Chapter Two - Interrogation
'Well?' The police inspector asked. He stared at Katka for a long moment, his eyes unflinching, searching, as if attempting to read her mind.
Katka had to look away.
'Pay attention!' The inspector snapped, 'Look at me and answer my question.'
He was a big man and even though he was sitting behind a desk his thick frame towered over Katka. A great, dark mass of hostility and his stern moustached face frowned down at her. He watched as she squirmed in the wooden chair she had been told to sit in.
'Who did you meet last night?'
'What will you do with the things you brought back?'
'Where did you get the money?'
The same questions, repeated over and over. Katka was tired, her head was spinning and the faint light of morning was already lighting up the window glass on the far side of the room.
'And why are you dressed like a boy?’ Sneered a second voice. It was one of the matrons, Miss Bozena, the oldest in the home. She narrowed her eyes at Katka, tightening her hard old face, 'Trousers? On a girl? Have you ever seen such a sight, Herr Inspector?’ Then after a pause added, ‘You can refuse all you like to tell us what you were doing last night, but you will be punished all the same.'
Katka was perhaps more scared of Miss Bozena than the inspector. She had a reputation for harsh punishments and for treating the other matrons as badly as she did the children. It was her study they were sitting in now, a dark room lined with books. In the centre of the room was a large wooden desk and on it the white sack Katka had bought from Paul, torn open so that its contents were spilled out.
Miss Bozena reached forward and began lifting the items from the sack one by one, 'Alcohol... cigarettes... make-up...' she said, '...was it really worth risking your life for such silly little things?'
'I didn't know,’ Katka began, ‘I - '
'Enough!' The inspector said suddenly, 'We have heard enough of your lies. You knew exactly what you were doing. We already know everything about this operation you are involved in. You have been buying stolen goods and selling them for profit here at the home. We have already spoken to several other girls, we already have enough information.'
'Please, no. -' Katka began,'I can -'
'- Explain?' The inspector said, finishing Katka's sentence for her, 'Well please start by explaining this.' And from his pocket he took the roll of notes Katka had given to Paul. He held it in front of Katka's face, 'One of our officers found this in your room when he searched it earlier.'
'But that's not mine!' Katka said at once.
'Really? Well who does it belong to then?'
Katka was immediately silent.
The inspector looked at her for a long moment, then more quietly went on, 'You have committed a crime during wartime. It may not seem serious - that you were just bringing nice things for your friends here at the home, but I am afraid this is far worse than you think. You have been funding the resistance,' He paused on the word resistance and looked carefully at Katka, perhaps looking for any change of expression on her face, 'and the punishments for collaboration with the resistance are very serious indeed.'
Katka forced herself not to be afraid. She suppressed all emotion and tried not to listen as the inspector went on to tell her that the resistance had taken advantage of her because she was young and vulnerable and that the money she had raised would buy guns and bombs and they would be used for killing, 'There will be blood spilled and it will all rest on your conscience.' He told Katka, 'Innocent people will die.'
What?
Katka felt an anger rise inside of her at these words. How could he say such a thing? This man, who was working for the Nazis, who was Czech but upheld their law. Surely if blood was spilled it was because of him and his actions.
'I will be investigating tonight's events in more detail.' he went on, leaning forward in his chair, 'You can be sure we will speak again. The resistance are a group of very dangerous people. Murderers mostly, men and women prepared to kill without mercy, to kill children if required, and if you are involved with them, if in any way they think you are speaking to me right now and they have labelled you an informer -' he took in a breath of air, 'They will most certainly kill you.'
'Liar!' Thought Katka, but without the courage to actually speak the word out loud. What he was saying was not true. It wasn't the resistance that were dangerous, it wasn't the resistance that woke families from their sleep to load them into trucks, that took innocent people away, never to return - it wasn't the resistance either that beat people in the streets, fired gunshots in the night. It was the German army, the Gestapo, the Nazi party and all its supporters. They were the real danger.
Katka glared at the inspector. There was nothing else she could do. She folded her arms across her chest and slumped lower into her chair. At this the inspector simply shook his head. He must have thought Katka was acting like a brat, a petulant child, because the look on his face was one of irritation - not anger - he looked tired, fed up almost.
