Chapter 47

47

Jana climbed the staircase to her home, trepidation slowing her pace. How she hoped to find Papa at the breakfast table reading the newspaper, scowling at the latest German propaganda. She had told Egon that she must check on her father but she would meet up with him afterwards. Egon had warned her of the risk of being seen, but understood her concern.

Now, turning the key in the lock, she realised he might be at work, but if she found today's newspaper half-read on the table, she would know he hadn't been arrested.

She pushed open the door and her mouth fell open. Papa's coat lay flung on the floor, the pockets pulled inside out. The drawers of the hall table hung on their hinges, letters and bills strewn around the hallway. Dazed, she stumbled to the kitchen. Every cupboard door was open, the meagre contents tipped onto the countertop. Jana stepped over smashed crockery and knelt to pick up a piece of porcelain depicting a purple-blue blackberry; it was a shard from Mama's favourite vase.

As if in a dream, she moved to her bedroom. Her clothes lay scattered on the bed and floor. She cringed to see her brassiere dangling from the chest of drawers that housed her underwear. The intrusion made her nauseous. Bending to pick up a pile of writing paper and old birthday cards, she tried to make sense of what had happened, but she was too stunned to focus.

The book from her mother, Little Women , that she kept in her bedside table lay spread open on the floor. She gathered it to her and smoothing a crumpled page, placed it back in its drawer. But what about her mother's other books? Those that were banned? Hidden. Heart pounding, she turned to her heavy based wardrobe. The doors were wide-open, her clothes ripped from their hangers. Kneeling on the floor where the wardrobe met the back wall, she slipped her slim fingers along the narrow gap; they touched a metal clasp which she opened with a practised flip. There was a creak as the compartment hidden in the wooden base popped open. She crawled to the front of the wardrobe and looked inside the cavity, then heaved a sigh.

The books were there; titles from Kafka, Hemingway, Thomas Mann and others. Jana snapped the compartment shut, the joins disappearing into the ornamental carvings. Papa had done a good job crafting this secret place to conceal his wife's beloved books.

Jana was met by a similar chaos in her parents' bedroom. It was painful to see Mama's clothes treated with such disrespect. The sight of a dirty footprint on an old, cream petticoat sickened her. She picked her way across the room, careful not to trample on anything, and stood in front of the open cupboards; every shelf had been emptied. Old family photographs had been tossed about and she knelt to gather the precious pictures. Her head began to thrum. What did this chaos mean? A burglary? But the truth was likely more sinister: Babi had been arrested for harbouring so-called undesirables and her son was the subject of a wider investigation. Cold dread clutched at her heart. The Gestapo had been here and taken Papa with them.

No, not her dear, kind, gentle father. Mama was gone, but please God, not Papa too. She must do something, but what?

Glancing at the shambles around her, Jana scooped up a couple of items from the floor, but it was hopeless. There was no time to tidy up; she had to return to Egon and the others.

Her throat aching from unshed tears, she ran from the apartment and down the stairs. Had they been in the bookshop as well? The Gestapo, the police or whoever they were? Best not to look. There was no time now.

But she opened the bookshop door, unable to help herself. As soon she entered, she wished she hadn't; books thrown from the shelves lay splayed on the floor, their spines broken. Odd pages lay desolate, ripped from their stories. Papa's puppets, their limbs disjointed in a grotesque pile amongst the carnage. Her breath came in short gasps as she took in the sight.

Sacrilege: that's what it was.

These people were barbarians. White-hot fury flamed within her, driving out the fear that had paralysed her a few moments before.

‘Enough!' she screamed into the empty shop. ‘It's enough.' She balled her hands into fists.

As she fled the shop, anger and resolve fuelled a new surge of energy. Enough is enough , her mind screamed at her. The people had been oppressed too long. She too had wavered in her resolve after the massacre, allowing guilt to paralyse her. Where was the brave girl who had worked in the heart of the Nazi regime, gathering information? Where was the girl who'd hidden coded messages in her own handmade bookmarks? She'd been desperate to fight back against the occupiers of her country .

Where was that girl?

As she passed her fellow citizens on the street, she glanced at their gaunt, exhausted faces. People were starving on their feet whilst what little food there was went to the Wehrmacht. The Lidice villagers had been murdered. But had they died in vain? She thought of Lenka's parents and rage pumped through her veins. It was enough, and the girl that had refused to passively stand by, where was she now?

She was here and ready to do battle.