Malá Strana

It was past midnight and the only sounds were the ticking of the clock in the living room and the drumming of rain on the roof. It had been a cold spring and a rainy summer. So much had been lost in such a short time that it seemed almost impossible to wholly understand the full extent of the change that had occurred. The cello was the most potent reminder that things had been irreversibly altered. It was placed in its stand and had been so since Frantisêk had left, almost six months ago. She had not been supposed to know; they had all agreed on that, Mama, Papa, Franta and Estera had decided that she would not be told about the plans of her brother’s, to spare her the pain.

It had been the evening of March 16, and she had been fast asleep in the room she shared with her cousin Esterá, when she for some reason had woken up. Noticing that Esterá was not in her bed, she had tiptoed out into the apartment, her heart leaping as she heard her brother’s voice from the living room. “I’ll leave tonight Father, there are a few of us so we should be alright. We’ll head north, go through Poland and then try to get to Britain”. He had been standing by the window, smoking a cigarette as he was looking at their father, Professor Emil Novák.

She had paused, remaining behind the door and listened, feeling how her heart sank in her chest. Frantisêk was leaving. The realisation made her insides go cold at the enormous implications of the words spoken so casually by her brother.

“Do you have any money?”. Papa replied matter-of-factly as he got up from his chair, walked across to the chiffonier and opened one of the drawers. “I don’t know how far you can get on these?” He handed Frantisêk a bundle of Reichmarks, not caring to hide his distaste for the foreign currency. “You’ll need some food as well”. Juliá Novákova always the pragmatist interjected. “Esterá will you be kind enough to pack something for Frantisêk?” Esterá nodded as she got up; clearly she had been deemed trustworthy enough to be privy to the conspiracy. Mama turned back to Frantisêk again “I think you should take the pearls, you can always sell them should you need money.” She reached behind her neck to unclasp the pearl necklace that she was wearing, handing it to Frantisêk without another word.

“Thank you Mother, Father”. Frantisêk kissed her cheek and clasped Emil’s hand in his as Esterá returned, handing him a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “You’re a lifesaver cousin” he smiled, awkwardly as he seemed to be debating whether to embrace Esterá or not but was saved having to make the decision as she hugged him close and kissed his cheek. “I’ve asked Ján Brückner to come round if you need any help”. He paused as she seemed to collect his thoughts “and would you tell Milá I will be thinking of her”.

At the mention of her name Milá stepped into the living room. Dressed as she was in her long nightshirt, blonde hair falling free down her shoulders and framing her face. Her intelligent blue eyes were trained on her brother who was standing by the window, cigarette in hand looking as if he had not a care in world and that his impending departure was no more serious than one of the excursions to the countryside that he and Ján Brückner used to make.

“Why weren’t you going to tell me?” Milá began, her voice breaking halfway through the sentence, ruining any hopes she might have had for sounding rightfully slighted. She sought her brother’s eyes noticing how he was looking away and blushing. “Please Milá don’t cause a scene now” Juliá spoke softly, putting her arm around her shoulders. “You understand that Frantisêk can’t stay, what with everything that’s happened”. Juliá gave her a patented squeeze and was joined by Emil who took Milá’s unresisting hand in his. “I know this is hard for you but you have to brave my girl. Your brother must know that you’ll be alright when he’s gone”.

“Perhaps Milá and I should have a talk”. Frantisêk spoke softly as was his way, nodding to their parents and Esterá to leave the two of them alone, his request being met although it was clear that Papa and Mama alike found it unnecessary, but as always Frantisêk was adamant, and with a sigh Papa left the room, closing the doors with a barely audible click behind him. So it was that Milá was left alone with her brother for the first time since the partial mobilisation in September the previous year. Frantisêk looked leaner than she remembered, the jacket he was wearing hanging a bit loose on his shoulders. She looked at him and reached out for his hand, taking it between hers and gripping it tightly. “Why wouldn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Milá fixed her brother with a long stare as he sat down next to her.

“Well dearest sister” Frantisêk began as he pushed a stand of hair from her face “The idea was to keep you happily unknowing as not to expose you to undue worry and stress. Seems that it didn’t go too well did it?”. He smiled again as he lit another cigarette and blew out a cone of smoke towards the ceiling. “I’m not a child Franta you should have told me”. Milá’s grip of his hand tightened as he caressed her hair. “No you’re not a child Milá, I think we all forget that sometimes. I am sorry I didn’t tell you but we all thought it would be best if you weren’t notified until after I had left”. He ruffled her hair as he noticed the tears pooling in her impossibly blue eyes knowing that if she wasn’t distracted then there would be a scene. “Look Milá remember how sad you were when Zlato disappeared”. He nudged her sides, coaxing the shadow of a smile from her “But that was ages ago and there’s nothing wrong with being sad when your cat dies”. Her brother nodded “I know but you’ve always had a hard time with saying good-bye haven’t you Milá and that’s the reason, we wanted to spare you that”. He looked at the clock. “I really need to go now” he stood up and pulled her up into an embrace, kissing her cheeks and her forehead. “Be good, take care of Mama and Papa and never forget who and what you are”.
***

So much had been lost in such a short time that it seemed almost impossible to wholly understand the full extent of the change that had occurred. It had been less than a year since the Münich Agreement, where the supposed friends of Czechoslovakia had agreed to the German demands of control of the Sudetenland. When it first had been known it had caused outrage, uniting Czech and Slovak, Communist and Conservative alike in the demand that the government should fight to protect what was theirs and not allow themselves to be bullied into submission. Indifferent, or perhaps thinking it would prevent bloodshed to the resolve of the people, President Edvard Bénes had folded, ceding the Sudetenland to the German Reich without a single shot being fired. As the main portion of the country had been ripped out, the carrion birds had swooped down, Poland annexing Silesia and Hungary Ruthenia thus crippling what was left of Czechoslovakia. Germany had ample reason to rejoice, and while the clouds of war loomed heavy on the horizon, the politicians of France and Britain still pretended that their betrayal was the guarantor of a Peace of our Time that would never come.