'We will speak again.' He said as he began readying himself to leave. 'When you are ready to talk. When you have seen sense and you want to avoid dragging yourself into more trouble.' He stood up and put on his coat and hat and with only a nod to Miss Bozena he left the room.
Miss Bozena waited until the police inspector's footsteps had died away completely before speaking. She looked at Katka - long and hard - then said, 'You are in a lot of trouble, Katka. This matter will not go away. We can expect more visits from the police thanks to you, especially when they catch the other people involved.'
'Catch them?'
'Quiet!' Miss Bozena snapped.
'But -?'
'But nothing. I said be quiet. Do I need to tell you again that you could be killed for what you’ve done?'
'I'm sorry.' Katka said, trying to sound sincere, but at the same time her mind had begun to race, sent into turmoil by the words Miss Bozena had just used - when they catch them - did this mean they had not caught Paul after all, that he had got away?
'I suppose you want to know about the boy you were with at the embankment?' Miss Bozena said.
'Is he alive?' Katka asked at once, not thinking what she was saying.
'So you did meet a boy there?' Miss Bozena replied at once.
'What? No, I mean -'
'You met a boy by the river and he sold you stolen goods which you brought back here for the other girls. And someone recently sold alcohol to the matrons. That was probably you too!' She forced a laugh, triumphant, scolding, and with a satisfied voice she announced, 'There you have it! Questioned by the police for half the night, then two questions from me and everything becomes clear.'
'No, please, I didn't.'
'Yes you did!' Shouted Miss Bozena, 'There is not a lot I do not know in this home. It is perhaps just a shame that you did not see fit to share this information with the police inspector when he was here. You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble by being honest with him when you had a chance.'
Katka began to cry. She didn't mean to, but suddenly her throat became thick and warm salt-filled tears began filling her lashes, 'But is he alive?' She asked.
'The boy who was shot?' Miss Bozena replied. And her words seemed like actual bullets, fired across the desktop - intentionally hurtful - she wanted this to be as painful for Katka as possible. 'He is alive, but I expect not for long. They have taken him for questioning and I don't expect the Gestapo will have much sympathy for him.'
'Oh God.' Katka murmured.
Miss Bozena reached across to touch Katka's hand 'Do you want to see him?' she asked.
'Can I?' Katka replied.
It was hard to read the expression on Miss Bozena’s face. Nothing at first, then a subtle glint of the eye, followed by a curl of her lip and she began to laugh. Quiet at first, then real and rich, she rocked back in her chair, 'Of course you can see him. He will be on the front page of the newspaper by tomorrow!’ And it seemed she found this the funniest thing in the world. She laughed loudly, 'When the Gestapo have finished with him I am sure they will want to make an example of him.'
Katka felt as if she were sinking. Could this really be happening? She watched as Miss Bozena cleared the roll of money and the package from the desk-top and, still laughing quietly to herself, and put them into the filing cabinet on the far side of the room.
'You will stay in this room until the end of the day. School work will be brought to you. You will not eat or leave this room, not for any reason.'
Katka nodded weakly.
'You will think about what you have done and at the end of the day you will write a full account of your actions, including names of all those involved.'
'Yes.' Katka said.
‘And let us just hope,’ Miss Bozena said, standing in the doorway and with a note of finality in her voice, ‘that the Gestapo do not want to make an example of you too.’
For the rest of the day Katka was on her own. A clock ticking outside in the corridor, the muffled sound of voices and the tramp of feet as the other girls left for school was her only company. Regret buzzed inside her mind like a loose wire. She was able to think of little else as the day wore on. But it was Paul that occupied her mind the most. Could he really be alive? The scene from the embankment replayed itself like an image on a cinema screen - the other man, the shout, the sharp crack of a gun being fired - but the more she thought about it the less certain she became and soon she felt too tired and too sad to think at all.
Miss Bozena smiled when she saw Katka like this. She came back into the room several times during the evening and when she came the last time, placing a piece of paper on the desk in front of Katka so that she could write her statement, she seemed almost pleased.
‘There,’ she said, taking a pen from the desk drawer and removing its lid. ‘Write down what happened and make sure you include the names of all those involved.’
‘Yes.’ Katka replied - subdued, beaten - and as she began to write it was with a realisation that if she wrote either Jana or Paul’s names, she could be sure she would never see either of them again.
