When I got back to school, some of my classmates made fun of me, always the same ringleaders with others behind them laughing. David would always be there, and he took me aside one day and whispered: “Remember, Max, they’re just looking for a victim, someone to make them feel better. But you’re better than this and you’re better than them. They don’t do it because they’re stronger than you but because they’re weaker.” Those words stuck and became a prayer to me, and I tried to ignore the teasing and the taunts, but there were days that I practically longed to be sick again, so I wouldn’t have to go to school. David changed that. David was a star and he told me, “Okay, let’s show them something.” He was already in charge of the school paper, and he was the smartest, fastest-talking student in the place. But he was also an athlete. The Czech All Stars was David’s team, and he invited me to join. The “Topper” could control the ball with as much skill as he had when crafting words. The coach said he was poetry on the field, a perfect description. We developed a strategy. With daring footwork, a couple of shimmies, and a frenzied dash down the field, David would cross the ball to me. I wore a brace with a special boot which gave my right leg greater weight, allowing me to kick the ball with astonishing power. It was our secret weapon. Time and again, with that one unexpected kick, I would score. We beat the team known as the German League, who were bigger and stronger, wearing armbands with HJ written on them. That HJ would haunt me later. It was a symbol of who they were, of what they would become, though we didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that it was special to beat these kids who looked down on me and couldn’t bear to lose to some handicapped Czech. Scoring a goal with an assist from David created a special bond between us. With David’s help, I could do just about anything.
And when I needed a little boost, I would reread one of Sophie’s letters, picturing her sitting down at her desk by candlelight, smiling or deeply thoughtful, thinking about what to write, thinking about me. So often I held that photograph and tried to imagine her actually playing the piano at which she was sitting, to imagine how she would move, how she would talk. Soon I would no longer have to rely on my imagination.
SOPHIE COMES
TO PRAGUE
“I’ll be part of your welcoming committee,” David announced.
When we arrived at Praha hlavní nádraží, Prague’s spectacular Art Nouveau train station, David bought the largest bunch of flowers I had ever seen. This wasn’t helping me to deal with the strange, stirring, churning feeling inside, or the marked difficulty I was experiencing in regulating my breathing.
“Give them to Sophie,” he said.
“I’ll look silly with all of them. I’ll look like a walking florist.”
“It’s a custom, Max. Always present a bunch of flowers.”
“Some bunch.”
I nervously tapped one foot, and then the other.
We heard a train chugging into the station.
My foot-tapping continued. I began humming Mozart.
“Are you nervous?”
I couldn’t even look sideways at David. “Of course not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not,” I said, still tapping my foot.
“You a tap dancer? You seem a little jittery to me. Got the butterflies?”
“You’re here to introduce us, but you are not helping so far. Please don’t make me nervous.”
David grinned. “You mean more nervous than you already are? Will you remember her name?”
A sleek overnight train stopped in front of us with bursts of billowing steam. A porter jumped to the platform, followed by a few well-dressed passengers. I saw a girl who could only be Sophie. The first thing I noticed were her eyes. They were sky-blue. I must have said it out loud, because David whispered in my ear: “Cerulean.” Of course, I didn’t know the word, so I just nodded in agreement. Her hair was straw-blond, and she seemed to glow. I stepped forward, concentrating hard on walking straight. I handed over the bouquet. Sophie accepted them with a dazzling smile.
“I’m Max. Um, obviously. I’m Max.” David appeared at my elbow, a trouble-making genie.
“He’s Max,” he said helpfully. I glared at him. “She’s Sophie,” he said, his eyes dancing. “My work is done.”
Sophie had come all the way to Prague from her home near Vienna to spend the day with me, and I couldn’t get a word out other than “I’m Max.” I was searching for something to say, but nothing else was coming. Sophie didn’t seem to care and was beaming. She stood beside her mother, Edith, who was dressed in a padded blue coat and a beaver collar with a parade of brown buttons. I noticed how her coat hung from her sagging shoulders, and how pale her face was. She had put on some makeup, and even through fractured powder, I could see the lines of worry crisscrossing her face. But I also saw a lady whose loveliness explained why Sophie was so pretty.
David nudged me in my side. I cleared my throat to try to speak, but Sophie stopped me by flinging herself into my arms.
I was self-conscious about my brace, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to her.
“Oh, Max! It is really you. You’re as handsome as your photo!”
I hugged Sophie back, and for a moment, everything disappeared. The train, the station, David, Edith—everything. Who needed words?
“Hello, Max,” said Edith, breaking into a smile almost as perfect as her daughter’s as she set down her luggage. “What a gentleman you are to meet us.”
“Thank you … of course,” I stuttered, picking up the bags. I hoped Sophie realized from all the letters I had written her that I could use words. Based on these few moments, she would think I was practically mute.
Sophie laughed and gave me a little pat on the shoulder. “Come on, Max, don’t be shy. It’s just me.”
