over her mouth that it was barely tangible. Then he straightened himself.

‘I'd better go.' His voice was low and tender.

He parted himself from her and picked up his hat. At the doorway, he paused, looking up and down the street before stepping out into the darkness. He hadn't answered her question.