On the 15 of March 1939 the German Wehrmacht rolled into the crippled Czech lands, declaring the rump-state a German Protectorate as Slovakia declared herself independent under a fascist regime putting an end to Tomáŝ Masaryk’s state and expanding Nazi rule further across the European continent. It had been the reason for Frantisêk’s, and many other young Czechs and Slovaks decision to leave their country. Much like their parents had resisted the Austro-Hungarian Empire during the Great War by fighting in foreign armies, so would they.

***

The cello sat in its stand, seemingly glaring at her every time she walked past it, the fact that she hadn’t picked it up since her brother had been mobilised was probably the most tell-tale sign of the change that had taken place. In a distant, altogether happier past, the Novák household had been filled with music, Milá playing the cello, Esterá the violin and Juliá the piano. The women of the Cermak family were a musical lot and it had been jokingly referred to as being their gift. Yet with every gift comes a curse, which had manifested itself in the inability to carry more than one healthy child. The cousins Frantsêk and Esterá were strong, independent and agile of minds. While there were no physical faults with Milá she had developed an overly sensitive side and being slightly shy around people who did not belong to the intimate family. Then again in comparison to cousin Lýdia it was not so bad. Lýdia had always been the smallest of the four cousins but as they had approached their early teens it became painfully apparent that it was not just her physical appearance that had been somehow stunted. Lýdia was a perpetual child, even now as she was due to celebrate her twentieth birthday, her mind was that of a child. Innocent, naïve and trapped in her own little world.

Milá disposition might have proved quite the handicap had it not been for the way that her brother had always been there to, quite literally at least when they were growing up, pick her up when she had encountered some insurmountable trouble or sorrow. As she grew up she had, at least partially, managed to grow a somewhat thicker skin, not a little because the inclusion of her cousin Esterá in the Novák household. She was Milá’s senior by two years and with limitless confidence and a verbal ability to match it, and by merit of her personality she won Milá’s unreserved admiration much in the same fashion as Frantisêk had her undiluted adoration. So it was that Milá came to share, not only her room with her cousin, but her thoughts and her mind. The practical Esterá being the balance, and remedy to her sensitivity.

All in all the formative years had been happy; the summers were spent with the Sokolovs in the village of Malinovo outside Bratislava, where uncle Jákub and aunt Kátarina ran their little farm. The Slovakian countryside had substituted for the American prairies when the fantastic ideas of Frantisêk’s and Esterá’s had transferred the cousins to another adventure. The journey back to Prague coinciding with the start of the fall semester at the Charles University. With Emil Novák holding the position of Professor of Slavic languages and Juliá teaching at the conservatory the fall semester was a busy time indeed, but not so much that there weren’t time for excursions to the country, especially as Emil had invested in a Tatra model 12. As they grew older, Frantisêk had formed what would prove to be, an enduring friendship with the young Ján Brückner, the son of an industrialist entrepreneur and something of a mechanical genius. To Milá, young Mister Brückner had at first been an usurper, stealing her brother from her, but as time wore on she had first come to a grudging cease-fire agreement which in turn developed into something that might have become a fledging romance had not politics taking their toll on all their lives.

The armed forces of Czechoslovakia had been a cornerstone of the formation of the state. The army and air force were among the most modern in Europe, and the backbone lay in the impressive array of fortifications built along the border with Germany. Czechoslovakia could field enough men to provide a credible deterrent to the perceived enemies, Germany, Austria and Hungary. Thus the national service had seen Frantisêk selected for the air force and Ján placed with a mechanised infantry unit. Learning that her brother had decided on a military career as an officer, the requisite to being a pilot had been a cause of worry for her, but she had dutifully mustered what courage and enthusiasm she could as he got his wings and his posting. There was little else to do, knowing how much pride Frantisêk took in serving his country (although the fact that he was allowed to pilot an Avia B534 probably outweighed his patriotic concerns). Yet every plan conceived by the High Command had been rendered useless by the ceding of the Sudetenland and all its defences as well as President Benés refusal to fight.

