Fires in the Dark

by Louise Doughty

  As Blažek’s wife rose wearily to leave, he sank down on the edge of his bed. He lifted his empty hands, to look at them. Somewhere amidst the rubble of the Old Town, he had lost his rovli, his walking stick with the worn silver head.

  CHAPTER 29

  During the night, the gunfire and shelling continued. Yenko lay on his bed, fully clothed. He had closed the shutters in case the window shattered but left the blackout curtain on the floor. At one point, he heard planes flying low over the city, and more bombardment. Then in the eerie silence that followed there was the sound of a woman wailing and screaming, a mad, disordered sound, then silence again. Later, there were more guns. Towards dawn, it fell quiet.

  When it was light, he opened his shutter and his window. He went back to bed and dozed for a while in the strange stillness. Later, he rose, turned on the wireless and filled a bowl of water to wash and shave. He was patting his face dry when the announcer broadcast the news of the ceasefire. All hostilities were to stop immediately. The German forces would lay down their arms. In return, they were to be allowed to withdraw unmolested. All citizens were to remain vigilant, however, as pockets of SS were expected to continue fighting. Volunteers were still needed … While he listened, he stood by the window, looking at the sky and smoking one of his remaining cigarettes. When it was finished, he stubbed it out against the stone windowsill, closed the window and shutter, and left.

  *

  The street outside bore no signs of the previous day’s fighting. It was only when he turned the corner that he saw the extent of the devastation.

  The building opposite the end of his road had taken a direct hit from a mortar. The roof was a crumpled mass of blackened beams, charred and broken tiling. Every window along the street had been blown out. Three of the shops had been ransacked and furniture, boxes and papers were strewn across the road. There were two pools of blood on the cobbles, one leaking down into the gutter, where it petered out in a rivulet of dirt. One of the shops had a swastika hastily daubed in white paint on the broken doorway. At the end of the street, towards the Old Town Square, black smoke drifted skywards.

  A woman was picking her way towards him, over the rubble. She ignored him, looking down at the items scattered across the street. She was wearing three fine woollen coats, one on top of the other, and clutching four hats in one arm. A fox fur was draped over one shoulder. She did not lift her gaze from the street as he passed.

  He turned on to the main street that led towards Ctibor’s apartment building, and came to the remains of a barricade. A wardrobe had slithered from the top and lay at a diagonal. Its door hung loose. As he passed, he could see that there was a heap of books inside, pages flapping loose. Beyond the barricade, most of the old cobblestones had been prised up from the street to reveal the sandy earth beneath. Two men were sitting on a pile of cobbles, leaning back against the wall, arms folded, drinking tea from tin cups. Four other men were standing nearby, two either side of the low entrance to a cellar. They had rifles slung over their shoulders.

  One of the men drinking tea raised his cup to Yenko in greeting, ‘Good morning, Comrade.’

  Yenko lifted his hand in reply, about to pass, when he saw that the man was one of the partisan fighters who had led him to Masná after he had shot the German.

  The man rose and grasped his hand. ‘We did well, eh? Those of us who fought. It’s not finished yet, but we did well, eh?’

  The second man nodded and said. ‘The Rat tells me you are a good shot!’

  The first man laughed. ‘He flipped him like a pancake! Have you been assigned for today?’ he asked Yenko.

  Yenko shook his head.

  The Rat tossed his head in the direction of the cellar entrance. ‘Ask if you can come over the river with us. There’s still fighting in the Little Quarter. Some of those bastards don’t believe it’s over.’

  Yenko saw his chance to go and look at Stano’s place. ‘When are you going?’

  ‘In about an hour. We’re just waiting for ammunition. It’s on its way.’

  ‘All right. But there’s something I have to do first.’

  He clasped hands with the Rat, and moved on.

  *

  Mrs Talichová stood at the top of the stairs, wringing her hands. ‘There were three of them,’ she said, as he climbed up the stone steps, towards her. ‘They pushed him down the stairs. He fell. I begged them not to. They didn’t listen. He’s old, I said.’

  Yenko stopped halfway up, staring up at her.

