Night of Flames: A Novel of World War II (21 page)

Night of Flames

133

Anna blinked. “No, not really,” she said, realizing she hadn’t thought about that until just this minute. “I guess we’ll get a hotel nearby.”

Zajic leaned forward putting both hands around his cup of tea. “Mrs.

Kopernik—”

“Anna. Please, call me Anna.”

He smiled at her. “All right, Anna it is.” He spoke quietly. “Staying at a hotel would not be wise.”

Anna felt the tingling on the back of her neck again. Icy fi ngers.

Zajic continued. “The hotels are obligated to report all Jewish guests to the authorities. I realize your friends have travel visas for Italy, and had you just passed on through, chances are they’d have had no problems. But now that you have to stay, there’s no telling what may happen.”

Anna swallowed hard. Tears trickled down her face.

Zajic paused while she set down the teacup and rummaged through her handbag for a handkerchief.

“I’m all right,” she said, wiping away the tears. “Go ahead.” She glanced at Justyn. He was still sitting in the same position, curled up and staring at the fl oor, clutching his woolen cap against his face.

“Perhaps your friend will be feeling better by tomorrow, and you’ll be on your way before anyone bothers you,” Zajic said. “On the other hand, it’s a risk. The Germans started deporting Jews from Czechoslovakia to Poland over a month ago.”

Anna felt a dull throb in her temples. “Yes, I know. But, what choice do we have? If we can’t see Irene until tomorrow we’ll just have to chance it.”

“Let me suggest another alternative,” Zajic said. “A woman I know runs a small rooming house in the Stare Mesto district. It’s not a hotel so she doesn’t have to fi le any reports—and it’s small enough that no one ever bothers her.”

“I don’t know . . .”

Zajic looked her in the eye. “I’ve sent Jewish travelers to her before, Anna.

Everyone calls her ‘Mama Zdena.’ She speaks German and she’s very discreet.

You’d be quite safe.” He got up and stepped over to his desk. “With your permission, I’ll give her a call.”

Anna looked up at him, warily. This was crazy—who was this man? Why would he care?

As if he were reading her mind, Zajic said, “I have relatives in Poland, Anna.

We haven’t heard from them in months. I’d like to help.”

Chapter 25

It was late afternoon, and Jan stood in a freezing drizzle in the tiny triangular-shaped park at the corner of Marka and Reformaka, his stomach in knots. Across the street was their apartment building. He glanced around.

The area was deserted save for two nuns huddled together under an umbrella just disappearing through the front archway of the convent down the street.

He looked back at the gray stone building and stared at the two second fl oor windows nearest the corner, hoping for a sign of activity. Ludwik’s fi nal order fl ashed through his mind:
Do not make any attempt to contact your family or
anyone you know.
Jan tightened his grip on the briefcase, thinking about the envelope inside he had promised to deliver. His entire career had been built on obeying orders.

He crossed the street, entered the building and took the key ring out of his pocket to unlock the foyer door. Then he saw it: the heavy, wrought iron door was open and the glass was missing, jagged around the edges as though it had been smashed. He ran down the hallway, raced up two fl ights of steps, punch-ing the button that turned on the stairwell lights, and stopped in front of the door to their apartment. He listened for some sound of movement.

Nothing.

He found the second key on the ring and reached for the lock. But this door was ajar, too. He looked closer, examining the casing. It was cracked, as though someone had forced the door. He pushed it open, stepped inside and froze.

The parlor was a mess: furniture turned over, lamps broken, papers and books scattered on the fl oor. Jan stepped into the room, calling out, “Anna!”

He crossed the parlor, stumbling over the litter and stopped in the hallway, Night of Flames

135

staring in disbelief at the broken pictures and fragments of Anna’s Hummel collection lying on the parquet fl oor. He turned toward the bedroom door. It was closed. He stared at it, terrifi ed, his hand trembling as he reached for the knob. When the door creaked open it was all he could do not to close his eyes.

He started breathing again when he saw the room. The covers had been ripped off the bed and the bureau drawers dumped out—but Anna wasn’t there.

