Breath of Bones, page 8
Kateřina swallowed deeply as she tried to keep her fear down like a ball held underwater—straining to keep it from surfacing. “What do you mean?”
“We could not be doing what we are now if it weren’t for the newspapers. If we control what is in the newspapers, we shape their opinions.”
She nodded. And if you control me, you govern my father . . . and his newspaper. “And this is why Heydrich wants to speak to me?”
He ran a finger down her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered closed for the briefest second. Then she opened them, maintaining her composure.
“After what you wrote about the glass factory, ja. We see the potential in you.”
We?
“We appreciate your explanation—that gas is humane and less lethal than conventional weapons.” Hilbert stroked a finger down her neck, smiling. “What you came up with was better than what we could have devised.”
Kateřina nodded and then pulled back slightly from his touch. She repeated her father’s printed words—words with her byline. “It is not meant to kill but rather to incapacitate the enemy by causing temporary blindness, coughing, and nausea.” She shrugged. “It does sound better than painful and sudden death, doesn’t it?”
He leaned forward by inches, finally resting his lips on her ear lobe. “You are very useful to us, my darling. Kleine Blume, little flower, standing so strong. Very, very useful.”
Josef took the long way back. While Grandfather followed the shadows toward their home, Josef chose a route past the clock at Židovská radnice, the Jewish Town Hall. He took comfort in the Hebrew numerals and the hands that moved counterclockwise around the dial.
Time is more precious than money, his mother had told him as her illness progressed. If only, like those clock hands, he could turn back time and seek her advice. Mother would have convinced Father to stay in Josefov instead of going to Terezín. She’d also be able to persuade Grandfather to fight. But since she wasn’t here, it was all on Josef’s shoulders. If he couldn’t urge his grandfather to pick up arms, he’d have to find a way to be the Loew this generation needed.
Folding himself against the white stone wall, Josef stood in the shadow of the Old-New Synagogue on Maiselova and Červená. The night air took on a chill. A heaviness pressed on his heart as he thought of the familiar nightmare that had plagued him from childhood. An image of a gigantic clay figure, made of mud and grime, rising from the soil imbued with life.
He tilted his face skyward toward the attic where Rabbi Loew had laid his golem to rest. Although the creature had haunted Josef’s nights for two decades, these days he wished for nothing more than to believe such a creature was real and could protect them.
The Germans had entered their city 1,168 days ago. From that day, the Jews in Josefov had scurried into every basement and rushed into every attic to hide, but it hadn’t stopped the predators from collecting their prey. Instead of devouring them, the Nazis had shipped them off, hiding evil deeds behind stone walls and barbed wire. Men, women, and children were rounded up like sheep.
Giving one last glance at the white-faced clock, Josef crept back home. By the time he staggered into the living room, Grandfather had already gone to bed. Two slices of brown bread without butter sat by a shriveled apple on the small kitchen table. Tears sprang to Josef’s eyes. Where had his grandfather come up with bread and fruit? He always found a way when he wanted to.
Weary, Josef moved to the living room. He sank into the worn sofa, too tired to walk up the stairs to his third-story bedroom. Closing his eyes, the image of Judah Loew appeared—a man who dared to create something from nothing.
Josef often found himself yearning for the legends of old, particularly the golem story. There were days when he could almost sense its mighty clay presence, looming protectively in the shadows. But no matter how much he wished, the protector of yore remained a figure of myths.
“Judah and his people found hope when Golem, their silent sentinel, came to life,” Josef mused. “They had a guardian crafted from the very earth, and with its strength, victory had been assured all those years ago.”
He often wondered how different things might be in the present if the golem were more than a story. What if his grandfather, with his vast knowledge, could breathe life into such a being once more? Would they, too, experience the security and hope Judah’s people had felt?
A heavy sigh escaped Josef’s lips. The weight of his yearnings and fears pressed on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Glancing around the dimly lit room, Josef’s gaze settled on an oil-painted portrait of his celebrated ancestor, Rabbi Loew. The wise old face seemed to gaze back with knowledge of generations. Josef whispered to the painted figure, his voice heavy with emotion, “What would you do, Rabbi Loew, if you were standing in my shoes today?”
The light of a lone candle flickered. Even though weariness racked his body, his mind turned like a waterwheel, repeatedly spinning yet going nowhere.
Judah Loew’s presence still filled this room as if he’d lived there 35 years ago, not 350. If only Judah could have an answer for me now. Bringing a clay creature to life was impossible. But Josef’s desperation made him think otherwise.
Dust and cobwebs clung to the books lining the shelf, proving most hadn’t been touched in months. One volume bore a brighter shade of red. Josef gasped. Unhindered by a layer of dust, it blazed like a beacon on the shelf, and Josef wasn’t sure how he didn’t notice it sooner.
He hurried to the shelf and pulled out Judah Loew’s greatest treasure—his holy book. Josef rubbed his eyes and sat in the chair closest to the candle. A piece of cloth rested between two pages as he opened the book. Josef had learned Hebrew in school, but it still took a few minutes for him to focus on the marked words.
