Cat Pictures Please and Other Stories

by Naomi Kritzer

  The golem was standing where the assassin would stand. A chill rippled through her body. Shuddering, she turned and walked back the way she had come, then took a fork in the road and headed away from Prague.

  She had been walking for twenty minutes when she realized what she’d done.

  Hanna had not told her to do this. Hanna had told her to deliver the message, and return.

  She sat down abruptly by the roadway. She had disobeyed—she hadn’t meant to, but she had been able to, nonetheless. If I don’t have to obey Hanna, then I don’t have to wait for her to die. I can go anywhere. The Czech countryside stretched out before her; she could see it like a map. War-torn, yes, but she knew where the bombs would fall and which buildings would stand through the war. I’ll go to Litomĕřice, she thought. I’ve never seen it. I’ll find a job—but for that she really would need papers, and Alena hadn’t gotten them for her yet. Well, it didn’t matter—she’d come up with something.

  First, though, she would celebrate her freedom. She took out a cigarette from Shayna’s cigarette case. Hanna would not want her to do this—Hanna would want her to hand over the cigarettes, so that they could be used for small bribes. The golem struck a match and lit the cigarette, breathing in the bitter smoke. The cigarette made her feel a little light-headed, and her lungs burned, but even the pain was exhilarating. She didn’t have to wait until June; she was free now.

  As the golem finished her cigarette, she heard footsteps behind her and turned around. There was a young woman, Jewish, carrying a suitcase. No doubt she was headed for the Trade Fair grounds. The information clicked in like the snap of a purse opening: Dobre Kaufman, twenty-four years old, single. Blonde enough to pass as Czech, but without the connections to get false papers. Besides, she believed what the Germans had told her about Terezin, that she would be safe there. She’d survive Terezin, then be shipped out to Auschwitz in one of the last transports. The golem realized with depressed astonishment that Dobre would die only a week before the Red Army would arrive to liberate her.

  “Excuse me,” the golem said.

  Dobre looked up.

  The golem took out the cigarette case and opened it; Shayna’s pearl was still there. There was a man in Holešovice who made false documents; he’d be executed in the purges after Heydrich’s assassination, but that was months away. And he worked cheap. “If you go to Terezin as you’ve been ordered, you will not survive the war,” she said. She put the pearl in Dobre’s hand. “Take this to Vyšebrad 2. Tell the man who answers the door that Stépan sent you, and give him the pearl. Have him make you false papers that say you’re Catholic. Go somewhere that nobody knows you and don’t tell anyone that you’re Jewish, not until the end of the war. If you do as I say, you might survive.”

  Dobre stared at her in silent wonder.

  “Do you understand me?” the golem asked impatiently.

  “Yes,” Dobre said. “Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just do as I tell you.” The golem walked away before the girl could ask her anything else. Let the girl think what she wanted—the golem had done what she could.

  She realized after a few minutes of walking that she had automatically headed back towards Prague. Well, it hardly mattered. She knew that Hanna would die in June, and the golem would be free. Perhaps in the meantime Alena would get her the false papers. Maybe if she arranged to have a close call or two, that would encourage Alena to take care of it. Or if she came up with something she’d definitely need papers for, like rail travel or a job. She could go back to Prague for now; it wouldn’t hurt anything.

  First, though, she thought she’d spend the night outside—just because she knew she could. It was still cold out, but the cold didn’t bother her. She crossed the river, then settled down under the bridge where it was dry. She smoked two more cigarettes as she waited for the dawn to come. As she finished the second, she found herself thinking about Dobre, and she realized with a shock that she no longer knew Dobre’s fate—it was as if the page she’d been looking at was now simply missing. She found herself poking at it mentally, like the tongue pokes a missing tooth. Still gone.

  Dobre must have taken her advice. She might or might not live, but she would no longer die from typhus and starvation one week before liberation.

  It occurred to her suddenly that something she had done might also have changed Hanna’s fate, but no, that was still there. Relieved, she headed back to the apartment.