Katka had to look away.
'Pay attention!' The inspector snapped, 'Look at me and answer my question.'
He was a big man and even though he was sitting behind a desk his thick frame towered over Katka. A great, dark mass of hostility and his stern moustached face frowned down at her. He watched as she squirmed in the wooden chair she had been told to sit in.
'Who did you meet last night?'
'What will you do with the things you brought back?'
'Where did you get the money?'
The same questions, repeated over and over. Katka was tired, her head was spinning and the faint light of morning was already lighting up the window glass on the far side of the room.
'And why are you dressed like a boy?’ Sneered a second voice. It was one of the matrons, Miss Bozena, the oldest in the home. She narrowed her eyes at Katka, tightening her hard old face, 'Trousers? On a girl? Have you ever seen such a sight, Herr Inspector?’ Then after a pause added, ‘You can refuse all you like to tell us what you were doing last night, but you will be punished all the same.'
Katka was perhaps more scared of Miss Bozena than the inspector. She had a reputation for harsh punishments and for treating the other matrons as badly as she did the children. It was her study they were sitting in now, a dark room lined with books. In the centre of the room was a large wooden desk and on it the white sack Katka had bought from Paul, torn open so that its contents were spilled out.
Miss Bozena reached forward and began lifting the items from the sack one by one, 'Alcohol... cigarettes... make-up...' she said, '...was it really worth risking your life for such silly little things?'
'I didn't know,’ Katka began, ‘I - '
'Enough!' The inspector said suddenly, 'We have heard enough of your lies. You knew exactly what you were doing. We already know everything about this operation you are involved in. You have been buying stolen goods and selling them for profit here at the home. We have already spoken to several other girls, we already have enough information.'
'Please, no. -' Katka began,'I can -'
'- Explain?' The inspector said, finishing Katka's sentence for her, 'Well please start by explaining this.' And from his pocket he took the roll of notes Katka had given to Paul. He held it in front of Katka's face, 'One of our officers found this in your room when he searched it earlier.'
'But that's not mine!' Katka said at once.
'Really? Well who does it belong to then?'
Katka was immediately silent.
The inspector looked at her for a long moment, then more quietly went on, 'You have committed a crime during wartime. It may not seem serious - that you were just bringing nice things for your friends here at the home, but I am afraid this is far worse than you think. You have been funding the resistance,' He paused on the word resistance and looked carefully at Katka, perhaps looking for any change of expression on her face, 'and the punishments for collaboration with the resistance are very serious indeed.'
Katka forced herself not to be afraid. She suppressed all emotion and tried not to listen as the inspector went on to tell her that the resistance had taken advantage of her because she was young and vulnerable and that the money she had raised would buy guns and bombs and they would be used for killing, 'There will be blood spilled and it will all rest on your conscience.' He told Katka, 'Innocent people will die.'
What?
Katka felt an anger rise inside of her at these words. How could he say such a thing? This man, who was working for the Nazis, who was Czech but upheld their law. Surely if blood was spilled it was because of him and his actions.
'I will be investigating tonight's events in more detail.' he went on, leaning forward in his chair, 'You can be sure we will speak again. The resistance are a group of very dangerous people. Murderers mostly, men and women prepared to kill without mercy, to kill children if required, and if you are involved with them, if in any way they think you are speaking to me right now and they have labelled you an informer -' he took in a breath of air, 'They will most certainly kill you.'
'Liar!' Thought Katka, but without the courage to actually speak the word out loud. What he was saying was not true. It wasn't the resistance that were dangerous, it wasn't the resistance that woke families from their sleep to load them into trucks, that took innocent people away, never to return - it wasn't the resistance either that beat people in the streets, fired gunshots in the night. It was the German army, the Gestapo, the Nazi party and all its supporters. They were the real danger.
Katka glared at the inspector. There was nothing else she could do. She folded her arms across her chest and slumped lower into her chair. At this the inspector simply shook his head. He must have thought Katka was acting like a brat, a petulant child, because the look on his face was one of irritation - not anger - he looked tired, fed up almost.