“But you are our father, Lord,” he whispered the translated Hebrew. “We are like clay.” Emotion caught in his throat. “And you are like the potter. You created us . . .” Words from the great prophet Isaiah.
Tears sprang to his eyes, and he slammed the book shut. What nonsense. Josef knew what he was—a weakling. He didn’t have the wisdom of his ancestors or the ability to raise a creature to save his people like Rabbi Loew.
Something shuffled at Josef’s side. He jumped to his feet, sure a German soldier had followed him home, ready to arrest him for being out past curfew. Instead . . .
“Grandfather.”
Grandfather moved to sit in the next chair over, wearing a thin nightshirt. He pointed to the book that Josef still held. “Do you remember the Hebrew word for ark?” His voice was soft and calm as if they sat side by side in Torah school.
“Teivah, Grandfather.”
“And what did God command Noah to do?”
Josef’s eyelids ached as if full of grit. He didn’t know what this had to do with anything, but he was too tired to fight the questions. “God commanded Noah to enter the ark.”
“The holy Scriptures are the same, are they not? They are a door, and we must enter them. It’s there we will find the refuge we need.” Grandfather cleared his throat. “Judah Loew ben Bezalel wasn’t just a rabbi of Prague. He was the Rabbi of Prague. Yet when our ancestor was summoned to the castle to speak with Emperor Rudolph II, the king of the Holy Roman Empire did not discuss the Jews in Bohemia. He wanted to talk about alchemy and magic.” Grandfather shook his head. “The king sought answers but missed out on the truth.”
Josef didn’t argue.
Grandfather bit his lip, implying he had more to say. “There is something I have wanted to tell you, but I am worried the truth will do more harm than good.”
“What is it?”
Grandfather closed his eyes and drew several deep breaths. Then he wiped the corners of his eyes as if tears had formed. “I did not tell you about the meetings because I worried you would focus on the wrong things. No, more than that, I am worried because you want to fight against the Germans—to kill them. Yet if you strike them, their wrath will come full force, turning against you. Unstoppable force. Evil . . .” He huffed in disbelief. “That’s not the path we should be heading down.”
Josef froze. Had his grandfather been told of his upcoming meeting with Nikolai? Or had he heard a rumor and was trying to confirm its truth? “I can’t talk about this right now. I need to go.” Without a glance back, Josef rose and hurried to his room. Turned out he did have the strength to make it upstairs after all.
Kateřina walked to the front door of her house with slow steps as her mind attempted to process all the night had held. Reinhard Heydrich knew her—knew her name. Hilbert had plans for her. No, they had plans for her.
Perhaps her father thought he’d protected her by writing that piece about the glass factory. He’d done the opposite. In his effort to protect her, Father had led her to the jaws of the wolves.
She entered the front door and noticed a light in the study. She moved down the hall in that direction, searching for the words to tell him all she’d learned.
Father glanced up. He sat at his desk, still wearing his buttoned-up shirt and tie. He regarded her with an air of business, seeing her as the reporter, not his daughter.
“I saw you leave earlier, heading to Wallenstein Palace. What did you notice?” He spoke with clipped words, as if telling her he wanted his questions answered without questions in return.
“It was a concert. There was a string quartet and a pianist. Blue velvet seats. Obergruppenführer Heydrich sat front and center. The musicians played his father’s compositions. Heydrich was very moved.” Kateřina’s emotionless words applied armor around her heart piece by piece, creating a fortress impenetrable to whatever questions he asked.
“Did you know that palace is being used by the German military and as the headquarters for the Gestapo? Prisoners are being held within those walls. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an interrogation center near where you listened to the lovely music.” His nose curled up in a snarl, and he tapped his fingers on the desktop. “I wouldn’t want to guess how many Czechs have been tortured and killed. Maybe one, even as you enjoyed your evening.”
His accusations stung like a thousand bees, leaving Kateřina’s heart throbbing. Hadn’t Father started this? Hadn’t he been the one who told her about the party at the glass factory?
“Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Her fingers twitched, and she crossed her arms tightly.
“Just think, maybe tonight a person breathed his last while he listened to a Heydrich composition drifting down.” Father’s tone was flat, but still, emotion carried on every word.
“And could I have stopped such a death?” She scoffed and gritted her teeth. “How could I have known anything other than the concert was happening within those walls?”
“Then why did you go?” His features softened, and at that moment, Kateřina wondered if they were having two different conversations about two separate topics.
“I dressed up and mingled with the Nazis because Hilbert asked me to go. I assume I am supposed to write a story about the event—a sympathetic story about a son who finds pride in his father’s work. To make a killer appear human.”
She turned her back to him. “Of course, nothing I write will be good enough, and whatever words I put onto paper will no doubt be put through the teeth tomorrow morning. Why bother with me at all?” She jutted out her chin. “Or maybe tonight is just another way to feel like a failure in your eyes.”
Kateřina paused, waiting for his response. All she heard was the tapping of his fingers.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “You’re wearing your mother’s dress,” he stated simply.
“Yes, I am. I had nothing appropriate of my own, and it’s not as if I had time to go to a dress shop to have something made . . . if the fabric could even be found to make one.”
