Prague Counterpoint

by Bodie Thoene

  There was no time for despair. Charles patted her demandingly on the back. He shook his head. There was not time to rest!

  “I have never changed a tire,” Elisa said, as though this explained her slowness to move.

  He shook his head again. That did not matter. He moved over to the door and climbed out. So thin and frail, and yet he opened his mouth and sounded an impatient, almost angry cry. He beat his fist against the flat tire. She would have to change the tire and would have to do it now!

  ***

  President Beneš was a small man, a man of gentleness and reason who faced a pack of reporters as fearlessly as he faced the crises in his country. “We have just this hour received assurances from the German ambassador that troop movements are a drill—”

  “Do you believe this?” called a Frenchman. Murphy did not recognize him among the newsmen who were packed into the gilded anteroom of Prague’s Hradcany Castle.

  “We hope that their word is good.”

  “And if it is not? Will Czechoslovakia fight alone? Do you still say that you will fight alone, even if France and Britain do not honor their treaty commitments?”

  Beneš frowned. He was a man of patience. He believed that ultimately his nation would survive the pressure from Nazi Germany without and the racial Germans within the Sudetenland who threatened to tear this vital area from the control of Prague. “We are negotiating with the leaders of Sudetenland. Those of racial German heritage, and—”

  “Negotiate!” a German reporter interrupted rudely. “Blowing off their heads, you mean!”

  Beneš would not be trapped. He ignored the comment, aware that the reporter who shouted at him was in the employ of Adolf Hitler. “We hope . . . that negotiation and reason will prevail in this matter that divides people who are citizens of the same land, although of different heritage.”

  “President Beneš, it is widely discussed that tonight’s performance of Die Judin was ordered by you and will, in fact, further inflame the racial sensibilities of the Germans in your country.”

  Murphy sat up to see who had asked that question. It was a good one. The entire issue at stake here was a racial one. Civil war in Czechoslovakia would last only long enough for Hitler to invade.

  “There is nothing sensible about racial sensibilities, sir,” Beneš answered carefully in English. “Our nation, like America, is a mix of races. It is stated in our constitution that all men are free to worship as they please. That means men and women of all races, be they Jews, Czechs, or Germans. Racial hysteria has no place here. Die Judin, an opera about a young Jewess who falls in love with a Christian and is then executed by the church, is a play that seems very appropriate for our time. I asked that it be performed not to arouse conflict but to show that conflict is mindless in this matter.”

  “Some of your German citizens have threatened to march against this obvious display of Jewish propaganda,” said the German. “Will you have troops on hand to brutalize them as you have done in the Sudetenland?”

  “There will be no need of troops at the National Theatre tonight.” He smiled grimly. “For those unfamiliar with the play, I will state simply that the young Jewess burned by the cardinal turns out to be the daughter of the cardinal. There is a lesson there that our more racist German citizens might learn.”

  “The tickets were all sold to Jews,” scoffed the reporter. “No Germans will be able to attend.”

  “Were there any Germans in the ticket lines?” He pointed past the Nazi reporter to Amanda. “Yes? A question?”

  “Plays are all very nice, but the German Wehrmacht now performs a dress rehearsal on your frontier. The question remains: Is your country strong enough to withstand an attack, should they invade?”

  Beneš nodded. “They would not get past our frontier or our military fortifications. Our line of defense surpasses that of France. But again, I must stress that this deterrent is only a part of our policy. We seek, as men of goodwill, to discuss the future of our state with the citizens of our state. Herr Hitler is not a citizen of Czechoslovakia, and his policies have no place within the structure of our democracy. We stand firm on that point! The German Führer has overstepped his bounds. We will not tolerate the foot of one SS soldier upon the soil of free Czechoslovakia!”

  Beneš was full of brave words, considering that the wolf was skulking at his door. As for Beneš continuing his policy of support for the Jewish population of his country, Murphy had to admit that the little guy had guts. A performance of the opera Die Judin in the Czech National Theatre was just one more way for Beneš to tell Hitler what he thought about his new German racial theory. Of course, everybody, including Beneš, knew what Hitler thought of the Slavic race. “Just above Jewish vermin,” Hitler said yesterday on the radio. Right up there with monkeys.

  A real swell guy, Hitler. Beneš should have sent him an engraved invitation to the opera tonight.

  ***

  Murphy’s letter still lay unopened on Anna’s piano. Theo had forbidden Anna to open it. There was some knowledge in his eyes that he did not express verbally. His prohibition had angered Anna, but she did not touch the letter all the same.

  There were other matters to think about now. Wilhelm stood before them proudly in his airman’s uniform. He was being called up with hundreds of thousands of reserve troops. With a touch of humor, he repeated the claims that Hitler was making. “It’s just a drill, Mother.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Like the German divisions are drilling. We are going to see which army can drill the best, I suppose. Funny thing. They can see our positions and we can see theirs. I went up with the spotter and they’ve put just about everything on the line out there.” He laughed. “You know, the Swiss Red Cross Corp could waltz into the Reich and take over right now. There’s nobody left at home. They’re all craning their necks for a peek into Czechoslovakia!”