He was dizzy and his heart pounded as he lurched back through the hallway and into the kitchen, crunching through broken glass. He yelled again,

“Anna!”

Jan had no idea how long he had been sitting on the kitchen fl oor, but he suddenly realized it was almost dark. He got to his feet, picked up the briefcase and shuffl ed back through the ransacked apartment. He stood in the middle of the parlor, looking around at the chaos, when his eyes fell on a familiar object refl ecting a thin beam of light from the streetlamp outside. It was a small cut-glass model of a hand, sitting on the mantel above the fi replace. It was Anna’s favorite, the symbol of Antwerp, where she attended university.

He stepped over to the mantel and picked it up, rubbing his fi ngers over the smooth surface, the precisely cut fi ngers and thumb. Memories fl ooded back.

It was a gift from Rene and Mimi Leffard, the Belgian friends Anna had lived with in Antwerp. He turned the miniature object over in his hand several times looking at it, remembering. He and Anna always held hands when they walked together. He slipped it into his coat pocket.

Jan glanced around the room again, rubbing his forehead, trying to think.

The other tenants . . . they had to have heard the commotion.
Do not make
contact.
His wife was missing. It was a chance he would have to take.

He left the apartment closing the door behind him and walked down the stairs to the fi rst fl oor, stopping in front of Mrs. Koslofski’s apartment. The door was ajar. He pushed it open and stepped into the parlor. Chairs were overturned and lamps were lying on the fl oor amid broken knickknacks and shattered pictures. He looked into the bedroom and the small kitchen. Mrs.

Koslofski was gone.

Jan took several deep breaths and continued down to the ground fl oor. He tried the door to the Grucas’ apartment. It was the same . . . ransacked . . . they were gone.

• • •

Douglas W. Jacobson

The rain had stopped but an icy wind was blowing out of the north. Jan turned up the collar of his coat and headed down Ulica Reformaka. An elderly woman stood at the door of the next building, removing a key from her purse.

Jan hesitated.

The woman put the key in the lock and pulled the door open.

“Pardon me, Madame,” Jan said, stepping forward.

The woman glanced at him then moved quickly into the building.

Jan held the door. “Please, Madame, I won’t hurt you.” The woman’s eyes were wide with fear as she backed away.

Jan didn’t recognize her. He’d never been home long enough to meet the people in the neighborhood. He held the door open but stayed outside the building.

“I’m a relative of the Grucas in the next building. Do you know them?”

The woman shook her head, her back pressed against the inner door.

“Please, Madame, I’m looking for the Grucas . . . do you know what happened?”

The woman stared at him, her hand reaching around behind for the knob of the inner door. “It was the Germans,” she whispered. “They came last night very late.”

“Did they arrest . . . ?” Jan’s voice caught. “Did they arrest everyone?”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. I saw the Germans . . . in the black uniforms . . . then I went to the cellar. I don’t know what happened.” She opened the inner door and disappeared inside.

A half hour later Jan stood in the shadow of a large tree on the other side of Ulica Prusa looking at Thaddeus’s stately home. Fond memories of their traditional Wednesday night dinners came back, and he could almost hear the banter between Anna and her father.

The lights were on but the curtains were drawn. He watched, looking for shadows, not really knowing why he had come. Were Janina and Henryk still here? How could that be possible? And even if they were, how could they help him?

He stepped off the curb to cross the street when the front door of the house opened. Slowly, Jan backed up, straining to see. A man stood on the porch and appeared to be fumbling in his pocket for something.

Jan watched.

Night of Flames

137

The man turned back to the door, opened it and yelled to someone inside—

in German. A moment later a woman appeared and handed him something.

The man gave her a kiss on the cheek and stepped off the porch. Jan heard the woman yell after him. She wanted him to hurry back.

Jan took another step back, into the shadows, watching as the German backed a Mercedes-Benz out of the driveway and headed down the street. The car stopped at the corner, waiting for a truck to pass. Jan glared at it, breathing rapidly, fi ghting the urge to dash into the street and drag the bastard out of the car. He closed his eyes and squeezed the handle of the briefcase. When he opened them the car was gone.

