Cat Pictures Please and Other Stories

by Naomi Kritzer

  Hanna turned towards her, meeting her gaze without flinching. “For the same purpose as all the golems: to protect the Jews of Prague.”

  The golem felt the impossibility of the request sweep over her like rising floodwater. The machinery of death was already in motion around her. The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia was run by Reinhard Heydrich, the man who had built Dachau and enshrined the words Arbeit Macht Frei over the gates. He had already begun deporting the Czech Jews to Terezin; the deportations would continue, taking twelve hundred Jews each week until only a handful—the spouses or children of gentiles—remained. From Terezin, nearly all would ultimately be taken to Auschwitz or Treblinka to die.

  The golem’s voice was flat when she answered. “No one can protect the Jews of Prague.” Hanna’s eyes showed disbelief, so the golem continued. “Some will survive, but most will die. Terezin is just the pen outside the slaughterhouse.”

  “There must be something that can be done,” Alena whispered. She had selected a dress from the pile; now it slipped from her hands.

  The golem had opened her mouth to tell her no, there was nothing, but as the dress fluttered to the floor she hesitated. “There are things that can be done. Perhaps they will even do a little good. But there is nothing I can do to protect all the Jews of Prague, or even most. Or even many.”

  Four hundred years ago, Rabbi Löw had created the golem to protect the Jews against pogroms. Pogroms, in Prague and elsewhere, were typically fueled by blood libel—the story that the Jews murdered gentile children to make unleavened bread with their blood. When a young Christian woman disappeared, the hideous stories had surfaced like scum on a pond. Rabbi Löw had sent the golem out to look; the golem had hunted through the night, and found the girl alive, hidden away in a cellar. The golem had broken down the door and brought the girl to the Town Square for all to see. And so the Jews had been saved.

  Unfortunately, Rabbi Löw had destroyed his creation shortly afterwards. But at least that miracle had been relatively easy to accomplish.

  Hanna picked up Alena’s dress from where it had fallen. “Put this on,” she said. “Even if you can’t save us, there’s plenty of work you can do.”

  The golem pulled the dress over her head and began to fasten the buttons.

  “She needs a name,” Hanna said. “We’re going to have to introduce her to other people.”

  Alena looked her over. “We’ll tell them she’s my cousin, Margit.”

  “Doesn’t Margit live in England?”

  “Canada,” Alena said. “But nobody in Prague knows that.”

  “Do you think Pavlík can arrange false papers for her?” Hanna asked.

  “Papers won’t be necessary,” the golem said, straightening the skirt of the dress. “I will not be asked for them.”

  Hanna and Alena exchanged looks.

  “Are you sure?” Alena asked.

  “The police will pass by on the street outside in nine minutes and forty-three seconds,” the golem said. “Watch, if you don’t believe me.”

  Alena checked her watch and went to the front room to wait. Ten minutes later, she returned, raised one eyebrow, and nodded once.

  “I guess she may be useful, after all,” Hanna said.

  Alena sent the golem to sleep on the couch in the unused living room. The golem did not need sleep, but lay down obediently and closed her eyes for the duration of the night. Very early, she heard footsteps and a faint, faint male voice, speaking Czech. She rose and went into the back bedroom. The voice was coming from the kitchen; she realized after a moment that it was a radio, turned down so as to be almost inaudible. “This is Radio Free Prague,” the voice said.

  Alena sat at the kitchen table, transcribing the radio broadcast in shorthand. Hanna cooked breakfast, making enough noise to cover the sound of the radio for any ears but the golem’s. Alena nodded a greeting as the golem came in, then bent her head over her notes again.

  The broadcast lasted for forty-five minutes, then switched over to a different language. Hanna gave Alena a bowl of porridge, and Alena pushed the paper aside with a sigh, picking up her spoon. Hanna sat down, took out a separate piece of paper, and quickly transcribed the shorthand into a neat, readable script.

  Alena looked up from her porridge to study the golem. “Do you eat?”