  ‘I saw you coming across the courtyard,’ she explained. ‘I said to my husband, it’s his nephew, he’ll sort it out.’

  In the two years since Yenko had first taken refuge with Ctibor, Mrs Talichová’s opinion of him had altered sharply: he was now a respected businessman, an upstanding Czech.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘They came this morning,’ she said. ‘I heard them coming up the stairs, and went out on to the landing. They said it was one of the most important tasks of the new order, to root out collaborators. They said some of the Nazis have sworn that Prague will be German forever. They’ll hide in cellars and shoot us in the backs.’

  ‘What has this got to do with Ctibor!’ demanded Yenko. He ran up the last few stairs and pushed past her. She followed him down the corridor to Ctibor’s room. The door was hanging open.

  ‘They kicked it in!’ she declared thrillingly, as she followed him.

  Vile woman, Yenko thought. I bet you couldn’t wait to tell me. When you saw me crossing the courtyard just now, I bet you couldn’t believe your luck. The room had not been ransacked, as far as he could tell, but the way Ctibor lived it would not have been apparent if it had.

  ‘Where have they taken him?’

  She lifted her hands. ‘They said he worked for Them. They said his office processed their files and he kept important information and reported back to them. Could it be true?’

  ‘Mrs Talichová!’ Yenko exploded. ‘I’ve worked in that office too. There is nothing in Ctibor’s files but tedious letters about jam production. They burnt his orchards, for God’s sake, the SS threw him out of his home and murdered his wife!’

  Mrs Talichová gave a melodramatic gasp. Wooden God, thought Yenko, another piece of news for her to pass on. She’ll be telling her husband before I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Who took him?’ he asked.

  Her gaze shifted around the room. She was glancing at the walls.

  ‘Who took him, Mrs Talichová?’

  ‘One of them was from downstairs. One of the new lodgers. I don’t know his name. He and Mr Michálek had an argument about the rent. I don’t think he’d been paying since the start of the year. He said all collaborators are going to be imprisoned until the Russians get here. The Russians will question them.’

  Yenko pushed past her and ran back down the stairs.

  *

  The Rat and his comrade were still where he had left them, still drinking from the same mugs of tea. He strode up to them. ‘Is White Dog in there?’ he pointed at the low basement entrance. The Rat nodded. As Yenko turned, the Rat said, ‘The ammunition has arrived. Don’t be long, or you’ll get left behind.’

  The men guarding the basement stepped back for him. The thick wooden door stood open.

  Inside, it was gloomy. Two kerosene lanterns had been lit and hung in arches at the far end of the room. Piles of boxes lined the walls. There was a large table around which half a dozen men were seated and a stove with a huge kettle where a woman stood brewing tea. Beyond the large table was a smaller one. The woman they called White Dog was seated at it, next to a man. She had her head in her hands.

  As Yenko approached, she looked up. In the gloom, her face looked lined, exhausted. She was still wearing the bulky brown coat tied with string. She did not recognise him.

  He stood before the table, and said, ‘White Dog. I am one of your fighters. I came through the battle yesterday to bring you the message about bri
nging men up Rybná.’

  She sighed and said wearily. ‘I’m sorry. Václav is dead. He was a good man. He fought very hard yesterday.’ She looked at him. ‘Václav Pernicky. You are the brother?’

  Yenko shook his head.

  ‘I was told his brother was looking for him,’ she said. Then added sadly, ‘Everyone is looking for someone today.’

  ‘Are our men taking people from their homes, people who have been accused of collaboration?’

  The woman’s expression changed. The man sitting next to her said sharply. ‘That is classified information.’

  ‘A man was taken from the top floor of an apartment building in the alleyway behind Jakubská, early this morning,’ Yenko said. ‘He owned the shop that used to sell fruit and preserves. He didn’t do anything. He’s a harmless old man. The accusation is malicious. One of his tenants doesn’t want to pay the rent he owes.’

  The man and the woman glanced at each other.

  ‘His name is Ctibor Michálek. There’s been a mistake. He’s harmless.’