Milá had never had much interest in politics; but even so she hated the German occupation with a fierce passion which lay just below her otherwise composed and somewhat shy surface. Unlike her father who cited the legal arguments as well as the perversion of the Versailles treaty as the main point of discontent, or Esterá who would quote her Marx and her Lenin as to why the Germans should be evicted, Milá’s own arguments were simpler. It was, when all was said and done a matter of fairness. She could, without the grand rhetoric of her father’s, identify with her country, a small peaceful state surrounded by hostile neighbours and forced into submission by the unholy alliance of enemies and supposed friends. There was also the fact that the German occupation of her country had taken Frantisêk away from her and with him the one point of safety that had always been available to her. That was the core of her antipathy to the occupation, although she had yet to express it other than in carefully worded discussions with Ján Brückner. It was strange a situation, Milá idly reflected as she was walking home from the library of the faculty of law where she helped out three nights a week. Before Münich and the occupation Ján had rarely said more than a few polite phrases whenever they met, but now they spent every three nights together as he picked her up after her shift ended and walked her back to her parents’ flat. It was not that they spoke as such, even though Milá had overcome quite a lot of her natural shyness around him, she still doubted that he would find anything she’d say interesting enough to pay anything but polite disinterest.

Thus it was that their conversations were usually quite one sided, Ján recounting some story or other or telling her about the landmarks they passed on the way and Milá replying as best as she could. It was not that she hadn’t the faculties to carry a spiritual an intelligent dialogue, merely the fact that the ever-present shyness tended to get the better of her. Thus it was that Ján acted out most of the would-be conversation, quietening whenever they passed German soldiers or officers on their night off.

“So Ján...” Milá began as she unlocked the door feeling the blush rise on her cheeks as it always did when she ventured into unchartered territory such as this “I was wondering if you would like to...” she felt herself grow quiet as he looked at her “go for coffee after Church on Sunday.” She blurted out the last sentence as she bit her lower lip, noticing how he suddenly looked flustered as if being attacked from a most unexpected angle. He was about to answer, no doubt Milá thought, by declining the suggestion. Thankfully she was spared the indignity as the window on the third floor was flung open and she heard her cousin’s voice greeting Ján in her confident way and telling Milá to not to linger and waste young Mister Brückner’s time.

Not a little chastened by the combined assaults of Ján’s indecision and Esterá’s firm instructions, Milá hurridly made her way inside the staircase, closing the door behind her without looking at Ján and in a way that was very a-typical for her, uttered a curse to cousins and the occupation with equal fervour.

As always, it was during the walks with Milá as he escorted her home on the nights when she worked at the library, that Ján's mind drifted over events that led him to be where he was at that moment. He was walking with a rather attractive young woman, who kept to herself mostly. He had little idea of what she thought of him, or even felt about him. Personally, he was torn. This was the younger sister of his best friend, a friend who asked him to take care of her. It was a task he would have gladly undertaken, because she was nice to be around. He found her to be very nice to look at, always something new to discover about her face. And it was not just her face that he found appealing to his eyes. The way her body had changed to include some rather pleasant new shapes also drew his attention from her face. She was still growing into her womanhood, and there was always something changing that he noticed.

Eventually. Three nights a week, she worked at the library, and it was usually dark when she finished. Of course, it would not be safe for her to walk home, so he kept her company. No matter how often he tried to get her to open up and talk, she just didn't seem to want to talk. She was content to listen. And every time, he would take a long pause and his mind drifted.

The night Frantisêk told him about the plan to leave was one that frequently surfaced. Frantisêk had joined the air force as a career, while Ján pursued his studies to gain an engineering degree. Because of his studies, he was assigned to the Army reserve. He enjoyed hearing the tales of life as a pilot whenever the two met up. He was genuinely pleased to see how much Franta enjoyed his job, gained from the joy of flying.

The two had met at a coffee shop, Franta paying for them both over Ján's objections.

“I have working longer than you, and are paid a lot better than you are right now.” Ján bristled at the comment, knowing he was right. Even with his degree, and his father's connections, Ján still entered the workforce just like everyone else did. At the lower end of the rungs. Still, he had a better start than he fellow graduates, some of them not even getting work as engineers. But Ján was earning money, and wanted to not be dependent on others any more. Within reason.

“Look, Ján, this is important. Ever since the Germans came, there has been some discontent amongst the armed forces. Some are talking of going to join someone else in order to fight the war that is sure to come.”

Ján's jaw went slack, staring at his friend as Frantisêk took a sip of his coffee. They were keeping their voices low as they talked, afraid of drawing the wrong level of attention to themselves. He knew Frantisêk well enough to read between the lines.

“So, when are we planning to go?”

“Not we, Ján. I'm planning on going, but I'm not taking you with me.” Ján started to draw breath to respond, but Frantisêk raised a hand. “There are a group of us that will be going together, but we're all going to be able to stay together, given where we're from. I can't guarantee that we'd be together if you came with us. You're army, Ján. I'm not.”

Ján smiled, and Frantisêk knew that something was coming. “Well, you'll need someone to keep that metal bird of yours in the air. You know you can trust me to keep it going. Anyway, I've heard how much trust you've got in your entire team. I know that the crew chief has your respect, but another good pair of hands can never go astray.”

“True, Ján. Very true. But if you follow me, who's going to keep an eye on Esterá... and Milá.”

Ján frowned as he gave his friend the evil eye. Ján knew how much Frantisêk looked out for Milá. She was a quiet girl, and she needed the support of her brother, who he was certain Milá loved and admired greatly. Between the two of them, Milá had been shielded from more than one young man who had the wrong sort of thoughts about her. Ján knew that when he and Franitsek had become friends, Milá was less than accepting of the way things developed between the two boys. They grew to become more like brothers than friends, which was an even larger crime in her eyes, or so it seemed. Still, she accepted that Ján was going away, and she learned to live with him being a part of Frantisêk's life. Ján never saw her as a sister, so as she started changing from the little girl into the young woman, Ján found his thoughts straying down paths that both excited and scared him.

