They were in the middle of working over a rich lady; she had already confessed that she’d buried her jewels in the garden, and all that remained was to make her divulge the precise locations of her stashes. He immediately sent Pepík upstairs to sound things out. The boy ran right into the arms of the spy they’d sent, and handled things admirably: He’d poured out a story about some guy downstairs torturing a German woman while he ran for help. Then the fool drew his pistol and ran downstairs. The boy followed and managed to trip him halfway down the flight.
He could see it in the guy’s eyes, just as he’d seen it in the caretaker’s: The man knew he was Rypl. There was no choice; he had the man’s hands bound. The cop even tried to frighten them.
“I’m in uniform! You’ll get the rope for murdering a policeman!”
He taunted the cop with the new word he’d learned.
“But we’ll get a medal for executing a kolou
!”
As a reward, he let the boy cut his throat. Pepík did it enthusiastically with a single stroke. Lojza did the driver, less expertly but with pretty much the same result. The chauffeur was clearly eager to turn them in, and as it turned out, the machine gunner, a chimney sweep in civilian life, knew how to drive. They finished on a sour note; Ladislav, who was already nervous, panicked and stabbed the last and most promising old hag before she could give them her address.
They left the school through the courtyard exit without any problems. The sentries greeted them, and a couple of fellows asked if they could come along; some big shot inside was getting on their nerves. Unfortunately, at the moment unfavorable conditions prevented him from recruiting a full-fledged detachment.
BUT I HAVE A PLAN!
Those three hours running the show here, where he had been welcomed by the leaderless horde, had given him new ideas. The Germans in Prague were just an appetizer for the meaty morsel that, by all accounts, awaited them in the Sudetenland. The sharper kids in the Revolutionary Guards predicted that the former border regions would return to the Czechoslovak motherland, and the Germans living there would be expelled (heim ins Reich with them!). In all probability the Krauts would only get to take what they could carry, just like in Prague, and then what would be left…?
One man at the school had been expelled this way from the Sudetenland by the Germans in ’38, after they shot his brother, a reserves member. He’d always thought he’d never hurt a fly, he told them, but now a need for vengeance had erupted in him. He’d take what they’d taken from his family, and something on top for damages. And if they so much as opened their mouths, he’d blow at least one of them away too!
The effect it had on the men was electrifying. A gold rush, Lojza gasped; didn’t the boss think maybe they were needed there? He did. They were finished in Prague, he had to admit; even with an uprising going on, those damned Sherlocks had nothing better to do than chase him. They must have his description, probably even a photo, and he could not count on maintaining superior firepower.
THE SUDETENLAND IS MY CHANCE!
Once the Krauts in Prague were liquidated — and this was a question of days or hours — he and his men would take their Mercedes, move to a larger German nest, and seize power there. He was sure it would be as easy as it had been in this lousy school.
I’M A BORN LEADER!
By the time Prague could send out its official rats, he’d have his own bureaucrats, and policemen from outside would get sent right back to their mothers by his personal guard. It would consist of his most faithful men, who’d teach everyone to jump when he whistled, so long as he let them make the rest jump on their signal too.
For now he ordered them to drive just a couple of blocks further; the cops weren’t organized enough to comb the whole city in this confusion. Here in Pankrác there were more Russians in German khakis than local inhabitants. They hung from tank turrets and hid behind the shields of cannons and machine guns, oblivious to the prolonged downpour that had driven even most of the insurgents to shelter, their tense alertness a sign that the fight went on.
No, the war was not over, and it would be crazy to leave Prague prematurely; being first in the border regions could mean being first to die, and that definitely wasn’t what he had in mind. But where could they wait? Sleeping in the Germans’ old apartments meant risking discovery; covetous neighbors or official confiscators might find them. He was about to ask the boy to take them home — at least he’d see how the kid handled his mother — but then a new idea hit him.
RIGHT UNDER THEIR NOSES!
The last places they’d look were where he’d punished those whores. The embankment suited him best, except the dead caretaker was floating just beneath it, maybe even caught in the weir. The closest was the apartment where he’d spindled those two lesbians, but as they pulled up they saw a gaggle of people carrying the dead out of the house; well, there you go, in this case he’d just beaten the SS to the job! Of course, this morgue was now too lively for a hideaway.
Then his idea ripened as he remembered what flashed through his mind on the barricade.
THAT HOUSE!
That grubby house on a dead-end street where they set their trap for him! Whether it belonged to a policeman or someone who lent it to them for their dirty tricks, he’d see they got their deserts. First, though, the guilty party could be of use to him, like the half-pint on the train.
Of course, he didn’t tell his foursome the whole story. HE didn’t have to explain.
“Some kolousi live there,” he informed them tersely. “If they’re not home, we can catch a few winks till our clothes dry out, and if they are home it’s their bad luck!”
He found the house by directing them to the cemetery and from there recalling step by step how he’d followed that whore a week ago. It was satisfying to approach it this time not as a foolish fox blindly chasing the bait into a trap, but as a victor and avenger. An idea for a new punishment was growing in his mind as well. He’d thought of it this morning for the first time, but it had already captivated him as completely as the picture in the rectory once had.
IT’s MINE! ALL MINE!
A work of his own imagination. And this morning, when he saw a gas canister attached to the Mercedes’s mudguard, he knew it was foreordained.
Although hastily boarded up, he could see through the window that the house was lived in. All the better! He got out of the car first and rang the bell. When nothing happened, he rang twice, and, after another pause, thrice, pressing the bell somewhat longer each time.
He could feel their curiosity behind him, but also their deference.They simply waited. And he did not hurry. He remembered, long ago, the way SHE had read him the fairy tale about the boy and the giant.
FEE FIE FOE FUM!
Four long rings. Suddenly the drumming of the rain ceased and footsteps resounded from within.
What could she owe me, he mused, once Grete had fallen swiftly into sleep. As he lay by her side and gradually recovered from the day’s events, he fought a fatigue so strong that at times it robbed him of consciousness. Had time stopped? This day seemed as long to him as the whole war.
He forced himself to stand and noiselessly opened each drawer in the attic, until, to his surprise, he found what he needed: paper, even writing paper! And the fact that it was pink and decorated with a rather precious forget-me-not bothered him least of all.
He had never dared capture in words anything other than facts for work reports; thus he had never in his life written a love letter. When the war separated him from Hilde, his letters from the field contained only the superficial events of his life; the law of military confidentiality made this the easiest course. They both left their feelings for personal meetings.