  ‘Any errors will be corrected when our Russian comrades arrive,’ said the man.

  Yenko had his feet planted firmly apart. He met each of their gazes in turn. ‘This one will be corrected now.’

  He saw the man look behind him at the group of men seated at the large table. He had only seconds before he was thrown out. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quickly. ‘This is not why I came to you, Comrades. I came to request permission to join the party going over the river. I wish to join with my fellow citizens in killing any SS we can find.’

  ‘What is this old man to you?’ the woman asked.

  Behind him, Yenko heard some of the men at the large table rising to their feet. ‘He is my father.’

  The woman glanced in the direction of the men behind him. She picked up a stub of pencil from the wooden table and drew a piece of paper towards her. ‘Tell me his name again. I’m not promising anything …’

  Yenko thought of Ctibor being held in a cellar somewhere, being beaten and questioned by furious partisans. He thought of the old man’s innocent bewilderment and of the stupid things he would say. Well, yes, of course the Gestapo came and asked me about our purchase orders sometimes. Yes, I told them how much sugar each factory foreman ordered. Ctibor wouldn’t last a week. ‘Where has he been taken?’

  ‘That is classified information. I cannot possibly tell you that.’ The woman was firm. Yenko saw there was nothing he could do. He repeated Ctibor’s name, then added, ‘Thank you, Comrade.’ He looked at the man sitting next to the woman and repeated, ‘Thank you, Comrade,’ to him.

  As he turned to leave the cellar, one of the men who was standing around the large table stepped up to him, confronting him, chest to chest. ‘It’s not a good idea to come in here throwing your weight around.’

  Yenko waited for a moment, without speaking. The man did not move. Yenko stepped past him, out into the light.

  As he emerged from the basement, the Rat tossed a rifle at him. He caught it clumsily. About twenty men were gathered in the street, some lacing their boots, others shoving pistols into holsters or buttoning their coats. The Rat was jamming a black leather cap on his head. He nodded at the rifle. ‘It’s Polish. Know how to use it?’

  Yenko shook his head.

  The Rat clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Neither did the Polish army!’

  Two of the men laughed. Another, buttoning his braces, said, ‘You’re enjoying this, you bloody idiot!’

  ‘Let’s go!’ shouted the Rat.

  *

  They ran down to the Old Town Square, where the buildings were still smouldering. In the corner, at the top of Charles Street, a dead horse lay on the ground, on its side. Behind the horse, a bonfire was burning; a heap of German propaganda booklets and papers, a banner with a Nazi eagle stitched in gold, a tumble of SS caps. Flames flickered about the general smoulder and smoke drifted across the street. Yenko coughed as they ran through it.

  They stopped at another cellar, on Liliová. The Rat and two others went in to consult with the unit leaders there. They were inside a long time. Yenko and the others were left waiting, tapping their toes. The sun had come out. Yenko squinted at the bright sky above. Eventually, the Rat and the others emerged, lifting their hands, saying no one could go over to the Little Quarter until an advance unit had checked that Charles Bridge was secure. Yenko squatted down on the cobbles, leaning against the wall, until he noticed that no one else had sat down. He rose. The Rat came over and offered to show him how to use the rifle.

  They were still waiting in the street, when the man standing next to Yenko tapped his arm with the back of his hand. Yenko and the Rat lifted their heads from the rifle and looked where the man was gesturing, towards the Old Town.

  A column of German soldiers was approaching, all on foot, their heads bowed.

  The Rat gestured for his men to stand back against the walls. Then they stood and watched as the German soldiers passed.

  Yenko estimated there were over two hundred in the group, all dressed in their greatcoats, despite the heat, and wearing woollen hats instead of helmets. Most of them wore large knapsacks on their backs, with round water canteens bouncing against the sides. None of them lifted their heads or spoke as they passed.

  Yenko looked at the partisans either side of him, and the ones standing against the opposite wall, their faces tense. The Rat called across the street in a light, sing-song voice, ‘Not a word, Comrades …’ The man next to Yenko leant forwards and whispered. ‘Run like little fieldmice, my fine foolish friends. Our Russian Comrades are coming soon, to catch you by the tails.’