  Theo embraced his son. “You just stay on this side of things,” he said. A thousand times he had thought about the fact that Wilhelm might someday be fighting against old schoolmates and friends, the Hitler Youth who had learned to hate him. “But I don’t believe that it will come to blows. Beneš is a reasonable man. This is not Austria; it is . . . ” It was the place where he had put his hopes. Had he been foolish? Would he wake up to the sound of hobnailed boots on the sidewalks tomorrow morning? “God keep you,” Theo said softly.

  Anna held tightly to her son. Tears dampened the front of his uniform. “What good is a uniform unless a woman cries over it?” She tried to laugh as she brushed at the spot.

  “Then leave your tears, Mother. I will be back in a day or so.” He kissed her cheek and slipped out the door, running down the steps and looking back just before he rounded the corner. He raised his hand in farewell.

  Theo put his arm around Anna, and she sagged against him. “Is there no place we can go, Theo? No place where our son might have been spared this?”

  Theo did not answer. The news on the radio had been grim and frightening. The denial of France and Britain was chilling in its implication. Only boys like Wilhelm stood between Hitler and Prague now.

  ***

  The headlights of the oncoming Czech army vehicles blinded Elisa. The trucks were not so many or so new as those of the German Wehrmacht, but they traveled relentlessly back along the road she and Charles had just passed over. They would meet the Wehrmacht somewhere in the middle. They would face the German Nazi troops and Panzer divisions, and they would hold them at the command of President Beneš! The voice of Beneš had come clearly over the radio. The voice of reason. The voice of his nation. Would that voice be silenced tonight at the whim of Hitler?

  The thought made her press her foot down hard on the accelerator. Charles, wide-eyed at the speed of the car through the darkness, leaned forward and clutched the dashboard as if to will the automobile to move even faster.

  ***

  Murphy hurried from the press conference, not stopping to discuss the points President Beneš had made. They were clear enough
to any man of reason who had ears. Beneš and his belief in democracy had saved the nation from chaos and disaster on a daily basis since the Sudeten trouble began. He was a man of honor and of hope.

  It was no wonder that Theo had chosen Prague as the second home for his family, Murphy thought as he hailed a cab. “Old City,” he directed the driver in Czech. Then, in English, he added, “And step on it, will ya, Joe? I’m going to see my girl!”

  ***

  The dinner on the table of the Lindheim house was untouched. Murphy paced the length of the small dining room and back again. Elisa had gone to Vienna? Back to Vienna? And she had told them that she was going to be with him. What was there to do about it now, tonight? The frontier was closed already in anticipation of confrontation.

  Anna stared at Murphy, following him with her eyes. Theo simply looked at the floor.

  “I’ll see if I can get a flight to Vienna tonight,” Murphy said. “She had friends there, see . . . ” He looked at Theo. Did Theo remember the night they had escaped from Vienna? Did he remember Elisa’s grief at leaving Leah and Shimon? “I am certain that is what this is all about.”

  Anna simply could not comprehend it. They had not heard from her since she had left them weeks ago. Now to find that she had never even seen Murphy, that it had all been a charade, a deadly game she had played for the sake of friends! “You have not been with her,” she repeated dully as the reality settled in on her. “She was not going to be with you.”

  Murphy grimaced. He had seen Vienna. He knew what she had gone back into. “I’ll get a car and leave tonight if there are no planes!” he said, pulling back the curtain and staring at the empty street.

  ***

  Sporer checked the cylinder of his revolver. He ran his thumb over the bullets, confident that at least one of them would find its mark. Tympani, and the song of a dying Jewess! The audience would hardly notice the pop of the gun. They would not see anything until the little Jew stood up to run—after Beneš fell forward in his seat. Shrieks and wails! Sporer would pump in another bullet for good measure. The failure in Paris didn’t matter. Chaos was guaranteed in Wenceslas Square tonight! Chaos, and then the triumphant slap of boots against the cobblestones!

  He tucked the gun into the waistband of his trousers and leaned close to the mirror to straighten the black bow tie. Tugging on the lapels of his dinner jacket, he thought he looked handsome. He would be one of the few Aryans in attendance tonight. He alone was the Nazi answer to the Jewish opera! Beneš would pay for his sentimentality with his own blood. The Czech army would flee before the face of the Wehrmacht. They would fall without Beneš to give them courage. By tomorrow night the proud sign of the swastika would fly from the spires of Hradcany Castle!

  ***

  From the shadowed alleyways, groups of angry men watched as the rich Jews of Prague drove to the National Theatre. Women adorned with furs and diamonds were helped from long sleek automobiles. Such baubles had been gained at the expense of German men and women.

  The watchers readied their clubs and scythes. Soon these arrogant, elite Jews would run screaming and sobbing from the theatre! They would tear their hair and clutch at their jewels in dismay! Beneš would lie still in his own blood, and then the slaughter of the Jewish swine would begin in earnest!

