Chapter 29 - The Beginning
‘This is the end.’ said Paul.
Katka shook her head.
‘The Russians are here.’ Paul replied, ‘They’ve taken all German soldiers prisoner. An armistice is about to be signed. The war is over, Katka.’
‘No.’ replied Katka, ‘I’m not hopeful enough to think that.’
Paul shook his head. He looked at the ground between them and for a long moment neither spoke. Then Katka took his hand and together they walked up to the far side of the river bank, towards the children’s home where Katka used to live and they walked without talking, not much, not until they found themselves in one of the parks where they used to spend long summer nights, chatting and looking out over the blackened city, the city that had been stripped of its lights.
They sat on a bench and felt the warmth of the sunlight on their faces.
‘It’ll be a good summer this year.’ Paul said.
Katka laughed. ‘Shut up.’ she said. Such a stupid thing to say. But nevertheless she felt a stir of optimism at these words. It probably would be a nice summer, she thought. But it wasn’t time for rejoicing just yet. Wait until the bodies have been put in the ground, she thought, wait until the rubble has been cleared from the streets and the Russians have gone home.
‘What’s wrong?’ Paul asked.
Katka did not answer.
‘Oh.’ Paul replied, ‘your father. You didn’t find him.’
‘I did.’ Katka said, turning to Paul. ‘It was Jan.’
Paul smiled. In a different situation, after a different set of events it might have seemed a surprise that Katka had found him so easily. Not now though, nothing was a surprise now.
‘But he’s dead.’
‘I thought he would be.’ Paul said, and somehow these words didn’t seem unkind in the slightest. But after a pause he added, ‘I’m sorry. A lot of the resistance are dead now. That’s all I meant.’
And not wanting to dwell on the topic any further, Katka asked, ‘So what now?’
Paul shook his head, slowly and with a forced frown of his lips, ‘I don’t know.’ he said. ‘All I know is I can’t stay here.’
‘In Prague?’ Katka asked.
‘No.’
‘Where then?’
‘Home, I guess. Back to Germany.’
‘But you’ve never lived there before.’ Katka said.
‘Well it’s more home than here.’ Paul said, ‘I can hardly live here after what’s happened. It’s no place for a German to be.’
There was nothing Katka could say to this, except to sigh and she reached into Paul’s lap and took his hand and she said, The tattered cord can again become knotted. It holds but it is torn.’
But to this Paul only shook his head. He pulled his hand from Katka’s, gently but firmly and said, ‘No.’
Katka looked at him.
‘I don’t think it can.’ he said and he stood up from the bench as if to walk away.
Katka waited for a moment, unsure whether she should stop him.
Katka shook her head.
‘The Russians are here.’ Paul replied, ‘They’ve taken all German soldiers prisoner. An armistice is about to be signed. The war is over, Katka.’
‘No.’ replied Katka, ‘I’m not hopeful enough to think that.’
Paul shook his head. He looked at the ground between them and for a long moment neither spoke. Then Katka took his hand and together they walked up to the far side of the river bank, towards the children’s home where Katka used to live and they walked without talking, not much, not until they found themselves in one of the parks where they used to spend long summer nights, chatting and looking out over the blackened city, the city that had been stripped of its lights.
They sat on a bench and felt the warmth of the sunlight on their faces.
‘It’ll be a good summer this year.’ Paul said.
Katka laughed. ‘Shut up.’ she said. Such a stupid thing to say. But nevertheless she felt a stir of optimism at these words. It probably would be a nice summer, she thought. But it wasn’t time for rejoicing just yet. Wait until the bodies have been put in the ground, she thought, wait until the rubble has been cleared from the streets and the Russians have gone home.
‘What’s wrong?’ Paul asked.
Katka did not answer.
‘Oh.’ Paul replied, ‘your father. You didn’t find him.’
‘I did.’ Katka said, turning to Paul. ‘It was Jan.’
Paul smiled. In a different situation, after a different set of events it might have seemed a surprise that Katka had found him so easily. Not now though, nothing was a surprise now.
‘But he’s dead.’
‘I thought he would be.’ Paul said, and somehow these words didn’t seem unkind in the slightest. But after a pause he added, ‘I’m sorry. A lot of the resistance are dead now. That’s all I meant.’
And not wanting to dwell on the topic any further, Katka asked, ‘So what now?’
Paul shook his head, slowly and with a forced frown of his lips, ‘I don’t know.’ he said. ‘All I know is I can’t stay here.’
‘In Prague?’ Katka asked.
‘No.’
‘Where then?’
‘Home, I guess. Back to Germany.’
‘But you’ve never lived there before.’ Katka said.
‘Well it’s more home than here.’ Paul said, ‘I can hardly live here after what’s happened. It’s no place for a German to be.’
There was nothing Katka could say to this, except to sigh and she reached into Paul’s lap and took his hand and she said, The tattered cord can again become knotted. It holds but it is torn.’
But to this Paul only shook his head. He pulled his hand from Katka’s, gently but firmly and said, ‘No.’
Katka looked at him.
‘I don’t think it can.’ he said and he stood up from the bench as if to walk away.
Katka waited for a moment, unsure whether she should stop him.