  Yenko stared into the face of each German who passed on his side of the street. He saw a young one, clean-shaven, with very blue eyes. There was another, older, stubbled, with a pronounced facial tic. Another had bright orange hair and pale skin so translucent it was bluish. What are they thinking? Yenko wondered to himself. What runs through their heads as they trudge along? Anger? Humiliation? Relief? The faces seemed impassive to him, blank. He couldn’t imagine them having any thoughts at all. I hope the Russians won’t get you, he thought. I hope you get home safely, and find the stinking bodies of your wives and children buried beneath the rubble of your homes.

  When the Germans had passed, an air of gloom descended upon the men. Several of them sank down to squat against the walls, removing their caps and sighing. One or two lit cigarettes. The Rat said, dully, ‘We’ll be going over to the Little Quarter soon.’

  *

  They could not get over the river until afternoon. Even then, they were told to report to the barricade at the bottom of the bridge and wait for orders. After watching the German soldiers retreat unmolested, everybody’s spirits were low. Even the Rat seemed to have lost his enthusiasm.

  They crossed the bridge at walking pace. Looking down the river, Yenko was surprised to see how undamaged the city seemed to be. The fighting had been in the Old Town and by the radio station, one of the men told him. If he kept his gaze in the distance, Yenko thought, he could imagine that it might be any spring day; warm sun, a light haze over the sky.

  They greeted the men at the barricades at the foot of the bridge and the Rat took Yenko with him to consult with the unit leader, a bespectacled man called Koblic. They sat around an upturned chest of drawers while Koblic drew a diagram of the surrounding streets on a crumpled piece of paper.

  ‘There’s a unit of SS in this building here.’ He scrawled a circle on the map. ‘You’ll see when you get there, there’s a load of dead Germans piled in the square. The SS fired on their own troops. They killed a whole load of them.’

  ‘Why?’ Yenko asked.

  The two men looked at him scornfully.

  ‘It was probably the column that passed us on Liliová,’ said the Rat.

  Koblic said, ‘The SS would think nothing of killing their own soldiers, for retreating.’

  Yenko thought of the clean-shaven young man, and the man with ginger ha
ir.

  Koblic sighed. ‘It’s turning into chaos. It was supposed to be an orderly withdrawal, but we can’t control what the SS do, or our own men. There are groups out rounding up Germans who’ve got separated from their units, killing them. I can’t ask them to stop. I had a Russian parachutist killed this morning, my best man. He was stopped walking over here from the New Town. One of my other men shot him. He said he looked like a collaborator.’

  There came the sound of artillery fire, along the river from the south; a low booming, dull but resonant.

  Koblic and the Rat rose to their feet and pulled their rifles on to their shoulders.

  ‘You’d better wait here until more men come, I suppose,’ said Koblic.

  ‘To hell with that!’ the Rat responded sharply.

  Koblic gave him a tired look, then nodded.

  *

  When they neared the square, they split up into single file and approached the corner of it by running down the street, doorway to doorway. Looking ahead, Yenko could see the bodies of the German soldiers. They had fallen one on top of another, mown down while they were marching. There was another scattering of bodies on the far side of the square, where individual soldiers had broken ranks and tried to flee down the alleyways.

  To the left was a series of low archways piled high with sandbags, where a small unit of Koblic’s men was holding down the SS in the corner building. When his men had been established behind the sandbags, the Rat consulted with the leader of the unit. The SS were stationed at windows on the first and second floors of the building. There was no way to approach it other than across the square. They had sent for a heavy gun. The situation was complicated by the retreating German troops, some of whom had decided to turn and return fire. They were in position behind a barricade at the top of the square. When there was a lull in the firing, civilians who were trapped in the buildings around the square would emerge. The firing would begin, and not knowing which of the three groups of men were shooting at them, the civilians would sometimes run straight towards the SS. The man pointed out a row of civilian bodies just beyond those of the German soldiers. There was stirring from the row, an uplifted arm, but nobody could reach the injured man or woman lying there.