The Diplomat's Wife Part 15

"Jake," I repeat aloud. At least the child has Jacob's name. Suddenly, my breath catches. Jews name children after those who have died. "After Jacob...?"

"He didn't make it, Marta," Emma says, her voice cracking.

Pain rips through my chest. "No..."

"When I left you on the bridge, I found the Kowalczyk farm and Jacob was waiting there for me, just like you said." I can barely hear her over the buzzing in my ears. Suddenly I want to reach out and slap her or shake her, anything to stop her words. "He was still terribly weak, but we knew we had to leave then because the police would be looking for me. The snow in the mountains was so much worse than we expected. Jacob developed a high fever and collapsed, right after we crossed the border into Slovakia."

I fight the urge to scream. "Jacob," I say instead, seeing his face in my mind.

"I stayed with him, Marta." I can hear the guilt in Emma's voice, her desperate need to explain. "I stayed with him right until the very end, until he was gone."

I swallow, struggling to find words. "And then?"

"I covered his body as well as I could, with rocks and branches. The ground was frozen; it was the best I could do. I didn't want to leave him there, but I had no other choice. I couldn't carry him and we couldn't stay there. We had no food. Lukasz would have died, and the baby inside me, too." The baby. Resentment fills me. If it was not for the baby, Emma would not have had to flee Krakow and Jacob would still be alive. Emma continues, "It was like you told me, Marta, the night on the bridge. Those who can go on must." In my mind I hear myself, insisting that Emma flee and leave me behind wounded for the n.a.z.is. Would things have ended differently if I had gone instead, saving myself? Could I have saved Jacob, too? "So I finished crossing the mountains and came down into Slovakia. I'd heard rumors that some of those who had survived from the resistance were in Prague. I made my way here and found Marek."

Emma is here. Jacob is dead. I swallow, trying to process it all. "Were there others who made it?"

Emma shakes her head. "No one from Krakow. Everyone was arrested or killed, except for Marek and me. And you, of course, though we had no idea. But there were others who wound up here, from Lodz and Lublin, and from some other countries, too. A lot of people, like Marek and I, who resisted the n.a.z.is, are fighting the communists now."

"So you're helping Marek with his work?"

"Yes, but..." Emma looks away, staring across the park. "There's something else you should know. I'm not just working with Marek." She hesitates, then raises her hand to reveal a small gold band. "He is also my husband." I sink back, feeling as though someone kicked me in the stomach. "Marta, say something," Emma pleads.

"Your husband?" I repeat, disbelieving.

"It didn't happen right away." Emma's tone is defensive. "But when I came to Prague, I was all alone. I had nothing. Marek took us in, provided for me and the children. We grew closer and then he proposed."

I pause, trying to understand. In the distance, a crow cries out. "Do you love him?" I ask at last.

"I don't even know what that is anymore," she replies, her voice hollow.

"But Jacob..."

"Jacob is gone, Marta." Her expression is hard, unfamiliar. "I had to be practical, do what is best for my children."

I follow Emma's gaze to the swings where Lukasz plays. I think of Rachel. I went to work for Simon already suspecting that I was pregnant with her. And in spite of that fact, or maybe because of it, I let him court me. Would I have married Simon if Rachel had not been on the way? It is a question I have avoided asking myself for years.

I remember suddenly a fight Emma and I had when I confronted her on the street the night of the cafe bombing. How could she be involved with the Kommandant, I demanded, when she claimed to love Jacob? Emma begged me to understand then, too: she was doing what she had to do to help the resistance. At the time, I saw only that it was wrong. If Emma really loved Jacob, she would not be sleeping with the Kommandant. Things were so much simpler then, when the only love I had known was my crush on Jacob. Now I know that it is more complicated than that. I judged Emma once; I will not do it again.

"I understand," I say at last, reaching out and squeezing Emma's hand. Her fingers close quickly around mine. We are two girls back in the ghetto, confiding in each other.

She looks at me. "You do?"

Hearing the relief in Emma's voice, I nod. "Yes. I have a child, too."

"Oh, Marta, that's wonderful! Boy or girl?"

"Girl. She's one-and-a-half. Her name is Rachel."

"Then what are you doing here? I mean, Marek told me you live in London now."

"I'm trying to get back to my daughter as soon as possible. But I had to come here. You see, I work for the British Foreign Office. We both do, my husband and I. We desperately need to reach Jan Marcelitis. When the government found out that the only way to do that was through Marek and that I knew him, they asked me to help."

"And you agreed?"

"I felt as though I had no choice, as though I had to try to help. Does that make any sense?"

"It does. But you should do what you need to do and get out of here right away. The political situation is very precarious. Any day now..." Emma stops speaking, and her expression grows fearful.

