leave for Prague,” Anneliese said.
There was a silence, and Marta looked up from the chlebíčky she was making. Pavel was lighting his pipe, teasing out the strands of tobacco, holding a match to the bowl and sucking on the stem to make it catch. His cheeks working like bellows.
“I am buying new bobbins,” he said.
“New what?” Anneliese asked.
“New bobbins. For the flax-spinning frames.”
“Pavel. Did you hear what I said?” Anneliese was unused to her wishes being challenged. There was the click of her own lighter; from where Marta stood in the kitchen she could see the parlour filling up with smoke, the grey of Anneliese’s cigarette rising to meet the sweeter blue of Pavel’s pipe.
“Two types of bobbins are possible,” Pavel said. “Ernst recommended the more expensive type.”
“What an ass,” Anneliese said, forcefully. “To be thinking of bobbins at a time like this.”
Marta wondered if she meant that Ernst was an ass, or her own husband, standing in front of her.
There was another silence and Marta turned back to her task, laying slices of cheese against the dark, dense bread. Pepik liked onions too, and she cut him a sliver—the smell was sour and made her eyes water. When Anneliese finally spoke again there was a waver in her voice. “Hitler has arrived, Pavel,” she said. “Don’t you see what is happening all around us?”
Beyond the window a stream of people was moving towards the train station. They were carrying baskets and hat boxes and birdcages, their winter coats pulled on top of sweaters despite the fact that it was a gorgeous fall day. But Pavel did not indulge his young wife. “We have invested in our country, and we shall continue to do so,” he said, testing out his new-found certainty. “The only way to function here is to base our actions on a belief in permanence.”
“Prague is part of our country.”
“The factory is here.”
“But your mother—she wants to go.”
Pavel scoffed. “Like Jesus rose to heaven she does!”
“She’s too old to stay if things continue this way.”
“My mother would not leave here if—”
“Then what about Pepik?”
Marta had heard a rumour that the Jewish children from Cheb had been rounded up and shot. It was only a rumour though, and nothing she could be sure of. She wiped it from her mind like a schoolgirl wiping a sponge across her slate.
Pavel was saying something Marta could not discern; she cocked her ear towards the parlour but made out only the words “bonds” and “infrastructure.” She could see him sweeping his wife into his arms, stroking her dark, curly hair. When he spoke again his voice was clear and calm. “My mother will be fine,” he said. “She wouldn’t leave here if you put a gun to her head. And Pepik will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.” He paused. “We can’t run away, Liesel,” he said. “We must stay and live what we believe in. Otherwise Hitler has won without even firing a shot.”
“Hasn’t he already won without firing a shot?”
Marta realized that Anneliese was right. But Pavel would not be baited.
“We’ll stay,” he said. “You have to trust me. Everything will be fine.”
Three days later Marta carried a telegram over to Pavel to open. The Bauer factory would be occupied by the Nazis.
Český Krumlov, 1 March 1939
My dear son Pavel,
Where are you? Have you arrived?
I posted a letter to you via Ernst Anselm, but as yet have heard nothing. I also asked him to send a telegram on my behalf.
Did you not receive it?
I hope that Anneliese is happy to be in the city of her birth. Have you settled into Max and Alžběta’s flat? And how is your new job? Is the factory continuing to run despite XXXXXXXXXX?
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. I am very eager to discuss this. I fear I made a grave mistake by staying behind. I have tried to contact you, but to no avail. I wonder why I’ve received no response and I wonder if XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Please, send a letter or a cable as quickly as possible. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX phone lines, so it is better to write. I look forward to hearing from you and trust you will help me join you and that we will all be happily reunited.
Please give my love to Anneliese and little Pepik.
Your forever loving,
Mother
(FILE UNDER: Bauer, Rosa. Died Birkenau, 1943)
SOMETIMES I’LL BE WALKING.
Say it’s dusk, and the end of October. The buses leaving the university are lit up like bright aquariums, the buses themselves swimming through the dark element