“I know it’s a lot,” the man said, noticing her hesitation. “There’s no rush. May I offer you some coffee or tea?”
Květa shook her head. The man stood up. “Take your time, Mrs. Černá. Choose whatever you like. I’ll be sitting right in the next room. Just let me know when you’re done. My door’s open if you need anything.”
Květa sat going through the funerary symbols a while, then got up and walked around the room a few times. She noticed some sounds from outside and looked into the next room. The man she had spoken to had stepped out for a moment. At the back of his office was a set of glass doors through which she could see some machines working rapidly. It looked somewhat like a loom. A printer, Květa thought. Oh, of course, the printer. Josef would have liked that. Engines, motors, machines, he was into that type of thing. Finally she decided on the quotation “He has not died but lives on in our memories.” She added “husband, father, grandfather,” and called in the man who was operating the printer, who checked the whole thing over with her one more time in detail, and then at last she could go. Before she reached home on the tram, she realized again that she was losing strength. I wonder what it could be, she thought. She didn’t know, but one thing she was sure of was it wasn’t just the aging of her body, brain, and muscles. Yes! she suddenly realized. A lack of hope! That’s it! Which isn’t at all encouraging and can’t be cured, she added to herself after another moment’s thought.
Three weeks after the funeral, Květa came home to find a bulky registered letter in a reinforced envelope that Aunt Anna had had to sign for, since at nine A.M., when it arrived, Květa had been out buying groceries. Aunt Anna forgot about it, so the letter had lain hidden beneath her sweater until the next day, when she uncovered it again while rearranging her things. She put on her glasses and saw the large state seal and the tricolor of the national flag. The state seal was stamped in gold. Funny I didn’t notice that yesterday, Aunt Anna thought as she handed the letter to Květa. “This came yesterday,” she said.
“You hobbled all the way to the door for it, Auntie?” said Květa in a chiding tone. “You know I would have come and gotten it. You could have fallen.”
“Oh, please. I took it slow. All this fuss over one letter,” Aunt Anna snapped, evidently pleased.
“So the mailwoman waited for you?”
“You see the letter, don’t you? So I guess so. Besides, whenever I hear the bell I just shout that I’m coming but slowly so she’d better wait. And she does. What else can she do?” said Aunt Anna. Then she pokily shuffled her way out to the mailbox in the hall, where her daily ration of two newspapers was awaiting her.
Květa studied the envelope. It seemed a shame to tear it. She took a pair of scissors and slit it open. Inside was a letter on heavy handcrafted paper embossed with a watermark of the state seal and a wreath of linden leaves. Before Květa could finish reading it, Aunt Anna was back with the newspapers. She spread them out on the table and carefully studied the front page. The front page was the best: it had the biggest headlines. Thanks to modernization, the pictures on the front page were printed in color now, which made it easier for her to get an overview. That was the type of progress that seemed truly useful.
“Imagine that, Auntie. Assuming, that is, I’ve understood it correctly. I’ll have to read it through one more time, and I think I’d better give Alice and Kryštof a call.” Aunt Anna fixed her with a look of disgruntlement, having just begun to read an article about a team of researchers who had completed their mapping of the sugar beet genome and claimed that one of its genes was identical to that of humans. She was a little taken aback by the news and didn’t know what to think. Whenever she didn’t know what to think about an article, she circled it in thick red pencil and reread it in the afternoon, by which time she had usually formed a basic opinion. Aunt Anna gave up her disgruntled look, having noticed that Květa wasn’t reacting to it.
“Well, what is it?” she said.
“Imagine that. They’ve given Josef a medal.”
“A medal?” Aunt Anna asked.
“A medal,” Květa repeated.
“What for?”
“Bravery.”
“Bravery?”
“They say here,” Květa said, “that they’re recommending he be decorated for bravery demonstrated during the time of his incarceration, when he risked his own life several times to help his fellow prisoners, and for standing up to totalitarian despotism.”
Aunt Anna calmly removed her glasses, set them down on the newspapers, and said, after a moment, into the silence: “Well, those nincompoops were sure in a hurry. He’s resting in God’s truth now.”
“They say,” Květa said, “that it would be a posthumous decoration. Here: ‘in memoriam,’ dash, ‘for bravery, awarded posthumously.’ If I accept, I’m to contact them in the manner most suitable to me.”
“In the what?” Aunt Anna echoed. “What in heaven’s name do they mean by that?”
“Don’t worry, Anna. I understand.”
“So when are they sending it?” Aunt Anna asked.
“I don’t think they are.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then how are you going to get it?”
“I guess I’ll have to go there. No, wait, they say if I accept it on his behalf, that either I can go, or a designated individual, since I’m his widow, can go in my place. They say daughter, grandson, or family friend.”
“Family friend, hmm?” Aunt Anna said. “And where to?”
“The castle, Anna. The castle in Prague.”
“Oh, I see. So that what’s-his-name would give it to you? You know who I mean.” But Květa was still a little bit thrown by the whole thing, so she wasn’t giving Aunt Anna her full attention, even though, as usual, her aunt was struggling fiercely for it.
“Oh, what do you call him, I can’t remember now. You know, the scooter king.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” said Květa. All of a sudden she couldn’t remember anything at all, she was so moved by the fact that they were giving Josef a medal for what he used to mention, only occasionally and evasively, as playing boy scout.
Autumn was approaching at a rapid clip. The national holiday, commemorating the founding of Czechoslovakia at the end of World War I, and All Souls’ Day were as usual both in the same week, but Květa had never paid much attention to it before, until this year, now that Josef had died. She drove out to the cemetery in Lhotka three times a week, and when Kryštof found out that his grandmother was going to the cemetery and didn’t even bother to stop in and say hello, he gave her a scolding, put a set of keys in her hand, and demanded she come by their place for dinner or tea at least every once in a while. The cemetery in Lhotka was on a slope at the bottom of a hill. At the top of the hill was the church, and when most of the leaves fell off, after the first brief and as usual unexpected cold snaps, Květa took pleasure in raking them off of not only Josef’s grave, but the surrounding ones as well. Sometimes she would make the walk up the hill to the church, sit down on the low stone wall, and stare out at the gently rolling autumn landscape. Occasionally a few tardily flocking birds would appear that she hadn’t managed to identify yet, and the more visits she paid to Josef’s cemetery the less surprised she was that he had left Prague and moved here. It wasn’t until Kryštof pointed out that the date of his grandfather’s posthumous decoration was nearing that Květa looked at the calendar and realized she had promised Mrs. Langmajerová, who was in charge of the cemetery, that she would be there that day instead of her. A repairman would be coming to fix the pump that supplied the whole cemetery with water. They tried to talk her out of it, but Květa made up her mind to stay in Lhotka and sent Alice to accept the medal in her place. When her daughter came home with the medal, Květa put it, and the box it came in, in the display case that Josef and Kryštof had brought to Prague. Everyone had expected Květa to be happy about the honor, but she acted as though it meant nothing to her. Sometimes she would absentmindedly stroke Kryštof on the back. Sometimes she would praise Libuše and her grandson for the way they took care of the house, but she always felt most at home with her memories.