'We will speak again.' He said as he began readying himself to leave. 'When you are ready to talk. When you have seen sense and you want to avoid dragging yourself into more trouble.' He stood up and put on his coat and hat and with only a nod to Miss Bozena he left the room.
Miss Bozena waited until the police inspector's footsteps had died away completely before speaking. She looked at Katka - long and hard - then said, 'You are in a lot of trouble, Katka. This matter will not go away. We can expect more visits from the police thanks to you, especially when they catch the other people involved.'
'Catch them?'
'Quiet!' Miss Bozena snapped.
'But -?'
'But nothing. I said be quiet. Do I need to tell you again that you could be killed for what you’ve done?'
'I'm sorry.' Katka said, trying to sound sincere, but at the same time her mind had begun to race, sent into turmoil by the words Miss Bozena had just used - when they catch them - did this mean they had not caught Paul after all, that he had got away?
'I suppose you want to know about the boy you were with at the embankment?' Miss Bozena said.
'Is he alive?' Katka asked at once, not thinking what she was saying.
'So you did meet a boy there?' Miss Bozena replied at once.
'What? No, I mean -'
'You met a boy by the river and he sold you stolen goods which you brought back here for the other girls. And someone recently sold alcohol to the matrons. That was probably you too!' She forced a laugh, triumphant, scolding, and with a satisfied voice she announced, 'There you have it! Questioned by the police for half the night, then two questions from me and everything becomes clear.'
'No, please, I didn't.'
'Yes you did!' Shouted Miss Bozena, 'There is not a lot I do not know in this home. It is perhaps just a shame that you did not see fit to share this information with the police inspector when he was here. You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble by being honest with him when you had a chance.'
Katka began to cry. She didn't mean to, but suddenly her throat became thick and warm salt-filled tears began filling her lashes, 'But is he alive?' She asked.
'The boy who was shot?' Miss Bozena replied. And her words seemed like actual bullets, fired across the desktop - intentionally hurtful - she wanted this to be as painful for Katka as possible. 'He is alive, but I expect not for long. They have taken him for questioning and I don't expect the Gestapo will have much sympathy for him.'
'Oh God.' Katka murmured.
Miss Bozena reached across to touch Katka's hand 'Do you want to see him?' she asked.
'Can I?' Katka replied.
It was hard to read the expression on Miss Bozena’s face. Nothing at first, then a subtle glint of the eye, followed by a curl of her lip and she began to laugh. Quiet at first, then real and rich, she rocked back in her chair, 'Of course you can see him. He will be on the front page of the newspaper by tomorrow!’ And it seemed she found this the funniest thing in the world. She laughed loudly, 'When the Gestapo have finished with him I am sure they will want to make an example of him.'
Katka felt as if she were sinking. Could this really be happening? She watched as Miss Bozena cleared the roll of money and the package from the desk-top and, still laughing quietly to herself, and put them into the filing cabinet on the far side of the room.
'You will stay in this room until the end of the day. School work will be brought to you. You will not eat or leave this room, not for any reason.'
Katka nodded weakly.
'You will think about what you have done and at the end of the day you will write a full account of your actions, including names of all those involved.'
'Yes.' Katka said.
‘And let us just hope,’ Miss Bozena said, standing in the doorway and with a note of finality in her voice, ‘that the Gestapo do not want to make an example of you too.’
For the rest of the day Katka was on her own. A clock ticking outside in the corridor, the muffled sound of voices and the tramp of feet as the other girls left for school was her only company. Regret buzzed inside her mind like a loose wire. She was able to think of little else as the day wore on. But it was Paul that occupied her mind the most. Could he really be alive? The scene from the embankment replayed itself like an image on a cinema screen - the other man, the shout, the sharp crack of a gun being fired - but the more she thought about it the less certain she became and soon she felt too tired and too sad to think at all.
Miss Bozena smiled when she saw Katka like this. She came back into the room several times during the evening and when she came the last time, placing a piece of paper on the desk in front of Katka so that she could write her statement, she seemed almost pleased.
‘There,’ she said, taking a pen from the desk drawer and removing its lid. ‘Write down what happened and make sure you include the names of all those involved.’
‘Yes.’ Katka replied - subdued, beaten - and as she began to write it was with a realisation that if she wrote either Jana or Paul’s names, she could be sure she would never see either of them again.