He said nothing after that, and she wanted to turn, to stomp her foot, and to tell him that she was tired of whatever game he was playing. “Oh, I get it. I understand your plan now. Let’s tell Kateřina to dress up and mingle with the Nazis so I can shame her for doing that very thing when she returns.”
She swept back around in time to see the color drained from his face. Guilt ricocheted off her heart like pebbles, pinging with pain. Just because he could be heartless to her, she didn’t need to do so with him. What would Mother say about that?
Tears welled up in her eyes like an unexpected rainstorm, catching her off guard. Kateřina hurried from his office and raced up the stairs into the bathroom at the top.
Sucking in a big breath, she turned on the water and tilted her face over the sink. Then she scooped handfuls of water, splashing it over her face and neck. She undid the buttons on her neck and stepped out of her dress, standing there in only a slip.
At first, she believed that she was only hiding her tears, but as Kateřina moved to the tub and started to draw a bath, the truth hit her like a headline. Tonight she’d mingled with the most powerful and wealthy in her country, yet her skin felt grimy, as if she’d been sitting in a slop pit with swine.
The bathtub had filled when she heard a knock. Kateřina slid on her robe and opened the door. Her father stood pensively waiting. Gone was the emotionless newspaperman who’d been speaking to her moments before.
“I’m sorry I got you into this.” He released a heavy sigh. “We needed to know if the rumors about the glass canisters being made were true.” He paused as if trying to decide how much to reveal.
Kateřina focused on the water drips from the tub faucet, plinking in a slow, steady rhythm as she waited for his words.
“The Germans have created false news reports about the nature of the gas and their intentions to use it.” He combed his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand on end.
He continued, “You had no idea of this information, but I wanted you to know how I knew what to write. I used your voice and name to hold up a mirror, reflecting the Germans’ goals. They believe the world will believe these things, but anyone with wisdom will see the lies and be alerted of the increasing gas production. I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
She moved back to the tub and twisted the handle harder, stopping the water flow. “We?” Kateřina did not turn. “You said, ‘we needed to know if the rumors are true.’ Who is we?” She did not meet his gaze lest he turn and walk away.
“That is all I can tell you.” His words flowed slowly like a symphony of sadness. “I’ve already said too much.” Without another word, he turned and exited the room.
Kateřina dried her face and looked at the bath, needing even more to sink into the hot water in hopes of washing away the grime that seemed to crawl on her skin. She had told her father nothing, yet she had told him enough. Tomorrow, there would be another piece in the paper concerning the concert, and she wouldn’t have to write one word. There would be reflections she wouldn’t have thought of. There would be facts she didn’t know. And it would be precisely what the Nazis would want—music to their ears. She was a source for her father, but not the only one. Now that he’d pulled her in, how much longer would she have to continue to play this game?
Precisely seven hours after leaving the community meeting, Josef approached Nikolai’s courtyard. A teen boy waited expectantly. With quickened steps, they walked a few blocks to the business district, slipping down a narrow passageway to a large warehouse. Finally, he’d be with men who believed in action and not just words. He was ready to take a stand—to fight—like Judah Loew had done.
Josef entered the warehouse and took stock of his surroundings. Half a dozen men milled about, examining weaponry and supplies. His heart dropped, and his faith wavered. He didn’t expect a standing army of Czechs prepared to invade Germany. Still, he had imagined more than the collection of ill-prepared men. He recognized some from last night’s Jewish community meeting. Others he did not know. Two men stood with straight backs like soldiers and appeared the most prepared.
One man glanced up and met Josef’s eyes defiantly. Then he turned to Nikolai. “Why are you bringing in someone new now? This could blow the whole mission.”
Nikolai didn’t acknowledge the man’s words. He fixed his eyes on Josef. “There he is, Josef Loew.” Nikolai approached with a slight grin. Whether intentional or not, Josef noticed a more significant inflection on his last name. It confirmed his suspicion that Nikolai didn’t care about him. He would likely be much happier if Grandfather were here, but having a member of the Loew family added a level of validity to their movement, at least within the Jewish community.
Josef approached. He crossed his arms, a headache pricking his temples. He regarded Nikolai and looked around. “Don’t take this as rude, but is this all?”
“All?”
“Of the resistance.” Josef motioned around the room. “What can you accomplish with so few men?”
“You would be surprised.” Nikolai set his jaw and narrowed his gaze. Then he leaned in close. “A massive operation is happening within hours, young Loew, a blow to the Nazis that will shake them to the core.”
“How could we pull off something so large without an army?”
“Not everything requires a large fighting force.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “This group is small for a reason. It must stay quiet, hushed until the day of reckoning comes to pass.”
“What type of operation is it, then?”
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Nikolai stared off into the distance as his nostrils flared. “The type which will surely put a large target on our backs, no matter whether we succeed or fail. Every Germany will be out for our deaths.”
Josef considered the words. Nikolai was hiding something. Was he spouting nonsense because he had no specific goal to offer? Or was he being cryptic so as not to leak details to someone who wasn’t wholly committed—even a Loew?
“I believe I understand,” Josef started. “Merely knowing of your plot will endanger me, right? I need to either join or walk away.” He raised an eyebrow.