With complete confidence, she hooked her arm through mine and we set off down the platform. Her long flowing hair bounced in rhythm with her every step. In a periwinkle cotton dress that brought out her eyes, she wore matching blue socks, and polished black Mary Janes. I could smell the fresh scent of her hair. Sophie was springtime.
Out front, David hailed a taxi and helped us into the backseat.
“Have a great afternoon,” David trilled with a mischievous grin as he closed the door to the taxi. I was going to have to fend for myself without any more of whatever help David could offer. I began silently practicing my next lines to say, wanting to sound smooth and comfortable. The flowers had been embarrassing enough.
“So, Sophie, what brings you to Prague?”
Well, that didn’t come out as planned, I thought.
“Well, as I said in my letters, we’re relocating to a glorious place called Terezín. I wrote you about it. Don’t you remember? You do read my letters, yes?”
“I … um … I mean …”
It wasn’t going well. I wanted to tell her I’d read every one until I could recite them to myself at night. I wanted to tell her that I kept her picture with me always, that I had dreamed of this moment, that I had so often conjured up her face and her words to make good times better still but also to help me through some bad times at school; I felt that I had known her forever. But now I couldn’t speak because she was even prettier in person, and my heart was beating so fast I was sure that she could hear it pounding away in my chest.
“I’m kidding. I know you read them.” Her smile settled my nerves and slowed down my racing heart and mind.
I looked from Sophie to Edith as the cab wove its way through the city streets. “I thought you would like to rest awhile with a visit to Hans’s.”
She turned to Edith. “Mother, I know you’ll just love Hans. Max tells me he’s a musical genius!”
Edith quietly nodded and returned her gaze to the window. We drove past parks and through squares and in fifteen minutes reached Hans’s place. He lived near us in what Poppy called a “French provincial h
ouse,” and, judging by the movies I had seen, I always felt it was a film set.
SOPHIE IN PRAGUE
I knocked, and Hans threw open the door with his arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture, which served as a kind of counterpoint to his soft-spoken patrician ease. Hans’s gestures were often grand, yet as gentle as a Chopin prelude, sweet and symmetrical, punctuating his conversations with a lot of hand waving—the better to show off his long dexterous fingers, Poppy said. He had true pianist’s hands, strong and nimble. He also had the look of a movie star, someone who could happily exchange quips with other movie stars in a nightclub or in an elegant Parisian restaurant, and I always saw him either dressed in tweeds or with his favorite paisley silk bathrobe draped over him. The gown had two large square pockets, envelopes to warm his hands. It was the bathrobe today.
“Max!” Hans said, beaming. “And who are these delightful people you’ve brought with you?”
Sophie gave a small curtsy, which Hans appreciated, and he answered it with an elegant bow. His drawing room was filled with peonies in vases and leather-bound books lining the walls. I loved to sit on the white linen sofa near the carved-stone fireplace. I sank into its voluminous, plump cushions, and Sophie carefully took a seat beside me. She sat looking straight ahead, a bit primly.
Edith admired the paperweights Hans kept on his mantel. I had often wondered about them. They were exquisite clear crystal and together they appeared as if they were precious jewels, each reflecting light, each telling a story.
“My mother collected them. They were made by Clichy and Baccarat in France,” Hans said, “and they are among the most famous glassmakers in the world.”
Edith held up a particularly beautiful piece to the light.
“From the turn of the century,” Hans explained. “I buy one whenever I can find them. They’re rare these days.”
“Stunning,” Edith said, rubbing the smooth crystal with her hand.
“That one was made just outside Paris in 1830.”
I spotted a small house with falling snow inside a faceted miniature universe.
“I bet you’ll be living in a place like that,” I said to Sophie, giving her a nudge.
“That would be nice.” Sophie gazed at the crystal in her mother’s hand.
Lucie, Hans’s cook, politely entered the room with tea and cakes.
“Thank you, Lucie,” said Hans. She had been with Hans for as long as I had been alive and had always made me feel as though this was my second home. She set the tray down on a side table, winked at me, and then gave a polite, not altogether customary nod, and left the room. I had never known Lucie to be so formal. Sophie had that effect on people. I’d certainly been stunned into silence … again.
Edith cleared her throat. “Mr. Krása, I’m sure you’re curious as to why we’ve come.”
I was. I still couldn’t imagine leaving my home without a good reason. What could it be? I suppose Poppy and I could have left after my mother died. Losing her was a reason to leave, people said, but for me, it was also a reason to stay. I could remember her here in Prague. I was afraid that if we moved to another city, we would be leaving her in some way. Perhaps I would forget her. As much as it hurt to think of her, not to think of her, no longer to be able to bring her to mind, would be worse, and leaving Prague, our city, her city, would be unbearable. Would it not be the same for Sophie and Edith?
Edith held Hans’s eyes for a while and then glanced briefly out of the window. “It was no longer safe after my family opposed the reunification of Austria with Germany, the Anschluss.”
