there was something else that made her think they were part of a dream: they were driving on the wrong side of the road.
Marta turned her back to the window. The Bauers could have got out, she said to herself. And you could have been with them. She spoke to herself in the third person, as someone separate from her real self. Someone else would now have to cope with the crippling guilt—because there was no way she could manage it.
She went to wake the Bauers but saw there was already a light on in the parlour. It was five in the morning but they were already dressed, Anneliese in a knitted skirt and pearls, Pavel in a charcoal suit, his briefcase open on the table. Inside was a fat stack of American dollars held together by a rubber band. The first thing she heard when she came into the room was the Czech radio station: “German army infantry and aircraft are beginning the occupation of the territory of the republic at six o’clock. The slightest resistance will cause the most unforeseen consequences and lead to the intervention becoming utterly brutal. All commanders have to obey the orders of the occupying army. The various units of the Czech army are being disarmed . . . Prague will be occupied at six-thirty.”
She continued to listen: the message was being repeated.
Pavel turned to look at Marta, his face pink, as though the knot on his silk tie had been tied too tight.
“We had a phone call from the police chief.”
Marta pulled her robe around her body.
“The chief said that we are responsible for opening the factory as usual.”
“Can you believe it?” Anneliese asked.
“Then I got another call, from Hans. Offering to blow the factory up.”
“It’s the ides of March,” Anneliese said.
“Blow it up! Why?” Marta looked at Pavel.
“There has been an ordinance issued to install Czech trustees in Jewish businesses.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Bauer?”
“They’re taking our companies.”
Marta looked away. Ernst had been right. Pavel would lose what was his, one way or another. The unfairness of this washed over her. The indignity.
“Hácha’s daughter is married to a Jew,” Anneliese was saying. “He’s supposed to be a moderate.”
Pavel snorted. If he had not been so dignified, Marta thought, he would have spat.
“Did you hear about the conversation between Hitler and Chamberlain?” Marta asked. She wanted suddenly, desperately, to cheer the Bauers up; a joke was the only thing she could think of.
“Tell me.” Pavel leaned forward, eager to be entertained, distracted.
“Hitler and Chamberlain met in the street. And Hitler said, ‘Chamberlain, give me Czechoslovakia.’ And Chamberlain said, ‘Okay.’”
Marta paused for effect.
“The next day, Hitler ran into Chamberlain again. And he said, ‘Chamberlain, give me your umbrella.’ But Chamberlain said, ‘My umbrella?! Why, that belongs to me!’”
The Bauers laughed briefly, but Marta could see she hadn’t succeeded in lifting their moods. They turned back towards each other right away, faces solemn.
“Did you try to reach your mother?” Anneliese asked.
“I couldn’t,” Pavel said.
“It’s unbelievable. That Hácha signed that piece of paper.”
“If he didn’t sign we would have been bombed. Right now we would all be a big pile of smoking ashes.”
By the time Pepik woke, Messerschmitts were swooping low over the Vltava River, their shadows skimming across the choppy water. They rose steeply to clear the bridges, then plunged back down like hawks heading for the kill. Pepik, still in his blue flannel nightshirt, began to narrate the aircrafts’ movements. “Here it comes, ladies and gentlemen . . . an attack like the world has never known . . .” There was something blasé about his tone, though, as if he were a bored field correspondent, a newsman who had seen what the world had to offer and was no longer easily impressed.
Pavel left shortly after seven to go down to the factory. None of the workers had telephones, he said; someone would have to be sent house to house to tell them to report for work. He opened the door to leave; the wind blew in and lifted the edge of his scarf out sideways, like a child’s drawing of a snowman. “I’m late,” he said. He looked over at Marta then and held her eye for a moment before closing the door. She had a sudden, forcible feeling she would never see him again.
The following afternoon Marta returned from the greengrocer and saw two pairs of men’s leather shoes in the hall. Two well-tailored overcoats. There was something else too, a kind of hush