  The golem shrugged. “I can eat, but I don’t have to.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  Alena still hesitated, and Hanna looked up from the transcript. “Don’t be silly,” Hanna said. “She doesn’t need anything, so why waste the rations?”

  Alena shrugged, and went back to eating. A few minutes later, Hanna finished the transcription. She blew on the ink to dry it, then folded the letter, put it in an envelope, sealed the envelope, and addressed it as if it were an ordinary letter. Then she held it out to the golem. “Take this to Vltavská 16. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take this there and put it into the mail slot. If anybody asks your name, say that you’re Margit Nebeský. Come back here when you’re done.”

  “She should take my papers,” Alena said. “My photo’s not that good. She could pass as me, easily.”

  “I won’t need them,” the golem said.

  “Take them anyway,” Alena said. “I’ll stay here until you get back.” Alena handed the golem her purse, then looked at her again and laughed. “Hanna, were you really going to send her out like that? Barefoot, without a hat?”

  Hanna looked at the golem and blushed. “Sorry,” she said.

  Alena took out a hat and pair of shoes, as well as her winter coat, and the golem put them on. Everything fit. “We’ll have to get another coat somewhere,” Alena said. “Even if she can get by without papers, sending her out with no coat in December seems a bit cruel, and I don’t want to be stuck in the apartment.”

  “At least that should be easier than false papers,” Hanna said. She tucked the envelope into Alena’s purse and handed it back to the golem. “Do you have any questions?”

  “No.”

  “Then get going.”

  The golem headed out. Hanna called after her, “If you see anything helpful you could do while you’re out—do it.”

  The December sky was as gray as cement; it was not raining or snowing as the golem left the apartment, but it would start soon. Nobody glanced twice at the golem, and she strode quickly through the streets towards her destination.

  Vltavská 16 was on the other side of the Vltava River. It would have been fastest to take the streetcar, but Hanna had not specifically told the golem that she had to take the fastest route. Despite the cold, the golem was in no particular hurry to return to the apartment. Besides, Prague had changed a lot since her last visit; she wanted to see the city.

  From the house on Dlouhá street, she passed through the Old Town Square. It was no longer the commercial center of the city, but there were plenty of people here, and plenty of commerce. A few police officers swaggered through the crowd, but she avoided any who might have asked to see her papers. They had finished Týn Church, she noticed; also, they had put up a huge statue of Jan Hus. It was the biggest thing on the square.

  Continuing towards the Vltava, she passed the National Theatre; that was new. It was huge and boxy and ornate, with a silvery roof and carvings along the sides. She skipped that bridge and continued along the river to the bridge that would take her directly to the Smíchov district.

  Vltavská 16 was a small house, new since her last visit, but not that new. The Nazi informant who lived a few doors down would be coming out to water her plants in a minute, so the golem slipped the transcript through the mail drop quickly and was on her way before the woman came out. The Resistance member who lived at Vltavská 16 had a printing press; by evening, handbills with the transcript would be passed hand-to-hand in the markets and squares of Prague.

  The golem decided to cross at the Charles Bridge on the way back. The Charles Bridge was o
ld even when she’d last lived in Prague, although it had a different name then. The bridge had statues now, saints and angels looming over the people as they crossed. She was passing the Church of Saint Nicholas, most of the way there, when she saw a patch of yellow through the jostling crowd. A Jewish family, struggling with suitcases and two small children. The golem made her way towards them. Hanna had told her to help, if she could.

  The woman had set down her suitcase, trying to re-balance the child on her hip, when the golem reached them. They were already tired, she could see, and ashamed, to be seen struggling on foot through Prague like this. The golem didn’t really want to know who they were or what fate awaited them, but the knowledge was there as soon as it occurred to her to wonder: Shayna and Mandel Fienbaum, and their children—Selig, age three, and Reise, age six months. Shayna and Reise would die at Terezin during one of the typhoid outbreaks. Mandel and Selig would live to be murdered at Treblinka, in eighteen months.

