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 old 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.
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 Litomerice, 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.
Comrade Grandmother and Other Stories Page 3