“You want me to look after Milá? What, you don't trust Esterá?”

“Having Esterá look after her goes only so far. Sometimes, having a man about is a great deterrent. Plus, there isn't anyone else that I trust to keep her safe.”

Ján groaned. Frantisêk had nailed him to the floor, keeping him from joining Franta's bold new adventure. The thought of his friend going off to actually fight frustrated him. When younger, the two had played out many fights against the Ottomans and Mongols. They stood side by side against the dastardly foes, beating them back together. As a team. Now, when it was going to be a reality, they wouldn't be that team. Not in any sense of the word. But Frantisêk wanted him to do something almost as important as fighting at his side – protecting Milá.

He brought himself back to the matter at hand, keeping Milá safe on her way home. He couldn't do that while his mind was buried in the past. Nothing had happened, nor even remotely looked like happening. The positive side to the German occupation was that most of the trouble makers had decided not to rock the boat too much, or focused on the Germans. But Ján was not going to get complacent and rely on anyone else to look after Milá. The night he decided she would be safe would be the one night when trouble would find her.

As happened on occasions, they passed a German officer. Ján silenced himself, smiling and nodding politely to the uniformed stranger as they passed. The soldier replied with a curt nod, but didn't pay them any further attention as they separated. He wished that Milá would find something to talk about with him. He was aware that prior to Frantisêk's departure, they had not spoken to each other much. Now, as her appointed guardian, he was wishing that he had spent more time with her while Frantisêk was around. Ján knew that Milá looked up to her big brother, and was more open and confident while he was around. Ján had little idea of the effect that Esterá had on Milá's confidence.

Esterá was radically different to Milá. Two years older than Milá, she seemed to be much more worldly than the younger woman. Where Milá was shy, Esterá was not afraid to be social. She also spoke her mind about any subject, particularly the ones she was passionate about. But just like with Milá, he wasn't sure where he stood with Esterá.

As they came onto the block where the Novák apartment was, the memories of the meeting with Emil Novák earlier that day. Emil had called Ján, asking him to drop by early, so that they might have some time to talk. Ján didn't see anything amiss with the request, as he had received several of those in the past. The two men spoke of many topics of either individual interest or mutual interest. It felt to Ján that the Elder Novák was using Ján to fill a niche that was once occupied by Frantisêk.

Ján had been sitting at a small table, enjoying the discussions with Emil. While Frantisêk and Emil enjoyed smoking, it was not something that Ján developed a liking of. It wasn't until Ján started University that the two started to treat each other as men, rather than the father of a friend, and the son's best friend. Their respect for each other changed further as they exchanged thoughts, ideas and opinions on a number of topics. While they differed from time to time, they acknowledged the other's point of view when they did.

Things, of course, took another change with the departure of Franisek for England. Ján could easily see the void left within the Novák household. He could see it in the older man's eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to mention anything about it. Ján was fearful that Emil would break if anything was said.

“Further, can you believe some of Esterá's ideas? I can understand some bias on her part, but what she believes needs to occur is just foolish.”

“Ján,” Emil laughed softly at Ján's own enthusiasm, “she wants just the same as we do. I want nothing more than our Slovak cousins to reap similar benefits to what we have. And in order to do that, there needs to be some sacrifices on our part.”

“But what Esterá has been calling for would leave us crippled far worse than we are now.”

“There is some truth in that, but that is just the way it could be done. Indeed, there are other ways of getting the same goals, just using more wisdom.” Emil smiled brightly. “Wisdom brought from age.”

Ján knew that this was Emil's signal for Ján's silence in preparation for said wisdom.

“I would like to thank you, Ján, for doing what Franta asked of you. I understand how much you wanted to be at his side. But for him, this is far more important.” Ján was surprised at the change in topic. He also waited for the addition of the 'and for me too' which never actually came.

“Milá is a sweet young woman, as you are well aware. She thinks quite highly of you, even before Franta left. What he did has hurt her. She will never admit it though. Not to anyone.

“I don't want her hurt like that again. She has suffered enough as it is without anyone else close to her repeating such an experience. We all have a great deal of faith in you, Ján.”

Ján knew exactly what the elder Novák was referring to. He wouldn't lie about his interests in the cousins, but with Milá, regardless of his course of action, he could wind up hurting her in the manner that Emil was warning him about. Ján also harboured suspicions that Emil looked on Esterá as another daughter. Inwardly, Ján groaned at the complications that seemed to be building up before him, even without him taking any action at all. Ján felt that Esterá would be more understanding about any relationship issues. Not that meant any of his troubles would be removed.

So, the Nováks would be keeping an eye on him. Another internal groan accompanied the thought of Julia and his mother talking about Ján's duty. That would mean more of 'those' talks, but with less subtlety. Would it be wrong, he thought, to wish some painful mishap on Frantisêk for doing this to him?

They arrived at the building where the Novák family apartment was located. Ján stood back, just far enough to make Milá not feel crowded, but still close enough to let her feel that she was protected from any potential threats. He heard the distinctive click of the lock releasing the door. He looked at his charge, smiling in prelude to wishing her a good night.