  “Excuse me,” the golem said. “You look a bit overwhelmed, with the children and the suitcases. May I carry something for you?”

  They looked nervous when she first approached, but Shayna’s face broke quickly into sweet relief. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “Yes, please, if you’d be so kind. Thank you.”

  Mandel would not let the golem take both suitcases, but she lifted one easily, freeing the woman to carry just the child. “We’re going to the Trade Fair grounds,” Shayna said.

  The golem nodded. The Trade Fair grounds was where the Jews of Prague would be assembled, one thousand at a time. Like the others, Mandel and Shayna would be stripped of their documents and any items of value, then deported to Terezin in the dark hours of night.

  Shayna introduced herself and her husband and children; the golem introduced herself as Margit. “You’re so kind to help us,” Shayna said, in a tone that asked why any Czech woman would help Jews.

  “It’s nothing,” the golem said.

  The Trade Fair grounds were in Holešovice, north and east along the curve of the Vltava. In coming weeks, the Jewish teenagers of Prague would organize to assist families like this one, oiling the machinery that would ultimately devour them. Not that they knew that, of course; all they knew was that they were helping people who needed help, carrying bags from people who would have to struggle alone across Prague in the cold.

  The golem knew, of course. She considered this, as she carried the suitcase, but it seemed to her that to tell this family their fate would only increase their suffering—if they believed her. As she had told Hanna, there was very little that could be done; she could carry their suitcases, and ease their suffering, but she couldn’t save them.

  “Here we are,” Mandel said as they reached the edge of the Trade Fair grounds. “Thank you so much for your help.”

  “It was nothing,” the golem said, and turned to go.

  “Wait,” Shayna said. “I want to give you something.”

  “I don’t need any payment,” the golem said.

  “Not payment,” Shayna said. “Just a gift.” She opened one of the bags and drew out a small silver case, which she pressed into the golem’s hand. “Just to say thank you.”

  The golem closed her hand over the gift and watched as the family went to join the other families queuing in a jostling mass. When they were gone, she opened her hand and looked; Shayna had given her a silver cigarette case, with five cigarettes inside, and a book of matches. Looking more closely, the golem realized that a pearl had been hidden inside the cigarette case, as well. It was a single perfect pearl, set into a pendant, with a thin gold chain. She wondered if Shayna had meant to give her the pearl, or just the cigarettes, but it hardly mattered—in a few hours, the rest of the family’s valuables would be confiscated by the Nazis, even the gold jewelry that they had so carefully sewn into the lining of their coats. Better the golem have the pearl than the Nazis.

  The golem touched the pearl, then smiled and closed the cigarette case with a click, slipping it into the pocket of her dress. The cigarettes might also be useful, and Hanna would not think to ask whether the golem had received any gifts.

  When the golem reached the apartment, she could hear someone weeping. She slipped in quietly, stepped out of her shoes, and crossed the floor to listen at the door. It was Hanna who was weeping, and for a chill moment, the golem thought Hanna had decided to destroy her. But she was crying for a friend—a young man she’d known, Jewish, shot for failure to report for deportation to Terezin. Alena sat beside Hanna at the kitchen table, one arm around Hanna’s waist.

  After a long time, Hanna raised her head. “What are we going to do if I get called for deportation?” she whispered through her tears.

  Alena pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket. “Why don’t you ever have a handkerchief in your own pocket, Hanna? Blow your nose.”

  Hanna wiped her nose and her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Alena took the handkerchief back. “You’re not going anywhere I can’t go,” she said. “I’ll hide you if it comes to that.”

  “They’ll look here.”

  “We’ll hide you with a member of the Resistance, then. I have connections.”

  “But if they find me—”

  “If I have to, I’ll get false papers that say I’m Jewish—those should be easy enough to come by—and go with you.”

  Hanna laughed through her tears. “Your Resistance friends would think you were crazy.”