"Anyway, Marek sent me to tell you that he's arranged a meeting with Marcelitis. You are to be at the Charles Bridge tonight at midnight. He said that once again you are to come alone."

My heart leaps. Marek has arranged the meeting. I will see Marcelitis tonight and then I can go home. I look at Emma. "What about you?" I ask. "I mean, will I see you again?"

Emma hesitates. "I won't be at the meeting tonight, if that's what you're asking. And after that you'll be gone, and G.o.d only knows what will be. I certainly never expected to see you again. So I think this is goodbye for now." A tear rolls down her cheek. "I want to thank you again for what you did for me in Krakow. You saved my life."

I put my arm around her shoulder. "You know, don't you, that you don't have to stay here? I can arrange papers for you and the children to come to London."

Emma wipes her eyes. "Thank you, but no. This is our home now. I'm married to Marek and I've taken vows, Marta. Vows that I will not break again."

Seeing the guilt in her eyes, I know she is speaking of her betrayal of Jacob with the Kommandant. "It's not your fault that Jacob's gone, Emma."

"I tell myself that every night," Emma replies softly. "But it doesn't change what happened, what I did. I've made my place here now, Marta. This is where I belong." She stands up. "Lukasz, Jake," she calls across the playground to the boys, who trot obediently toward her. Then she turns back to me. "I must go now."

I stand up, and Emma reaches over and hugs me gently. "Goodbye and G.o.d bless you." I open my mouth, but before I can speak, Emma turns and walks away.

An hour later, I walk through the door to my hotel room. Closing and locking the door behind me, I cross the room and sink heavily onto the bed, which creaks in protest. It is not yet two o'clock in the afternoon, more than ten hours until I see Marcelitis. I don't want to risk going out for another walk and running into more trouble with the police. And Renata said before dropping me off last night that she would stop by this afternoon to see how my meeting went; I want to be here when she arrives.

My stomach rumbles and I pull the second roll I purchased that morning from my bag. As I eat, I try to process all that I have learned. Emma is here, married to Marek. Jacob is dead. This last thought hits me heavily again and I feel the pain anew. I picture the last time I saw Jacob, walking into the n.a.z.i cafe carrying the satchel, a determined look on his face. He insisted on planting the bomb himself, saying that he did not trust any of the underlings to do it properly, that it was more important for Alek and Marek to survive and go on leading the resistance. But the device went off earlier than expected, blowing Jacob through the front window of the cafe like a rag doll. Alek leapt from the shadows and picked up Jacob's motionless body from the pavement, hauling him from the bomb site before the police arrived. Somehow he survived his injuries. But for what? I wonder now. To die in the mountains a few short months later? At least he was reunited with Emma, was with her in the end.

I pop the last bite of roll in my mouth, then brush the crumbs from my blouse. I sink back onto the lone, hard pillow. There doesn't seem to be much else to do but nap to pa.s.s the time. I close my eyes, imagining that I am home, reading Rachel a bedtime story in her toy-filled room.

A loud bang jars me awake. I sit up as another crash comes from outside the window. Jumping to my feet, I cross the room and peer out through the curtains. At first I can see nothing, but then, pressing my forehead against the gla.s.s, I can just make out a small group of people, cl.u.s.tered on the pavement in front of the hotel. More protesters? I wonder. Though I cannot make out what they are saying, their voices are loud and angry. Gla.s.s shatters. In the distance, I hear sirens growing louder. Run, I want to shout to the people on the street below. Run before it is too late.

Letting the curtain drop, I force myself to step away from the window. I cannot get involved and risk jeopardizing my mission. I look at the clock on the dresser. Five-fifteen. I had not realized I'd slept for so long. I expected Renata to have been here by now. I look around the room uncertainly. A bath, I decide. I walk to the water closet and turn on the tap.

When the tub is nearly full, I turn off the hot water and undress. I put one foot into the steaming water gingerly, then lower myself in slowly, feeling my skin go red. I lay my head against the back edge of the tub and stare up at the ceiling, thinking of Emma once more. She seems so much older and sadder now. How had I appeared? I had always felt so gawky and adolescent compared to her. Now I want her to see me as mature and poised. She seemed surprised when I told her I was married with a family. In her eyes, I would always be a child. Perhaps I should have told her about Paul.

Paul. His face appears suddenly in my mind. I inhale, caught off guard by the image. I have seldom allowed myself to think of him since marrying Simon. The memories still creep in occasionally, of course, prompted by certain days on the calendar, like the anniversary of his death, a picture of Paris in a magazine, a driving rain on the roof that reminds me of our night together in Salzburg. Most days the memories are fuzzy, an out-of-focus photograph or half-remembered dream. But now Paul's face appears so vividly before me, it seems that if I lifted my hand from the bathwater, I could actually touch him. My insides ache.

