by Alex Gerlis
‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea.’
The shadow stirred. ‘There are probably less than one million people in Prague, it’s impossible to say, the Germans don’t tell us. Maybe the figure is closer to nine hundred thousand. But people have moved into the city, people have been deported from it, people have been killed, others have been removed for forced labour… so who knows?’
The man shuffled around, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. Prince caught a glimpse of his face, the outline of a beard… ‘So to answer my question… if we assume there are nine hundred thousand people in the city and for the sake of argument there are two people per home, that’s four hundred and fifty thousand dwellings. But some of those will be apartments, like this one. So let’s say there are three hundred thousand homes in the city. Do you agree?’
Prince said he did, though he didn’t have the faintest idea what the point of the conversation was. He’d have assumed the voice from the other side of the room came from someone who was deranged, except it sounded very rational, very cultured.
‘But then we need to add to that other buildings – the shops, offices, industrial premises… schools, churches… let’s say half a million buildings.’
There was a long silence. The man appeared to have finished, though Prince wondered if he was meant to say anything. He didn’t want there to be a bad atmosphere.
‘You are probably wondering what this old man is talking about, eh? Please don’t worry. I was a mathematician at Charles University. Have you heard of it?’
Prince replied he thought he had.
‘So you should have – it claims to be the oldest university in Europe. I was a mathematician there – a professor of mathematics.’ He placed a clear emphasis on the word ‘professor’ and allowed time for Prince to appreciate what he said. ‘I did my first degree there – I was just sixteen when I started, a child genius! I got my doctorate and then became a lecturer at Heidelberg University in Germany for a few years, but of course I was thrown out so I returned to Prague and became a professor and I thought… well, I suppose I was smug, despite all the warnings. Then the Nazis arrived and more or less the first thing they did was throw us Jews out of the universities and now here I am, spending my time asking questions and trying to work out the answers.’
Prince lit a cigarette and asked the man if he wanted one; he said he was fine for the time being but would certainly take him up on the offer later.
‘So to go back to my question – if there are half a million buildings in Prague, the odds on the Nazis finding us in this one are fairly remote. Of course there are a number of variable factors here… how many other safe houses there are, for instance, how many Germans there are… not forgetting informers of course… but I would conclude that there are simply too many buildings for the Germans to feasibly search at random. If we are quiet and discreet and obey the rules of the house we should be fine as long as we don’t go mad in the meantime, that’s what I tell myself.’
* * *
The plan Zora had conceived that Saturday in the apartment in Pilsen was to send him to Prague. He could hardly blame her for wanting him out of Pilsen in a hurry. She said she needed to make some arrangements and left the apartment for a couple of hours. When she returned she had a holdall with her. She tipped its contents onto the rug between them.
‘This suit, you’ll wear it tomorrow, along with this shirt and tie. There are three pairs of shoes here – try them on and take whichever one fits you best. There’s underwear here, socks, a spare pair of trousers and a sweater and a washbag. Inside that there’s a toothbrush holder with a secret section in which the film Karel shot on your tiny camera is concealed. You have a strip of film too, don’t you? Well, put it in there too. It will be too risky to take the camera, you’d better leave it with us. Your Irish ID, you think you should take that?’
‘It may help.’
‘You’ll be taking this holdall. It has a false bottom where those papers can go and the Beretta too. As well as photographs of the chromium arriving and being unloaded Karel also managed to photograph a number of documents about the cargo – the manifests and other papers.’
The journey to Prague began late on the Sunday morning when Zora returned to the apartment, checking him and his bag over before giving him instructions.
‘You’ll leave the house at noon. Turn left, and after fifty yards you’ll see a road to your left and after another two hundred yards – on the north side of the road – you’ll see a Škoda Rapid, a black four-door saloon. If you see a priest standing by the open boot, you know it is safe. If not, walk on and don’t look back. The priest’s name is Father František – he’ll be expecting you. You’ll use the same kennkarte as you did when you came here, the Emil Novák one.’
She looked impatiently at her watch and then at the carriage clock above the mantelpiece, anxious for five past noon to arrive.
‘One other thing – Father František doesn’t know about this safe house or about me. This has all been arranged through an intermediary. Please say nothing about what you’ve been up to in Pilsen – don’t volunteer information. His job is to get you to Prague.’
At five past noon she wished him luck as she hurried him out of the door. It was a five-minute walk to where the Škoda Rapid was parked and a tall man wearing a black cassock with a white dog collar topped by a wide-brimmed black hat was standing by the open boot. Prince introduced himself as Emil and they shook hands. The priest looked pale and nervous, his two front teeth protruding to give the misleading impression of a cheery disposition. He told Prince to get in, moving a pile of papers from the passenger seat to join the clutter on the back seat. The priest was so nervous he struggled to put the Škoda into gear and then drove too slowly, leaning forward over the steering wheel as if to see better. He waited until they’d left Pilsen before he spoke in German, the accent strong and hard to understand, and delivered in a ponderous manner, as if he were preaching a sermon.
