Chapter 28 - Russians in the Square
Katka wasn’t sure how long she had been inside the arcade.
One hour? Two? A day or two days, it made no sense. Her head spun, she was weak with hunger. Unable to walk without staggering, she could not see properly, all edges blurred, the light outside too bright.
In a daze she wandered out into the sunlight. It made no difference, she reasoned. A significant amount of time had passed. Enough time for the buildings on one side of the square to be reduced to their skeletons. They were naked, just a row of matchstick frames, the outline of their windows, blackened and crooked and crude child’s drawing.
Katka stood and stared. She didn’t know what to do and she swayed on the spot and not noticing a woman who was passing behind her she bumped into her.
The woman looked at Katka and said, ‘The whole of Europe is reduced to this.’ and not knowing what she mean Katka turned to her but was too slow because all Katka saw was the back of her head as she walked briskly away.
But then of course, Katka thought as she turned back to the crumbling cityscape in front of her. It was all like this now. All of Europe just a smouldering wreck and now the bullets had all been spent and all of Europe was tired of fighting there was nothing left to do but stand and stare.
She watched as other people came tentatively out from the rubble. They blinking into the bright spring sunshine and when Katka looked up too, looked at the sky above the building tops she saw that it was a beautiful day.
And it will always be a beautiful day, though Katka, so long as there is no war. So long as the sound of gunfire has stopped it’s possible to ignore the bullet holes in the plaster, the bodies on the pavements that have been discreetly covered in blankets to protect the modesty of those strangely still alive.
We will remember this day, thought Katka, thinking for everyone who was passing through the square, this is the day the war ended. Only was it? She asked, was it really over and without being able to help herself she felt compelled to stop someone as they walked by, ‘Excuse me, but is it over? Has it finished yet?’ she asked.
‘The Russians are here.’ replied the man she had stopped. He was dressed in normal civilian clothes and in his hand he carried a briefcase, as if it was a perfectly normal day and he was on his way to work. He pulled is arm free, ‘They’re in the old square, there are photographs being taken.’
Russians were everywhere, Katka noticed. There were tanks positioned on each side road leading off Wenceslas Square and through the old town. Soldiers were everywhere. They stood and smoked and watched as Katka walked by. They patrolled the streets in army cars, watching with guns resting on their knees.
So really it was as if nothing had changed. Everything remained the same, only the soldiers were dressed in green instead of German grey now and everywhere Katka went, despite the fires that still smouldered in the shells of buildings, despite the blood that was being washed from cobblestones and the vans that came to carry away the dead, there was an atmosphere in the city, it was light and free.
Some great cloud had been lifted, as if the lid had been taken from a pot of boiling water and it was no longer jiggling and clattering against the pressure of the steam.
The city exhaled.
And again Katka thought, we will remember this day. People will look at the bullet holes in the walls and talk about what had happened here and how awful it had been and they would say, ‘It will never happen again.’
But it probably will happen again, thought Katka.
She kept walking until she found herself at the river and on the other side along the banks were rows and rows of tanks. They were lined up like a child’s toy collection and Katka said aloud, ‘This will all happen again.’ and she thought, once they’ve had their break and their shared their jokes and finished their cigarettes, and perhaps slept for a little while, it will all begin again.
Katka walked along the river and then down the iron steps to the very spot where it had all begun, where she had bought a bag filled with stolen things from Paul. It was where he used to wait for her.
It was where he was waiting now.
One hour? Two? A day or two days, it made no sense. Her head spun, she was weak with hunger. Unable to walk without staggering, she could not see properly, all edges blurred, the light outside too bright.
In a daze she wandered out into the sunlight. It made no difference, she reasoned. A significant amount of time had passed. Enough time for the buildings on one side of the square to be reduced to their skeletons. They were naked, just a row of matchstick frames, the outline of their windows, blackened and crooked and crude child’s drawing.
Katka stood and stared. She didn’t know what to do and she swayed on the spot and not noticing a woman who was passing behind her she bumped into her.
The woman looked at Katka and said, ‘The whole of Europe is reduced to this.’ and not knowing what she mean Katka turned to her but was too slow because all Katka saw was the back of her head as she walked briskly away.
But then of course, Katka thought as she turned back to the crumbling cityscape in front of her. It was all like this now. All of Europe just a smouldering wreck and now the bullets had all been spent and all of Europe was tired of fighting there was nothing left to do but stand and stare.
She watched as other people came tentatively out from the rubble. They blinking into the bright spring sunshine and when Katka looked up too, looked at the sky above the building tops she saw that it was a beautiful day.
And it will always be a beautiful day, though Katka, so long as there is no war. So long as the sound of gunfire has stopped it’s possible to ignore the bullet holes in the plaster, the bodies on the pavements that have been discreetly covered in blankets to protect the modesty of those strangely still alive.
We will remember this day, thought Katka, thinking for everyone who was passing through the square, this is the day the war ended. Only was it? She asked, was it really over and without being able to help herself she felt compelled to stop someone as they walked by, ‘Excuse me, but is it over? Has it finished yet?’ she asked.
‘The Russians are here.’ replied the man she had stopped. He was dressed in normal civilian clothes and in his hand he carried a briefcase, as if it was a perfectly normal day and he was on his way to work. He pulled is arm free, ‘They’re in the old square, there are photographs being taken.’
Russians were everywhere, Katka noticed. There were tanks positioned on each side road leading off Wenceslas Square and through the old town. Soldiers were everywhere. They stood and smoked and watched as Katka walked by. They patrolled the streets in army cars, watching with guns resting on their knees.
So really it was as if nothing had changed. Everything remained the same, only the soldiers were dressed in green instead of German grey now and everywhere Katka went, despite the fires that still smouldered in the shells of buildings, despite the blood that was being washed from cobblestones and the vans that came to carry away the dead, there was an atmosphere in the city, it was light and free.
Some great cloud had been lifted, as if the lid had been taken from a pot of boiling water and it was no longer jiggling and clattering against the pressure of the steam.
The city exhaled.
And again Katka thought, we will remember this day. People will look at the bullet holes in the walls and talk about what had happened here and how awful it had been and they would say, ‘It will never happen again.’
But it probably will happen again, thought Katka.
She kept walking until she found herself at the river and on the other side along the banks were rows and rows of tanks. They were lined up like a child’s toy collection and Katka said aloud, ‘This will all happen again.’ and she thought, once they’ve had their break and their shared their jokes and finished their cigarettes, and perhaps slept for a little while, it will all begin again.
Katka walked along the river and then down the iron steps to the very spot where it had all begun, where she had bought a bag filled with stolen things from Paul. It was where he used to wait for her.
It was where he was waiting now.