  “I don’t care,” Alena said. “We’ll do what we have to do. For now . . .” She leaned her forehead against Hanna’s shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself.”

  It was ironic, the golem thought, that in the end it would be Alena who put Hanna in danger, rather than the other way around. Hanna would probably have died regardless, but there was no way to know. The golem retraced her steps through the parlor, slipped her shoes back on, and banged the door shut as if she’d just come in.

  The women’s voices stopped. “Who is it?” Alena called.

  “It’s me—Margit,” the golem said.

  Alena threw open the door to the back rooms, a welcoming smile on her face. “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” The golem followed Alena back into the kitchen. Hanna hastily wiped her nose again, this time on her sleeve, and straightened up. “I delivered the letter where you told me,” the golem said to her.

  “Did anyone ask for your papers?” Alena asked.

  “No.”

  “You can go out without them tomorrow, then. But I’m going to try to get a false set for you, just in case.”

  In the meantime, Alena had bartered with someone in her building for an extra coat; it was shabby but reasonably warm, and it fit.

  “There’s something else I’d like to know,” Hanna said. “What happens if you get arrested?”

  The golem knew what she was asking. The golem was made of clay, brought to life with faith and magic. Hanna could destroy the golem with a quick gesture across the golem’s forehead, changing the word emet—truth—to met—death. But if she were shot—could a bullet stop a heart of clay?

  “Bullets will not stop me,” the golem said. “But a hot enough fire can consume even clay.”

  Hanna nodded.

  “However, I cannot be coerced to reveal your secrets,” the golem said. Her clay body could feel pain, but she was as indifferent to pain as she was to cold.

  Alena raised an eyebrow. “That’s useful to know.”

  “What did you do today after you delivered the letter?” Hanna asked.

  “I helped a Jewish family that was walking to the Trade Fair grounds,” the golem said.

  Hanna’s eyes softened. “Good. That was the sort of thing I’d hoped you’d do.”

  The golem shrugged. For the Germans to deport the Jews from Prague, it was necessary that the deportations be clean and quiet. The Czechs were not an unkind people; on the one occasion that the Germans marched them to the train station by day, the Czech witnesses were horrified at the
spectacle. The men ostentatiously doffed their hats, and the women wept. To the extent that the golem had made the deportation cleaner—more painless—she had served the Germans that day, and not the Jews of Prague.

  It didn’t matter. Nothing she did would matter.

  “Do you have anything else you want me to do today?” she asked.

  But Alena had no more messages that needed to be delivered, and hadn’t yet made contact with the Resistance to tell them about their new volunteer—her cousin Margit, who had an almost supernatural ability to avoid attracting the attention of the authorities. They passed the evening in companionable discomfort, the golem watching the two women eat. She did enjoy eating, when she had the opportunity. Hanna’s cooking smelled delicious, defying the limits of the ration book. Well. It was understandable that they wouldn’t want to share, and the fact that the golem didn’t have to eat would come in handy in seven months, when she was free.

  *

  The Prague Resistance was initially suspicious of Alena’s claims regarding Margit’s abilities. But after a few close calls (easy enough for the golem to produce), they accepted their good fortune. After that, the golem spent most of each day delivering messages, walking from one end of Prague to the other.

  One day in early spring, the golem’s duties took her beyond the Trade Fair grounds and further towards the edge of Holešovice. Afterwards, as she walked home along the curving roadway, she realized that she was standing somewhere that would be important. Looking around, she realized that this was the spot where Heydrich would be assassinated at the end of May. The assassins had trained in England, and had been dropped by parachute in December. In the evening of May 27th, the first assassin would fire his gun only to have it jam; another would see that the gun had misfired and hurl a grenade. The shrapnel from the grenade would severely wound Heydrich, though he would cling to life for several days. Thousands would die in the reprisals that would follow—in addition to wiping out every trace they could find of the Resistance, the Germans would execute the entire male population of a town called Lidice, then send the women to concentration camps and the children to German families.