Anschluss? What was that? I was embarrassed not knowing. It was exactly the kind of thing David would know. It was all so strange, so confusing. Just as it seemed my life was getting lighter with my friendship with Sophie, it was also getting darker and less understandable with everything else that was happening all around, all these flags and these changes, these things like Anschluss. Well, I was growing up; I had to learn more. Apart from anything else, I had a reporter’s curiosity.
“When the Germans marched in, they made our country their own. We’ve been looking for a country where we’ll be safe until we can be reunited with my husband. He was detained and taken away.”
My mother and Sophie’s father—we had already agreed that this was another connection between us, another sign that our friendship was meant to be. I stole a look at Sophie. She had gone very pale and was gripping her hands together in her lap. I used to think that with my mother gone the worst had already happened, that it couldn’t get more terrible. But the creeping sense that I was wrong about this became suddenly obvious, and in that moment I felt so strongly that what seemed solid and permanent might be anything but, that things could always change, and that anything that you had—that you owned, that you knew and loved—was just another thing that could be taken away.
“Do you know where he is?” Hans asked.
Edith shook her head and lowered her voice. “We have not heard a word.” She looked over at Sophie. “I don’t want to spoil such a nice day, but you must understand already that Jews aren’t welcome in Austria today.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled at Sophie. “Now, let us talk about other things … happier things.”
Hans and Edith began discussing people they might both know, the way adults automatically do when they meet for the first time. They would clearly be happy to spend the afternoon talking, but there was no need for us to suffer through hours of boring adult conversation.
“Would you like to go into town? I could show you around Prague.” I made every effort to sound grown-up and in charge. Sophie smiled and nodded and looked over to her mother, who nodded in agreement. Off we went.
I had imagined this day so many times, waiting for Sophie to visit my city. I led her down various small streets as she seemed to float above the cobblestones with a musical rhythm to her gait—a tilt of the head, a flow of arms, an easy step, crossing one of the big boulevards, gracefully dodging clanging tram cars. I felt more secure and wanted her to be confident that I knew my way, that I belonged here. I was showing off my city. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” I said with a grin. “I’m taking you to Vodičkova Street for karamelový pohár !”
Sophie’s eyes lit up. “Is it a cake?”
“Caramel ice cream.”
“I’ve never had that kind of ice cream!”
She clapped her hands together and ran in front of me, into the big square. A puppeteer was playing a scene of kids being chased by a wolf. We stopped, and Sophie watched the show intensely, as I watched her. I was transfixed by the blueness of those eyes that seemed always to be sparkling, expressing some inner warmth. The puppeteer was one of the city’s best. I’d watched him many times while out with Poppy, who admired his work as much as I did, recognizing a kindred spirit, someone who could create a world with almost nothing, could hold an audience enraptured. The shows were both enthralling and frightening, and the latest feature was a frightful, fanged wolf and terrified child-puppets fleeing its sharp cotton teeth. Sophie looked thrilled and now a little scared and reached for my hand. I wrapped my fingers around hers, feeling protective.
“They almost seem real,” she whispered to me. “They remind me of the men who came that night …” Sophie’s face had gone white and her hand cold. I changed my plan as soon as Sophie finished her ice cream.
“Time for a trolley tour. I’ll be your conductor and whisk you away!” I bowed as deeply as I could, thinking about how Hans would do it onstage.
“I knew this day would be a wonderful adventure!”
Score one for Max Mueller! The anxiety I had experienced at Hans’s seemed to have magically melted away, and I felt my happiness bubbling up inside me. I wanted to remember the feeling forever. I wished right then that happiness was something you could box up with a string and open whenever you needed it. That’s what I would do. I would
never forget this moment, capture it like a photograph and recall it whenever I needed to be reminded of how things could be, how full my heart could feel.
The next trolley came along and we took a seat near the front. All the windows were open; a conductor stood on a platform at the rear. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I announced, pointing to a castle, “that’s where young Max and the Great Viktor Mueller live.” It wasn’t our home at all, but I pretended it was. “They say a princess lives there too. She’s unimaginably beautiful and kind and is loved by everybody.”
I felt as if I was like my father, a natural showman. Sophie grinned, along with a few other passengers.
“Do you think I could be the princess, Max?” Sophie asked. “I thought this would only be an afternoon visit.” She squeezed my hand.
“Maybe,” I said grandly. You seem like a princess to me.
The trolley came to an abrupt stop in front of the park. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s one of my favorite parks in the city.”
“I wasn’t expecting a girlfriend,” I said, feeling more confident. “I’ve never had one before.”
“When did I become your girlfriend?”
She ran her hands along a gate as I paused, thinking that I’d said something wrong.
“If you like,” she said, “I’m happy to be just that.”
She hesitated awhile, tapping her finger along the top of a wrought iron fence. “There’s something special about having a boyfriend … or girlfriend,” she said. “It’s an invisible connection between two people. It’s like climbing the castle steps together. Does that make sense? We shouldn’t be afraid, because, well, we’ll be connected to each other even when we’re far away.”
While the Music Played Page 3