“So Ján...I was wondering if you would like to...go for coffee after Church on Sunday.”

All of the thinking he had done in the quiet stages of the walk had left him unprepared for her question. Ján was stunned. She was asking him out for coffee, yet she hardly spoke a word to him while the walked. He was lost trying to figure out why she decided to ask him that. Surely it was not some means of getting to know him better, or was it to allow him the chance to get to know her better? Either way, why didn't she use the time they had together already to get to know him better? The prospect of doing something social with her was definitely appealing. What man in his right mind would object to a pretty woman taking an interest in him, when he was not otherwise involved with someone else.

He was about to answer her when he heard a window above them open. Since he had been thinking of Milá, and going out somewhere with her, he was slightly paranoid that Julia Novákova might be checking up on her daughter. Ján knew that he had no cause for that alarm, but instincts sometimes overpowered rational thought. But rather than the imagined chagrin of a protective mother, he was greeted by the Esterá leaning out the window. She greeted Ján with a smile and a light hearted tone in her voice, before making a passing comment to Milá about keeping Ján too long. Milá disappeared into the building, leaving Ján alone to deal with her more assertive cousin.

“Milá can do what she wishes with my time, Esterá Solokova, as it is none of your concern. Only mine. Please pass on my regards to Milá's parents for me. Good night, and sweet dreams.”

Ján continued his walk home. He wasn't too sure, but he thought that Milá might have been blushing when she asked him about going out for coffee. Ján wondered just how important that question was to her. He felt his own cheeks burn as he realized that he hadn't given her an answer to her question. Esterá's intervention managed to kill off any chance to respond as Milá disappeared very quickly.

Ján just let he mind run free, not bothering to try and direct the blizzard of thoughts wear themselves out enough to let him sleep, and decide what he would do about Milá's offer to have time together after Church.

Esterá dropped her satchel in the hall and began to unbutton her jacket, letting out a long sigh in the process.
“You’re late, dear,” A voice called through from the kitchen.
“I know, I’m sorry…my students needed a little more time to go over a few things,” Esterá explained with a groan as she headed into the kitchen, pausing to kiss her Aunt Juliá on the cheek and then carrying on to wash her hands. “You should have waited before starting all this, I said I’d cook for us this evening…”

“Not to worry, I had nothing else to do and as long as you’re home now you can help me. You can cook tomorrow. How are their lessons coming along?” Juliá asked as she gave her niece a sideways glance. They always spoke Slovak between themselves.

“They are darling girls, if somewhat distracted students,” Esterá replied carefully, drying her hands and trying an apron around her waist. “But it’s all experience…”

“Don’t worry. You’ll find something more permanent before long,” Her Aunt continued, busying herself with chopping up onions.
“I’m sure I shall, Mama,” Esterá agreed quietly as she began washing potatoes in the sink. That was assuming that the madness currently running rampant throughout Europe, and more recently through her homeland, ceased and life could return to something akin to normalcy. Although Esterá didn’t want things to go back to the way they were, well not exactly, she saw this is an opportunity to make changes that would benefit her country’s people. Benefit everyone.

“I can finish this off, you go and sit with Uncle Emil, Mama,” Esterá offered, moving to take the wooden spoon from her Aunt’s hand. The woman had been like a second mother to her and she had called her ‘Mama’ for as long as she could remember. “Maybe you could play a little…” She urged softly. The smile she received was tinged with sadness.
“You’re a good girl, Esterá, a good girl…” Juliá squeezed her niece’s arm before removing her own apron and leaving the kitchen for the living room.

Esterá longed to hear the apartment full of music once more. She’d never heard anyone play the piano with as much soul as Juliá did. But she knew the music wouldn’t return until Franta did. Her elder cousin, was off in Britain, fighting for the noble cause and his departure had left more than simply an empty room behind him. She hadn’t touched her violin since his departure and she knew Milá’s cello was gathering dust in a similar state. It was like the heart of their home had grown weaker in its beating. It was there, they were all still alive, but something was definitely missing.

Esterá put the peeled and chopped potatoes to boil and began frying the onions to add to the sauce. As the smells of cooking filled the air memories of days gone by filtered into her mind. Memories of all the Solokov and Novák women in the kitchen, Juliá and her own mother Kátarina, Esterá, Lýdia and Milá. All laughing and talking as they prepared the evening meal while the men folk sat out in the warm evening air of the countryside discussing advancements in transport and so on, Emil, Jakub and Frantisêk. The long, lazy summer days spent at the farm in Malinovo seemed so long ago now and at the time it felt to them all as if they’d never end.

In their youth, the days had been filled with adventurous games, lead mostly by Franta and herself with little Milá and Lýdia trailing happily behind. Nights spent telling ghost stories down in the barn until they frightened the younger cousins and they all had to retire to bed, with the younger siblings clinging desperately to the elders. Life was simple then and their lives so much more straight forward. She knew it wasn’t true but even the weather seemed better back then as she recalled. They were all free, so much freer than they realised. No one knew then what horrors the future would hold. The world was a place full of possibility for them all, where opportunities were endless and all they would need to make their dreams real was the belief in themselves.