  50

  Coming Home

  The lights in the great theatre had not yet gone down. Jewels glittered; dark hair shone, and satin gowns gleamed. The scent of many perfumes mingled in the opulent auditorium of the Czech National Theatre. The constant hum of expectant conversation hovered in the air. This was a night of unity, a demonstration of support. “Many races under one flag,” Beneš had proclaimed. Tonight he showed his dedication to that ideal of tolerance. Troops were at the fortification; Hitler would not dare to confront a man like Beneš! Not now. Not yet.

  As the houselights dimmed, a fanfare burst from the orchestra pit, and all the humming of voices fell silent. The audience stood as the national anthem began to play. The spotlight fell on the presidential box high and to the right of the stage as President Beneš emerged and stood with his hand over his heart.

  The footlights came up, illuminating the stage, and the curtain began to rise.

  ***

  Eight o’clock. The tall spires of Hradcany were glowing like golden fingers pointing into the clouds. Searchlights swept the night sky of the city. They came from the square in front of the National Theatre.

  Elisa recognized their location easily. “I have to take you to my mother, Charles,” she explained. If there was bloodshed, she did not want Charles trapped in it. “I can stay a few seconds only, but I will come back. You must stay with my mother.” Elisa disregarded traffic lights, swerving around corners on her way to the Old City house. “You must not be afraid, Charles. Just pray! Pray for me, Charles!”

  The boy placed a hand gently on her shoulder as she drove wildly toward her destination. Eight o’clock. Beneš must be in place! Everyone must be, including Sporer and his men!

  Elisa prayed that she would not be too late. She prayed that she could find Beneš easily, and that he would believe her!

  ***

  A mousy little man, Sporer thought as he eyed President Beneš through the opera glasses. He made a ridiculously easy target. Sporer could have killed him then and with scarcely any effort. But he would wait for the flames and the rumble of the tympani, for the clamor of the final act.

  He directed the binoculars to the center of the first balcony, where the little Jewish Communist sat sweating and rolling his program as he stared mournfully toward his victim. Sporer was not certain that the Jew would go through with it, even for the sake of his cause. It made little difference. After Sporer killed Beneš, he would simply lean forward and point at the Jew. He would shout that there was the man who had pulled the trigger. They would find the gun on the Jew. No doubt the Czech police would kill their prisoner before they reached the jail.

  Sporer sat back against the plush chair. Visions of chaos and blood-soaked satin filled his thoughts. He was a patient man, and this virtue had always assured him success.

  ***

  Murphy grabbed his hat and had his hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to see if I can get a call through to Vienna. I have friends there. No doubt she checked in at the Musikverein.”

  “Please—” Theo swayed a bit with the strain. Why had he let her go? If something had happened, how could he forgive himself? He could not even look at Anna’s face.

  Anna had aged visibly in moments. “You will not leave again without letting us know,” she begged Murphy. “If your friends can tell us anything . . . find out about her.”

  Murphy frowned and exhaled slowly, searching for some way he might ease their worry. “We have to remember that she has an American passport. That still counts for plenty.” He shook Theo’s hand. “I’ll go by the American Embassy as soon as I put the call through.” He opened the door as the headlights of a car swung around the corner, falling on the trio like a spotlight.

  Theo raised his hand to shield his eyes as the car screeched to a halt in front of the house.

  “Papa!” Elisa shouted as she leaped from the still-running car. “Murphy! Dear God, hurry! They’re going to kill President Beneš!”

  ***

  Sporer! Murphy remembered his face well. He remembered clearly the evil of the man who had tortured and murdered Rudy Dorbransky. And now he was here, Elisa said! Here somewhere among the thousands who had come to the National Theatre!

  There was no place to park, no way to get close to the front of the building. Cars were parked everywhere, blocking the road. Searchlights scanned the sky above the theatre.

  “Hurry, Murphy!” Elisa cried. They were so very late already. “Otto said there would be men waiting in the side streets, waiting for the word that Beneš is dead!”

  Murphy rejected the idea of parking on a dark side street next to the theatre. He turned the corner, then revved the engine and bumped up the cur
b onto the broad sidewalk. Chauffeurs scattered as he careened towards the steps leading into the vast lobby. The car scraped the stone as Murphy urged the machine up the steps to where ushers, replete with red uniforms and gold braid, gaped in astonishment at the sight of the green Packard struggling toward them.

  “Get out!” Murphy shouted when the wheels caught and spun against a step.

  Elisa obeyed and Murphy followed, letting the car roll backward into a limousine parked at the curb.

  Ushers and soldiers shouted and ran toward Elisa and Murphy. We got their attention, at any rate, Murphy thought as a man grabbed him in a hammerlock and wrestled him to the ground.

  “Tell them, Elisa!” Murphy shouted.

  “They’re trying to kill President Beneš!” she shouted as two guards dragged her into the lobby. “Please! You’ve got to stop them!” She suddenly realized that she was shouting in German. When she repeated the words in Czech, the guards held her tighter still, and slammed her against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. She could see Murphy was receiving even rougher treatment.