They’d headed north-east out of Pilsen, the enormous Křivoklátsko forest soon emerging to the west and remaining there for much of the journey. Prince knew full well driving too slowly was more likely to arouse suspicion than driving too fast, but he felt reluctant to say anything, Father František was nervous enough as it was, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the steering wheel.
He’d been silent throughout the journey, occasionally muttering what Prince took to be directions to himself. It was almost three o’clock when they entered Prague through the west of the city and the priest appeared to relax. He seemed to know where he was and he was now approaching the end of his journey, his obligations nearly met. ‘Are you a religious man?’
Prince hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t want to upset the man he was still relying upon. ‘Sometimes, I suppose so… yes’. He hoped that would do.
‘I have no idea what will happen to you now and in the future, but take comfort from Psalm twenty-three. Are you familiar with it, Emil?’
Prince said he’d need reminding.
‘“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” Nazi Europe is truly the valley of the shadow of death, Emil, but fear not, if you follow a just cause you will be protected and comforted.’
Prince nodded, deciding not to tell Father František that from what he’d seen in the valley of the shadow of death, being on the right side didn’t appear to have been of much comfort. By now they’d arrived at a large church and the priest parked the Škoda next to a small door at the rear. He led him through the back of the church into the sacristy, a messy room with vestments hanging from racks and piles of missals on a table. The room was far too warm, with an unpleasant smell of gas and incense. The priest told him to wait: he would just be thirty minutes and then they’d go on to the last church.
Prince must have dozed for a moment or two. When he woke it was to the sound of chanting drifting
in from the main body of the church and a sense someone was looking at him. He glanced around and it was a while before he spotted a short, bald-headed man who looked uncannily like his former headmaster watching him from a doorway.
‘Emil?’
Prince nodded as the man walked forward. ‘Come with me, please.’ The man spoke quietly but urgently.
‘Father František told me to wait here. He said he’d be taking me on to another church…’
‘We really don’t have much time. And don’t forget your bag. Zora said you have a Beretta? If so get it out of the bag and have it about you. And you have your kennkarte? Let me see it, please.’
They hurried out the back of the church and walked through tightly winding cobbled streets, ascending all the time, the other man moving faster than Prince.
‘My name is Tomáš, by the way. I’m taking you to a safe house. You’ll be there for a few days until we find another place for you. The priest,’ he gestured back towards the church, ‘we’re not sure about him. We only started using him recently. He has a car and an excuse to be driving around and we have no reason to suspect him, but he came to us so we need to be cautious. So we’d told him his mission today was to take you to one further church from where you’d be collected – it’s our way of testing Father František. You see that house over there, the one with the porch door ajar? That’s where we’re going. We’ll just wait here for a few minutes to keep an eye on it.’
* * *
The mathematics professor told Prince he was called Rudi. He told him how he’d been in hiding ever since the Germans had entered Prague, but had been betrayed by someone he thought was a friend and had managed to contact the resistance.
‘I’m fortunate in many ways, I guess. I have no family, no responsibilities or anyone to worry about. I was all right for a year or so because I was not involved in Jewish life in Prague. I’d even avoided registering as a Jew. Tens of thousands of Jews have been deported to Terezín, which the Germans call Theresienstadt. It’s a ghetto and concentration camp north of here – a waiting room for death. And this place, this is also a waiting room.’
* * *
Dawn had hardly broken when they were woken by Tomáš. From a canvas bag he produced a flask with a coffee-like drink in it and two rolls. He told them to hurry and gather their things.
‘I have bad news. We were watching the second church that Father František was meant to take you to last night. The Gestapo were waiting there. We can only be grateful they weren’t at the first church. At least we know that damn priest betrayed us. He’ll be dealt with when he returns to Pilsen. But it does mean we need to abandon this safe house, which is a pity because it in such a good position. It also means that they’ll have your description, Emil. Our experience is that it tends to take the Germans a day or two to properly circulate that kind of information, so the sooner we leave here the better. It’s a five-minute walk to the tram – Rudi, you’ll know which one to take so you travel with Emil. I’ll be on the same tram but will stay apart from you and walk in front of you both. You understand?’
They both nodded and Tomáš continued. ‘The Germans have changed the name of everything in Prague which is one of their ways of destroying us. All places have to be referred to by their German names, which I’ll use now – it may be easier for you anyway. They’ve even changed the name of the Vltava river to the Moldau, can you believe it? We’ll cross it on the most Legií – most is Czech for bridge, by the way, they now call it Smetana Brücke. The tram will take us into Victoria Strasse and we’ll get off it just before Wenceslas Square, which naturally they’ve renamed Wenzel Platz. We’ll cross the square diagonally into Beethoven Strasse.’
The new safe house turned out to be the musty attic of a slightly shabby baroque building in sight of Wenceslas Square. The attic appeared to have been used for storage. The main room had sharply sloping ceilings and two beds; adjoining it was a small kitchen area and a toilet.