  The golem expected Alena and Hanna to be angry, and had invented a story. Alena was watching for her out the window, but when she arrived, Alena pulled her in to a hug. “Thank God you’re safe,” she said. After a moment, she closed the apartment door. “Hanna has gone out to look for you. She has this crazy idea you’re in the Old Jewish Cemetery. I was sure you’d been arrested, and I was so terrified—we’d never be able to raise bribe money.”

  “Arrested?” the golem said. “Me?”

  Alena led the golem back to the kitchen and started water for tea. Hanna arrived a few minutes later.

  “She’s here,” Alena said.

  Hanna almost burst into tears. “We were so worried,” she said. “Where were you?”

  “I heard a patrol coming and hid,” the golem said. “I figured they’d be on their way in a few minutes, but then they stood around smoking cigarettes for hours. There were a lot of patrols around—I ended up waiting until morning, and then they thinned out.”

  It was a pathetic story; of course, the golem would know exactly when the patrol would leave, just as she would know when they were coming. She could not be trapped like that. But Hanna wanted to believe her, and she did.

  “You did exactly the right thing,” Alena said. “You’re one of the most valuable members of the Resistance right now. We can’t afford to lose you.”

  Hanna rose and spooned out a bowl of porridge for the golem. “Have something to eat,” Hanna said.

  *

  The golem had errands to run on May 27th, the day that Heydrich would be shot, but fortunately none of them took her anywhere near Holešovice. She didn’t tell Hanna or Alena about the assassination before it happened; they had lectured her several times on need-to-know, and this definitely qualified. Still, she took the streetcar to deliver her messages, and returned home as quickly as she could.

  Heydrich was shot in the evening. The crackdowns began within hours. The assassins had hidden well and would not be found until June 18th, but the Germans recovered enough evidence at the scene of the attack to identify certain key members of the Resistance. They were arrested and interrogated; the wheels of the Nazi machine turned, crushing their bodies beneath it, and moved outwards from there.

  Radek, who appeared on Alena and Hanna’s doorstep at two in the morning on June 14th, was not a leader of the Resistance but a friend of Alena’s. Alena yanked him into the parlor without a word, closed the door, and took him to the back room.

  “You shouldn’t have taken me in,” he said. “I’m putting you both in danger.”

  “That’s for us to decide,” Alena said. “So hush. Are you hurt?”

  “No. I got warning five minutes before they arrived.” Radek looked like he’d left home in a hurry—unshaven, he wore his nightshirt tucked into trousers, with an overcoat thrown on over the top, despite the summer heat.

  Alena settled Radek in her bed, to get a few hours’ rest. At dawn, she would go out to get a razor and less conspicuous clothes for him—and, if she could, false papers. This is it, the golem thought. The man who would sell her the papers would be arrested later that day; when interrogated, he would implicate Alena. The mistake was hers, going to someone who knew her name and address, but so many members of the Resistance had already been arrested that she had nowhere else to go. Ironically, the golem realized, thanks to the false papers that Elsa would obtain, Radek would survive the war, although Alena would die, and Hanna with her.

  And the golem would be free.

  Al
ena was gone for several hours. Radek slept peacefully. Hanna cleaned, holding the broom in fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white. Alena returned without incident and with everything she’d gone for. She woke Radek, and he quickly dressed and shaved. Hanna went to let him out through the back stairs.

  “Margit,” Alena said, once Hanna was gone. “I’m sorry this took so long. I got you your papers.”

  The golem looked down at the documents. The photo was of Alena, but as Hanna had observed that first night, they were close enough to pass for each other. The name was not Margit, though.

  Alena shook her head. “If Margit hasn’t been fingered as a member of the Resistance yet, she will be.”

  The golem looked up. “So will Alena.”

  Alena shrugged. “My contingency plan is to cause them enough trouble when they come for me that they just shoot me down then and there, and spare myself torture.”

  “Why didn’t you get false papers for yourself?” the golem asked. “You could hide, too.”