Esterá’s current view of the world had largely been shaped by that of her father, Jakub. He had been a member of the Czechoslovak Legions within the Russian army, just like Uncle Emil had belonged to the Legions in France. To her mind, Czechoslovakia was a nice enough idea but one that could be improved upon. After all, the partnership that Masaryk had devised was an unequal one, with the Slovaks all too often finding themselves being treated as the juniors to the Czechs. It was not out of malice, her father had stressed that on numerous occasions, but in the end, the best solution would be a proper independent Slovak state built on democratic socialism. Her personal politics were a little different to her Uncle’s and although they had many a lively debate late into the evening when the mood was right, she largely kept her opinions to herself. She had inherited her father’s fiery Slavic temperament along with his ideals and more than once in recent months she had had to bite her tongue against commenting in public on the current situation.

With dinner almost ready, the meat cooking in the oven, Esterá headed to the room she shared with Milá, intending to read a little before they ate. She pulled a well thumbed book from under her bed and curled up on her bed to read. But it wasn’t a novel or book of poetry. Not that Esterá didn’t enjoy those but this was her book of choice, Fathers and Sons by Turgenev

Estera read for a little over an hour before leaping up as her eye noticed the time. She shoved the book back under her bed and dashed to stand in front of the mirror. She looked a state, she quickly pulled the pins from her hair, letting it’s dark weight tumble around her shoulders. Her eyes then flicked across her reflection, moving between the fingers in her hair and the pins in her mouth as she carefully repinned her loose, dark curls into place. Dark eyes moving back and forth, brow occasionally frowning as soft ringlet escaped either her fingers or the hairgrip attempting to hold it in place. Now and then, casting a glance towards the clock and tutting as time inevitably slipped away. She honestly didn’t know where the time went in the evenings.

“Esterá, dinner’s ready,” Her Uncle’s voice came through the air.
“Coming!” She called back around a mouthful of pins.

As she pushed the last pins into place and was about to head through into the dining room noise out on the street drew her back to the window and caused her to open it wide.

“I thought I heard footsteps…good evening Ján.” She called down brightly as the pair of faces looked up to where she was. “Milá, dearest, do get a move on and come upstairs, dinner is ready and I’m sure Mister Brückner has far better things to do than waste his time on our doorstep, even with someone as pretty as you!”

Esterá watched Milá slip quickly through the front door before shifting her gaze back to Ján’s upturned face.

“Milá can do what she wishes with my time, Esterá Solokova, as it is none of your concern. Only mine. Please pass on my regards to Milá's parents for me. Good night, and sweet dreams.”

“I shall and don’t fear, my concern relates to our evening meal getting cold. You, your time and my cousin are free to do as you wish,” She called back teasingly. “However, your regards I will pass on…G’night Ján!”
She remained at the window, watching as the young man walked away.

Ever since she moved to live with her Aunt and Uncle to study in Prague, Ján Brückner had been as much a part of her life as her cousins had. Where Frantisêk had gone, chances were Ján would be too. He was a nice young man and, if she was honest, Esterá had taken a second and third glance at his face when they were first introduced but something held her back from investigating the possibilities of a relationship with her cousin’s friend. And that something, was Milá.

She’d seen the longing glances her young cousin had given the dashing young man who Frantisêk had entrusted to ‘keeping an eye’ on her in his absence. Esterá had done what she could to subtly encourage her cousin to act on her feelings, to make a little more effort to speak when he visited, a little more effort in her appearance as she was far from being plain.

Maybe after dinner they could have a talk, like they used to, just the two of them. She could see if the feelings she believed Milá had for Ján were real or imagined. Milá and her used to talk a lot, in recent months their talks had become more infrequent. Esterá believed the root of it was her involvement in the concealment of Frantisêk’s planned voyage to Britain. She, like the rest of the family had believed Milá too fragile to cope with the loss of her brother in such a way and the concealment had been done with the best of intentions. Milá was not vindictive or one to hold a grudge but Esterá could tell she had been hurt by her confidante’s involvement in the underhandedness.

When she’d moved to Prague all those years ago, Milá had been a substitute for her own younger sister. Poor little Lýdia. Trapped in her child like world, unable to share her true feelings. As much as it was a curse Esterá fervently hoped it would leave her blessedly unaware of recent developments. With Milá she could still be the big sister she’d always been with Lýdia, giving advice or a shoulder to cry on, but in this case she got something back.

“Milá’s on her way up, Uncle, and I’m coming too…” She called, closing the window and giving herself one last look in the mirror before heading into the dining room. If Milá’s feelings were real she could try to encourage her to do something about it. And if not…well, maybe Esterá could do something for herself for a change.

"Ah, Prague!"

The Corporal driving the staff car had had a long day, so he was unable to suppress the urge to sigh as he gripped the wheel a little tighter in his leather glove. Worried that he would be reprimanded, he looked over his shoulder, and was relieved to see that the young Lieutenant he was transporting was not at all interested in reprimanding him. God, the Corporal thought, his mind already turning to his next assignment. Another one. Enchanted by fairytale Prague with its wedding cake facades, narrow streets and stories of golems and warlords. Well, clearly the Lieutenant in question was no good on the front lines, so best he was here, hundreds of miles from the nearest Polish or French infantryman, and unable to do much damage to the Wehrmacht. Snapping off a salute and accepting the Lieutenant's casual wave of a gloved hand as he half-heartedly offered to help the officer with his bags, the Corporal gunned the engine and sped off down the rain-slick street.