Enough. I shake my head, clearing the image. I cannot afford to think of him, not now. What is wrong with me? It is the stress of the mission, of all I have learned. I rub my eyes with wet fists. It is better that I did not tell Emma about Paul, I decide. We are not the friends we were years ago. And some secrets should be kept buried in the past.

A banging sound comes from outside the bathroom. I sit up quickly, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub. Is it the crowd on the street again? No, the sound comes again, louder and more persistent from the hallway. Someone is knocking on the door. Renata. "One minute," I call. I stand up and step out of the tub, nearly slipping on the now-wet floor. Steadying myself, I reach for a towel, drying and dressing hurriedly. The knocking comes again as I cross the room. "Coming!" I cry, unlocking the door. I reach for the doork.n.o.b, then hesitate. "Who is it?"

"Renata." The familiar voice comes through the door, low and urgent. "Open up, dammit."

I open the door. Renata pushes past me into the room. She looks back out into the hallway, then closes the door and locks it. "Renata," I say, "good news. I'm scheduled to meet-" I stop, noticing that her hair is disheveled and she is breathing hard. "What is it?" I ask. "What's wrong?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" I shake my head. Renata looks around the room, as though someone else might be here. Then she pulls a small transistor radio from her bag and turns it on. The announcer speaks very rapidly in Czech, making it difficult to understand him through the static.

"What is he saying?" I ask.

Renata turns the volume lower. "The police have announced the discovery of a so-called plot by several cabinet ministers to conspire with the West against our great nation," she says, her voice just above a whisper. "The ministers have been forced to resign. The communists have seized power."

Uneasiness rises in me. "But surely Benes-" I begin.

"Shh!" Renata jerks her head to one side, reminding me the room could be bugged. "The president is weak. He'll never stand, not without the army or the police behind him."

I lower my voice. "But I don't understand. The deputy minister told me nothing would happen here, not until the spring elections."

Renata smiles wryly. "That's Western intelligence for you. Either he didn't know, which is possible, or he lied."

Because he knew I never would have come if the situation was that dangerous. Simon wouldn't have let me. A rock forms in my stomach. "But surely people...I saw the protesters earlier today..."

Renata shakes her head. "Nothing more than a few thousand students. They're meaningless, unless the general public comes to their aid. Which they won't. People are too afraid."

"No..." I sink down on the edge of the bed. "Surely there must be something that can be done."

"There's nothing anyone can do for us anymore," Renata says, sitting down beside me. "And you have to get out."

"You mean, leave Prague? Give up and go home?"

Renata nods. "Right away. The borders have been closed." Closed. Alarm rises in me at the notion of being trapped. She continues, "There's a group of Westerners, diplomats' families mostly, who have been given permission to fly out in about two hours. I've put your name on the list and I've come now to take you to the emba.s.sy."

I pause, considering what she has said. "But..." I hesitate, looking at the clock. "I'm scheduled to meet with Marcelitis at midnight."

"You need to be thinking of your own safety and the good of your family. It's time to get out while you can."

Renata's words reverberate inside my head. I should just leave now. For my daughter's sake, I should put my safety first. But I am so close, just hours away, from getting to Marcelitis. I stand and cross the room to the window once more. The crowds below are gone. Two police cars sit parked on opposite corners, lights flashing. I turn back to Renata. "Has there been any word from London?" I ask, wondering what Simon would want me to do.

"None. Communication is very difficult right now. The government has suspended international calls and telegraphs, so any news would have to go by underground wireless or messenger. I'm not even certain they've received news of the coup."

So I am going to have to decide this one on my own. Looking out the window again, I remember the demonstrators as they stood in Wenceslas Square that morning, singing the Czech national anthem, Hans lying shot on the ground. I think of Emma and her children, who will have to live with whatever becomes of this country.

This is not your fight, a voice inside my head says. Go to the emba.s.sy, leave with the others. The D.M. will be disappointed, but he'll understand. Simon, too-he never wanted me to come in the first place. But stubbornness wells up inside me, blocking thoughts of escape. "I still have to meet with Marcelitis. This is bigger than just Czechoslovakia. Getting the information to him could help in other countries. I'm sorry, Renata, but I can't leave. Not now."

Renata stares at me. "You know that you might get stuck here?" I nod. "And that if the emba.s.sy closes, there will be no one to help you?"

"I understand."

Renata exhales sharply. "You are nervy, I'll give you that. What about after your meeting with Marcelitis? I mean, will you leave then?"

"Yes. Right away."