The floor was thick with rugs and strips of carpet, an attempt to muffle any sound they might make. Tomáš told them someone would visit twice a week to make sure all was well and bring them food. They were to keep very quiet, he said; they were not to leave the attic, of course, nor were they to use the lights apart from the one in the toilet. They could be there for some time.
Which they were.
Prince reckoned he’d arrived in Prague on Sunday, 24th October, and he carefully marked the days on one of the newspapers Tomáš had brought them during that first week in Beethoven Strasse. The days turned to weeks, the weeks into months and 1943 into 1944. The nights became shorter, then almost imperceptibly longer. The leaves blowing past their window turned to rain, then to sleet followed by snow, before the room was filled with sun, sometimes for two or three hours at a time.
Life was not completely unbearable: he had German books and newspapers to read, the attic was cold but not intolerably so, especially once they’d patched up the cracks in the window. He and Rudi got on as well as could be expected of two people cooped up together. As time went on the older man became quieter and more maudlin, sitting on a chair near the window for hours at a time, staring at the rooftops of his beloved city. Sometimes Prince would notice Rudi’s eyes were filled with tears and he’d know to leave him alone.
It was an afternoon early in December when Rudi came and sat next to him, his eyes still moist. ‘I feel so sorry that you see Prague like this.’ Rudi waved his hand towards the window. ‘The bleak sky, the signs in German, the beautiful buildings with Nazi soldiers outside them, the city emptied of its Jews and so many other residents… it’s like a reptile that sheds a beautiful skin to reveal one that is dull and diseased. This city used to be the prettiest in Europe, you know, like Paris – so much so there’s a street not far from here called Pařížská. It was like a boulevard in Paris. Now it’s been renamed Nürnberger Strasse, can you believe. You must promise me that if you survive this dreadful war – if we survive this war…’ he allowed a silent chuckle at the very thought, ‘…then you will permit me to show you the true soul of Prague.’
Prince said that would be nice and he—
‘…the area around Pařížská is Josefov, it’s the Jewish quarter, now quite empty I imagine. Backing onto Pařížská is the Altneuschul, it’s reputed to be the oldest synagogue in Europe. It was built around 1250, if I remember, but I’ve no idea if it’s still there. There’s a legend… you understand that as a professor of mathematics at the Charles University I’m not supposed to believe in legends or fairy tales and in normal times I wouldn’t, but then these aren’t normal times. The legend is that in the late sixteenth century a famous rabbi created a golem – a clay figure – to protect the Jews of Prague from being attacked. The golem came to life and did indeed protect them, but then it went out of control and the famous rabbi was obliged to destroy the golem. It has always been said that the remains of the golem are to be found in the attic of the synagogue.
‘Now I find myself staring out of the window, in the direction of Josefov, willing the golem to come back to life and destroy the Germans…’
In the second week of 1944, Tomáš turned up after a gap of some ten days. Since they’d last seen him he’d lost weight and grown a beard. He had a haggard and worried look about him. ‘Things are getting very bad. So many of our people are being arrested, and not just here, elsewhere in Bohemia too. Karel and his group have all been arrested in Pilsen though I’m told Zora managed to escape. It’s only a matter of time before I’m captured unless I go into hiding. I don’t know for how much longer people can come here. I’ve bought more food with me than usual but you must do your best to make it last.
‘If things get desperate or you’re in danger then you are to leave here. Rudi, you must look after yourself, but Emil, you are to cross the river on the Charles Bridge and from there go to Hradčany square, it’s where Prague Castle and the cathedral are. The Germans have renamed it Hradschinplatz and there you’ll find the Swiss co
nsulate, I think it’s at number one but you don’t need to worry, the Swiss flag will give you a good clue as to where the building is. Go down to the basement where you’ll find the consular affairs section. You need to concentrate on what I’m about to tell you, Emil.’
* * *
After that visit, no one else came to the musty attic in the baroque building on Beethoven Strasse again. As much as they tried to conserve what little food they had they soon found themselves in a permanent state of hunger and days could go by when nothing came out of the single tap other than a trickle which was so rusty it looked more like blood than water.
As January turned into February the temperature plummeted and life became increasingly unbearable in the room. Rudi seemed to suffer in particular: he was frequently short of breath and complained of chest pains.
‘I know exactly what medicine I need,’ he told his companion.
On the first Sunday of February – Prince noted it was the 6th – Rudi spent all day in bed, groaning whenever he moved. When Prince woke on the Monday morning he half expected to see Rudi dead, but instead the older man was perched at the end of his bed, fully dressed, with hat and gloves on.
‘I hope you will understand I have decided to visit the doctor. Please don’t try to dissuade me, I know exactly what I’m doing. There’s a very good clinic in Nové Město, not too far from here. The walk and the fresh air may even do me some good. And on the way back, I can bring us some fresh cakes from a wonderful bakery which my mother used to take me to as a treat!’
‘But—’
‘Please don’t worry! If anything happens to me, I am reconciled to my fate. I wouldn’t dream of mentioning this place.’ Rudi was determined to leave and when he did so he cheerily announced he’d be back in a couple of hours.