  “Between what Radek gave me and what I had saved, I had money for two sets. One of those had to go to Radek. And I’m not leaving Hanna. I’d rather die with her than lose her.”

  When Alena spoke of Hanna, her face twisted oddly, almost as if she were in pain. The golem studied Alena’s eyes, wondering what that would be like, to feel that way for another.

  “You know how to stay out of trouble,” Alena said. “You’ll be able to use those papers well.”

  The golem tucked them into her purse. Hanna had errands for her—messages that needed to be delivered. The golem knew, however, that all of the recipients had already been arrested, or would by the time she made it across Prague—even if she could fly. If she did complete the errands, Hanna and Alena would both be dead by the time she returned. Just as she’d been waiting for.

  So she took the papers, and went to the Old Jewish Cemetery.

  Despite the crackdown, the cemetery was not empty. The Jews were gradually being banned from more and more of the parks and streets of Prague; the Old Jewish Cemetery was the closest thing to a recreation area that they still had. There were families picnicking there, among the twelve thousand tombstones stacked like books on an overcrowded shelf.

  The tomb that the golem was looking for was near the main entrance. Paired marble tablets linked by a roof marked the grave of Rabbi Löw. She sat down in the shade of the slabs, and lit a cigarette.

  “So I’m back,” she said softly.

  She heard a peal of laughter from one of the women picnicking in the cemetery.

  “This time, nobody is going to destroy me. There won’t be anyone to do it. I can live forever—I’ll just avoid anyone who could hurt me. I know everything I need to know to stay alive.”

  She thought of the expression on Alena’s face as she spoke of Hanna. I’d rather die with her than lose her.

  “I’ve even got papers now,” she said. “Alena bought them for me, finally.” Instead of buying them for herself.

  “I have freedom.” She was even freer than Alena. Alena was trapped here, tied to Hanna. The golem was tied to nobody.

  Again, she saw the expression on Alena’s face, thinking of Hanna.

  “All I need to do is walk away,” she said.

  She could do that, she knew. Even if she had been bound to her creator’s will, her creator would be dead within hours. She was free to choose any fate she desired. This time, finally, she would survive. Alone, but alive.

  I’d rather die with her than lose her.

  The golem realized suddenly that the cigarette had burned away in her hand, and she hadn’t even inhaled any of the smoke. Disgusted, she stubbed out the last of it on the ground. Then she stood; the sun was warm on her shoulders. “This is my choice,” she said to the Rabbi’s grave. “This is my decision.”

  The golem returned to the apartment at 3:10 p.m. “Alena!” she called. “Hanna. Gather your valuables. Leave everything else, or you’ll arouse suspicions. You need to go, now, or you’ll both be killed in just over an hour.”

  The women obeyed her without hesitation. They put on several layers of clothes, though it would be hot, and each filled a purse and a shopping bag with food and the valuables they had left. The golem followed them through the apartment, talking. “Go to Kutná Hora,” she said. It was one of the larger towns in Bohemia. She gave them an address for another apartment—” They have a vacancy right now; the landlord isn’t nosy, and he won’t care who lives in the apartment aside from Alena. Don’t waste time; in a week, he’ll rent the place to a Nazi sympathizer who will later betray his next-door neighbor for sheltering Jews. It’s much better that the landlord rent to you.”

  There was room in Hanna’s shopping bag for a single volume of her antique Talmud—a family heirloom. She took it, although there were other things that would have been more practical. She left the books of golem lore. She left the books of golem lore.

  The golem stopped Alena at the door. “Give me your papers,” she said, and handed Alena the false papers that Alena had bought for her. “Now go.”

  As Alena and Hanna headed down the stairs to the street, the golem felt their fate vanish from her mind. She was certain that they would live or die together, whatever happened. In the meantime—the Germans would come to arrest Alena Nebeský, and they would find her. The golem picked up Hanna’s book of golem lore, lit the last of Shayna’s cigarettes, and sat down in the immaculate parlor to wait.

