Midnight Train to Prague - Carol Windley Page 0,117

a ship to Buenos Aires. Zita said she would help Miklós find work at a newspaper. “I don’t speak Spanish,” he said. “How could I function as a journalist in a country where I don’t speak the language?” Zita told him he could learn Spanish, and he must be aware there were German-language newspapers in Buenos Aires. They had been in circulation since the nineteenth century. After the call, he repeated Zita’s words to Natalia and said it was too early to make any kind of plans, and if they went anywhere, he said, he thought it should be to England. He spoke English; he respected Clement Attlee, the new prime minister; he could live in Clement Attlee’s England. England, Natalia said, would not be practical, and Miklós said, no, it was not, and they began to plan their return home, to the castle.

* * *

In October they traveled to Prague on a night train. She was terrified, at the last minute, of boarding the train, of being enclosed, held captive. Miklós took her hand and on the train she rested her head on his shoulder, on the rough fabric of his coat, and listened to the other passengers shuffling around, coughing, settling down for the journey. It was past midnight when the train arrived at the Prague station. They checked into the hotel on Nerudova Street, where the concierge recognized Miklós and embraced him and kept calling him Count Andorján and beaming at Natalia. In the morning, she and Miklós walked around the city, marveling that it had been so little touched by the last six years of war. And yet the city, beautiful, shining in the pale autumn light, had transparencies, veils that parted, wavered, and she saw herself alone, stranded in a city under occupation by a brutal, murderous regime. She had to discipline her mind to remain in the present, in this moment. She and Miklós went shopping for warm coats and sweaters, because the weather had turned unseasonably cold. Miklós bought a car, a 1930 Škoda with a cracked windshield and a missing headlight. While he stayed at the hotel to read and rest, Natalia walked to Mr. Aslan’s shop. “It really is you, isn’t it?” Mr. Aslan said. She told him she had found her husband, and they were going home.

Mr. Aslan was well, he said; his wife was well, and his children were, thank God, healthy, growing, both at school. He told her about the end of the war, the Russians coming in, the Germans defeated, and President Edvard Beneš returning from exile in England. And Beneš wanted all Germans out of Czechoslovakia. Germans who had lived and worked in Prague or anywhere in Czechoslovakia were ordered to leave. Those who failed to get out fast enough were shot. People who had become Reich Germans to protect themselves during the Nazi occupation now had to wear white badges that signified they were German, not Czech. It was a horrible thing to see, after what had happened under the Nazis. Some Germans were, believe it or not, Mr. Aslan said, sent to Theresienstadt, or to use the Czech name, Terezín. After the war, no one had room in their hearts for compassion. But Mr. Aslan believed it would come, things would return to normal. The important thing, he said, was that the brutality of the Nazis was never forgotten.

He gave her sesame-seed cakes. He wished her well.

After saying goodbye to Mr. Aslan, Natalia went to the millinery shop of Anna’s aunt Vivian. Aunt Vivian was sitting at a worktable, stretching dark red felt on a hat form. She kept moving her fingers over the fabric as she looked at Natalia. Natalia gave her Anna’s address in Seattle. “Anna is fine,” Natalia said. “She lives with a nice family over there, in the States. I know their son; he’s with the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. It’s his parents who are taking care of Anna.”

Aunt Vivian knew Seattle; she’d visited there once, when she was a girl.

She wore a pincushion on her wrist; the glass heads on the pins shone as she moved her hands. She took off the pincushion and got up and went to a cupboard and took out the gray cardboard portfolio that contained the story of the princess who knew the worth of salt over gold. She gave it to Natalia, to send to Anna.

Natalia and Miklós stayed overnight at Aunt Vivian’s apartment. She insisted on it. She wanted Natalia