* * * * *

"Bertie!"

Adalbert looked up from the task of brushing rainwater from the heavy flanks of his woollen greatcoat and gave a schoolboy grin.

"Erry!"

The lobby of Prague Castle was vast and cavernous, and crowded with bureaucrats, diplomats and of course military officers. The soft, watery chik-chak of typewriters was pleasantly muffled by the ceiling, providing a counterpoint to the steady rain falling outside. Like a swan breaking away from the flock, a tall, broad-shouldered officer bearing a Lieutenant's shoulder boards broke away from a clump of officers gathered around a row of telephones to greet Adalbert. The other man was not only taller, he was more physically fit; his hug almost swept Adalbert off his feet.

"Christ, Berty - sorry, Lieutenant Degrande - what are you doing here? This is a bloody front line, man!" Erich stood back to look at his friend and aimed a playful cuff at his head. The two were almost entirely dissimilar - Erich rangy, energetic, with the build of a hunter or an athlete, and a dark complexion that would have allowed himself to pass himself as a Greek or an Italian. Adelbert by contrast was solid, broad-shouldered if not pudgy, with a solemn face and pale yellow hair, and pale skin clearly bred in the cold, wet north of Europe. But by the smiles on their faces, they were clearly very close.

"A front line? Prussia, the Rhine, that's where the real danger is - all you're doing here is chasing third-rate gun runners and unlicensed newspaper sellers"

"Paper cuts, Berty" Erich's expression was momentarily super serious, before being broken by a guffaw. "Look, I'm sorry to do this to you, but something's just come up - an alert in the northern suburbs, can't tell you the details, in fact I've already told you too much! But the thing is, I've got to stick around for an hour or two" He handed a key to Adalbert. "Here's the key to my billet - ask the desk frau to give you directions, or grab a car if you can pull it off. Or you can wait. See the Castle. Might only be an hour. Up to you, man!"

Adalbert momentarily paused, the beauty of Prague combined with his natural indecisiveness to paralyse him. But then he waved away the key with a smile. "I'll take a walk, Erry. Like you say, see the castle. I may never get down here again, so I want to make the most of it, yes?"

"And maybe check out a few more of the beauties of Prague, hmm? The ones that aren't made of stone or marble, I mean?" Erich's gaze strayed to the pert behind of a secretary in a dull grey woollen skirt as she trooped past, a sheath of meticulously stacked paper cradled in her arms.

Adalbert's face coloured and he shook his head. "Oh come on now, Erich..."

"Who's this Erich? Sounds like a right tosspot" Erich leaned in closer. "You're still seeing that Marfa girl, then? The one whose father owns the brewery"

"Yes" Adalbert responded hotly.

"How long since you actually saw her?" Erich's hand rested on the other officer's shoulder. "As in, eye-to-eye? Got the glass on her, as you intelligence people apparently say?"

"Three months?"

"Kolossal" Erich wanted to say more, and even went so far as to draw in a breath, but then he shook his head. "No... OK, we can talk later. Over a few of beers, right? I know a place" He gave Adalbert a smile, but the other officer had no doubt as to what it was they'd speak of. Erich was an infamous lady's man - when they'd been stationed in Luttow during their field exercises he'd been both the terror and the stallion of the large coaching inn situated down the road from their barracks - but he didn't seem to realise, Adalbert thought, that his lucky with the young women wasn't something that could easily be replicated, let alone by somebody like Adalbert Degrande.

"Later" He murmured. Erich was about to say something more, but a portly Captain emerged from a side office and gave an imperious glare to the cluster of officers Erich had left. With an apologetic, almost irreverent smile and a hint of a shrug, Erich turned back to the telephone banks. Adalbert dusted his hands off, found himself unsure as to why he'd done so and, pausing only to check that his luggage could be left, walked out into the castle grounds, remembering only at the last minute to button his greatcoat against the rainfall.

* * * * *

The bar was smokey and warm, with only a pinch of the omnipresent rain that was coating the heavy stone building in a sheath of icy water like some sort of futuristic, translucent armour. Inside the owner had no compunctions about catering to the German officers who were stationed in the old arsenal down the road. As Erich returned from the bar, two oversized steins of soapy beer balanced in his hands, Adalbert struggled to lit his pipe and watched as a group of six infantrymen reluctantly finished their drinks, pulled their coalscuttles back onto their heads, and headed out on duty.

Even though Adalbert wasn't formally stationed in Prague – he was assigned to the 3rd Oberkommando headquarters in Osterode in East Prussia – his friendship with Erich meant that he was able to enjoy the roomier accomodations and more prompt service of the upper story of the bar, which was informally partitioned off for officers. A lean Colonel with a prominent scar on his face sat silently reading through sheaths of neatly-stacked papers but the rest of the drinkers were mostly young lieutenants trying to forget their onerous occupation duties.

Erich chuckled warmly as he sat next to Adalbert. “Well well, Berty. Here we are. Soldiers in wartime. Who'd have ever thought, eh? I'm pretty sure God built you to be a teacher, and me to be...”

“A bar manager?”

“Right! But here we are – I'm taking apart Czecho tanks, and you're writing reports on concrete blocks in Poland!”