  WIND

  nce upon a time, there were two young girls, closer than sisters, who dreamed of greatness. When they played together (as they did every day), Gytha always pretended to be an artist, raising glorious sculptures of stone and glass, and Dagmar pretended to be a famous physician, making brilliant discoveries each day and then spending her nights in the slums, secretly healing those too poor to afford a physician’s fee.

  Magical ability comes from an imbalance of the elements within the human heart, however, and both Gytha and Dagmar had been blessed with balance rather than power. But Gytha read in a book about a perilous rite requiring two willing hearts that would allow them to trade elements, creating an imbalance and leaving both people with magical power. “Give me your Air,” Gytha suggested to Dagmar, “and I will give you my Earth.”

  Dagmar hesitated. She had always been a bit more sensible than Gytha, and could foresee the possibility of disaster. But Gytha pressed her. “You know we are already one soul in two bodies. If we divide our hearts as I propose, we will also promise each other to stay together and make up for each other’s deficiencies.”

  Finally, Dagmar was persuaded. They joined hands, left palm to left palm and right to right, and spoke the words the book offered. Each felt a sharp pain and Dagmar almost cried out, “no, stop, I didn’t mean it,” but the rite was done; the transfer was accomplished. Gytha, with her excess of Air, could stretch out her hands to melt stone and sculpt it. Dagmar, with her excess Earth, now had the gift of healing.

  Air is the element of change. Gytha, having brought an excess of change into her life, could not bear to stay in her home village. From one of the high peaks near their village, they could occasionally see dragons, tiny black specks against the distant horizon, and Gytha had always envied their freedom; now, she saw that she had never needed wings, only the willingness to fly away. She tried to persuade Dagmar to come with her, but Earth is the element of stability, and Dagmar could not bear to go. “I will visit often,” Gytha said as she packed her bag.

  “But you promised that we would stay together,” Dagmar said.

  “We can stay together,” Gytha said, “but you will have to come with me. You can’t possibly expect me to stay here.”

  “How can you possibly expect me to go?” Dagmar asked.

  “Dagmar, listen to me,” Gytha said. “You will never become a great physician if you won’t come down from our village. Where will you find training? How will you learn more than the midwife can teach you? You must come.”

&nb
sp; “I can’t,” Dagmar said, even though when she’d clasped hands with Gytha, she’d fully intended to do just that. “I can’t.”

  Gytha tossed her hair. “I don’t understand you,” she said, and there was scorn in her voice, because now that she’d rid herself of her Earth, it seemed contemptible to her. “I promise I’ll write.”

  Gytha walked through night and day to one of the great cities, where her art and magic quickly earned her great acclaim. But like the wind, she could never stay in one place for long. She travelled restlessly, leaving in her wake beautiful buildings, stone like ribbon, and a trail of broken hearts—the first of which was Dagmar’s.

  Dagmar, in her home village, got what training she could in healing and then married a man who needed her and had four children, two girls and two boys. She knew that she’d made a terrible mistake, but had no way to fix it: for Gytha, there could never be anything but change, but for Dagmar, there could be no change at all. (Other than parenting—but once you’re married, children have a tendency to arrive on their own, unless you’re careful.) Each, in her own way, was trapped. Gytha would never realize that the cause of her unhappiness was the imbalance in her own heart that she’d longed for so fiercely. Dagmar, without Air to drive change, could never take the steps she needed to shed the parts of her life that began to eat her, piece by piece.

  Years passed. Dagmar delivered babies, splinted broken bones, brewed tisanes. She fought with her husband—the same fights, over and over, every time. Her children grew up, and Dagmar’s hair began to go gray. Every once in a long while, a traveler would bring news of Gytha to the village—her glorious cathedrals, her honors, her acclaim—and Dagmar would quietly leave the gathering, unable to bear to hear it.

  Then one day, two of the shepherds carried a stranger into the village, cradled in a thick blanket. They’d found her in a field late one afternoon, when the mountain’s heights had cast everything into shadow. She had no bag or pack, one of her legs was twisted into a strange position, and she was completely naked save for her long black hair. They brought her, of course, to Dagmar.