"There is one other possible option, but I didn't want to mention it because I was hoping you would be smart and get on the plane with the others. If we leave right after your meeting, I can try to drive you to the Austrian border, and help you to talk your way across on your diplomatic pa.s.sport. You can pick up a train to Vienna from there. I can't promise anything. It would be very dangerous, and I'm not certain it would work."

"We'll have to try. It's our only hope."

"I really wish you would reconsider and come to the emba.s.sy now."

I shake my head. "I still have to meet Marcelitis."

"Alone again, I take it?"

"Yes."

"You know I could insist that you get on that plane," Renata says.

"Get the emba.s.sy guards, or even the police."

"I know. But I also know that you won't, because you understand why I am doing this."

"So," she says slowly. "I'll say I came here looking for you, but the room was empty. I'll go to the emba.s.sy and tell them that I couldn't find you in time for the flight. But immediately after your meeting with Marcelitis tonight, you are to meet me. Come off the bridge, turn left on Krizovnicka Street and walk to Platnerska, the first major intersection. You will see an archway beside an antique store. I will be waiting with the car parked there, out of sight. Be there by twelve-thirty," she adds. "No later. We need to make sure we can reach the border by dawn, even if we are detoured. Do you understand?"

"So I should pack my things and take them with me?"

"Only your pa.s.sport and essential papers. You need to leave everything else behind. That way it looks like you are still here if the police come looking for you."

A chill shoots up my spine. "I don't understand. Why would they do that?"

Renata walks toward me and takes me by both shoulders. "The whole world changed tonight, Marta. Now that the communists have secured power here, people are going to start talking. There could be leaks from the emba.s.sy, from the anticommunist movement, anywhere. That's why I wanted you to leave with the emba.s.sy flight. Things have become extraordinarily dangerous for all of us. There is no guarantee to safe pa.s.sage if you stay. Do you understand?"

I swallow hard. "Y-yes."

"But you haven't changed your mind, have you?" I stare at her unblinkingly. "I didn't think so. Then get dressed and prepare for your meeting. I'll be waiting for you afterward." She walks to the door and then turns back again. "Be careful leaving the hotel. The police are everywhere."

"I know." I gesture toward the window with my head.

"And they've imposed a ten o'clock curfew, which you'll be breaking. You need to take the back stairs to avoid attracting attention." She opens the door and looks both ways out into the hallway. "Be careful," she mouths as she backs out of the room. "And good luck." Then she turns and races down the hallway.

CHAPTER 19.

At eleven-fifteen, I stand in the doorway surveying the hotel room as I have left it. My suitcase is open and my nightgown lies strewn across the bed. The lamp on the dresser burns bright yellow. To anyone who might come in while I am gone, it looks as though I will be back shortly. I clutch my purse, containing the papers for Marcelitis and my pa.s.sport, as I open the door. Checking to ensure the hallway is deserted, I slip from the room.

I make my way down the back steps into the alley. The hotel door closes behind me with a click. Remembering the rats last night, I move swiftly to the end of the alley and peer out into the street, which appears deserted. Taking a deep breath, I begin walking toward the river, hugging the shadows of the buildings, trying to quiet the soles of my shoes as they sc.r.a.pe against the pavement.

Earlier, as I closed the door behind Renata and leaned against it, my heart pounded. What had I done? The notion of being trapped here, unable to leave, terrified me worse than anything. I fought the urge to run after Renata, to tell her I would fly out immediately with the convoy of other foreigners. Then I steeled myself: this might be the only chance for us to reach Marcelitis. I could not quit so close to succeeding. Resolved, I finished dressing, paced the room until it was time to leave. But now, as I creep through the dark streets of the Old Town, I cannot help but wonder once more if staying had been a mistake.

I make my way down one cobblestone street, then another, until at last I reach the river. High on the far bank sits Prague Castle, its turrets bathed in golden light. The Charles Bridge arches gently across the river, connecting the Old Town with the Mala Strana, or Lesser Quarter. Statues of saints, illuminated by the moonlight, rise from the low walls that flank both sides of the bridge.

I approach the base of the bridge, then pause, shivering as I remember lying on the Krakow railway bridge, the Kommandant's lifeless body beside me. There was another bridge, too, I remind myself, pushing the image from my mind. Paris. I see the Pont Neuf, remember Paul's warmth against my back, his arms around me as we gazed at the Eiffel Tower. From the far bank of the river, cathedral bells begin to chime midnight. Forcing the memories from my mind, I scan the length of the deserted bridge. Emma had not said where the rendezvous was to take place, and if I cross, someone might see me. But I cannot risk missing Marcelitis. I step from the safety of the shadows, begin walking low across the bridge. The saints look down solemnly on me, their silhouettes cool white against the night sky.