Chapter 26

Anna looked at her watch and glanced around the nearly empty hospital waiting room. She was getting nervous. When she arrived she had taken a pen and paper out of her handbag, written Irene’s name on it and handed it to the severe-looking woman at the reception desk. The woman stared at it for a moment then said something in Czech, motioning for Anna to have a seat. The woman made a telephone call and returned to her paperwork. That was twenty minutes ago.

Anna stood up and stepped back to the desk, asking again, in German.

“Irene Pavelka?
Verstehen Sie?
Irene Pavelka?”

The woman looked over the top of her glasses then back down at her papers.

“Irene Pavelka?
Verstehen Sie?
”

The woman ignored her.

Anna backed away from the desk, trying to control her anger, when she spotted a nurse in a crisp white uniform walking toward the elevators. She hurried over and caught her before the doors opened. “Excuse me.
Sprechen Sie
Deutsch?
” she asked the young woman.

The nurse nodded. “
Ja.
Can I help you?” Her German was heavily accented.

Anna sighed. “I’m here to visit a friend, but I don’t speak Czech and I’m having trouble communicating with the woman at the reception desk.”

“What is your friend’s name?”

Anna handed her the slip of paper. “Irene Pavelka.”

The nurse walked to the reception desk while Anna stood back, listening but not understanding. The woman behind the desk repeated the same phrase over and over, shaking her head. She mentioned someone’s name several times.

Night of Flames

139

Finally, the nurse turned away and returned to Anna looking perplexed. “She said she’s been given instructions not to release any information about your friend.”

“My friend and I are from Krakow,” Anna said. “We were on our way to Italy when—” She stopped. The nurse’s eyes were darting around the room. Anna reached out and touched her arm. “
Bitte!
Could you fi nd out about her condition? If I can’t see her, could you just check and let me know how she is?”

The elevator door opened, and a dapper man wearing an elegantly tailored blue suit stepped out, marched across the waiting room and paused at the reception desk. He spoke quietly to the woman behind the desk, who pointed toward Anna then looked back down at her paperwork.

The man approached and shot a glance at the nurse. The young woman backed away and disappeared into the elevator. He looked at Anna through steel-rimmed spectacles, his eyes moving up and down the length of her body.

He had thin gray hair plastered straight back on his head.
“Setzen Sie,”
he said in crisp German and pointed to a chair.

Anna didn’t think he was Czech.

When they sat down the man smiled thinly. “So, I understand you are here to see a patient—Irene Pavelka, is it?”

“
Ja,
that’s right,” Anna replied. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Are you a relative of this person?”

“
Nein,
I’m her friend. We’re on our way to Italy, and she became ill at the train station. May I see her?”

The prim man glanced at his fi ngernails. “And you are . . . ?”

“My name is Anna Kopernik.”

“I see. Well, our regulations permit only family members to visit patients.”

Anna glared at the man. “But she has no family here. As I said, we’re traveling together to Italy. I’m the only person she knows in Prague. Please, I’m very concerned about her. May I see her?”

“
Nein.
I’m afraid I can’t help you. Our regulations are very explicit: family members only.” He paused as though he was expecting her to say something.

Then he leaned forward and whispered, “I understand her son is traveling with her. Perhaps if he were here . . .”

Anna’s heart pounded. The man stared at her with the same thin smile.

She struggled to control her breathing. “I’m afraid he’s not feeling well,” she 140

Douglas W. Jacobson

managed to say. “He’s come down with the fl u. I don’t think it would be wise to bring him here.”

The man shrugged and stood up.

Anna pressed on. “If I could just see my friend for a minute, I’m sure it would—”

He leaned over and peered at her, his black eyes magnifi ed by the spectacles. “Perhaps when her son is feeling better you can bring him here and he can see his mother.
Auf Wiedersehen.
” He turned away and headed for the elevator.

“Can you at least tell me how she is?” Anna called after him.

Without answering the man stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind him.

Anna stood on the front steps of the hospital, wanting to scream. It was cold, and a strong wind blew as she stood quietly for several minutes, staring at the ground until she started to shiver. She buttoned her coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck and walked down the steps, heading back toward the Stare Mesto and Mama Zdena’s house.