“War is crazy, Erich”

“War makes us crazy”

“I'll drink to that”

Their mugs clinked together, and they threw back a draft. For a moment the two men sat in silence, as the beer sloughed away their bravado and they contemplated the fact that, bonhomie aside, they were officers in wartime, with all the risks that took.

“So...” Erich glanced around sureptitiously. “Look, I know it's all operational secrecy, but... I've been hearing rumours from East Prussia. That there's mobilisations afoot”

Adalbert resisted the impulse to lean forward, and nodded silently before taking another pull of his beer. “Well, loose lips sink ships, Erry, but... I can tell you that the 3rd Army is prepared to enter battle at a moment's notice”.

Erich nodded and took a sip of his own beer while Adalbert let his mind drift back to the scene at the military airfield outside Osterode as he had waited for his flight to Berlin. The tarmac had been packed with crates of field rations, ammunition, spare uniforms, grenades... everything an army needed to go to war. Offensive war, too. Of course the word from HQ was that it was a readiness exercise but he had been stationed in East Prussia – the potential frontline of any war against Poland – for months, and this was literally without precedent. His transport had veered out across the Baltic rather than go anywhere near Polish airspace around Danzig, something that had never before happened in all his time in East Prussia.

The truth was, he hated East Prussia. It was a horrid place. All he ever saw of it were the camps, the ammunition dumps, the barracks, the outposts and observation towers – it was a landscape devoted to only one purpose, the waging of war. It was artificial, pinched, sordid, like a machine designed for a distasteful task. There was no “there” there. But the few times he had sought out something beyond the Oberkommando's bivouacs he'd been disappointed – empty fields, blank-faced barns, sullen peasants who didn't seem to understand they were no longer serfs and boorish junkers who didn't seem to know Bismarck was dead.

It was ironic that the antidote to that phillistinism was not the Trier of his youth or the Berlin of his heady college days, but Prague – a city outside the Reich, a city alien to him, a city he knew only through story and history. Ah, but what a history! Every now and then he would pause, contemplating some magnificent gargoyle or brooding, magisterial buttress, and luxuriate in the thought that on these very streets so many years ago walked Wallenstein or St Wenceslas. True, he couldn't really bring himself to understand that fact, but just trying to do so made him feel a little like he was in a fairy tale of his own.

Yes, Adalbert, he reprimanded himself with a rueful smirk. Some fairy tale. Coal scuttle helmets and tanks. Erich was saying something. He forced himself to return his attention to his friend.

“...be over soon. Once we've taken out the Poles, there won't be anything Paris or London will be able to do but accept it. And when we go after the Soviets, well, if they know what's good for them they'll be helping us out – and if not, we'll do just fine without them!”

Adalbert nodded. “And I suppose by then you and I will be Generals, mm?”

“Ha!” Erich threw his head back, stiffened his shoulders, and turned his face into profile, jaw jutting, eyes narrowed slightly, a perfect parody of the pompous portraits of the various Generals which they each saw every day. “General Erich Maria Gaushander? Sure, why not! What would they put me in charge of?”

“The Fuhrer's personal fleet of motorcars, maybe”

“Oh, I'd be good at that. And you?”

Adalbert stroked his chin in mock contemplation before stating solemnly “I shall be Reich Administrator of Military Cultural Artefacts. Starting with this little inn, where the future destiny of the Wehrmacht was formed”

“Oh very good. Very good” Erich held up his fingers to form a little frame. “Why, I fancy I can already see your medals, Herr General!” He laughed and seized up his glass. The steins clinked together and their banter merged with the general buzz, the clack and murmur of cutlery, and the soft babble of the rain. It would be a long, friendly night.

* * * * *

After nearly a week in Prague Adalbert was beginning to relax. Not that he was taking the city for granted, but he was learning to accomodate himself to his surroundings. Everything was no longer dazzlingly new. He was able to drink in the small details – the distinctive headscarf of a Czech grandmother as she carefully broke the ice on a water butt, the subtle curve of the cobblestones on a winding street, the faded, half-invisible writing in the archway of a balustrade – without being dazzled by statues, church facades and ornate decorations. He was beginning to feel at home. Which was ironic because, he had realised only recently, this was his first time in a foreign country, if one didn't count a single flying visit to Danzig as part of a military delegation – and Danzig, as everybody knew, was part of the Reich anyway. And there had been that trip to the Norwegian fjords as a boy, but he didn't even remember it.

After he'd got settled in Erich had become a lot busier. Maybe it was luck or design but he had had a lot of free time and he liked to think he'd used it well. His marks went a long way here, and he'd eaten well, drunk well, and even bought some souvenirs to send back to mother and father in Trier. Already he was beginning to regard the end of his two week leave with something akin to sadness. He'd miss Erich, yes – even though their correspondence would hopefully continue, maybe even pick up – but more than that, he would miss Prague. Its buildings, its weather, its sounds, its people.

So lost was he in his reverie that he didn't pick up on the subtle change of the tempo of the street traffic he was navigating as he strode up a broad, steep street on his way to a small restaurant that had been recommended to him. People's faces were anxious and their steps hurried, their voices lowered in volume but raised in urgency. It was only as he caught sight of a narrow-faced, grey-haired man in a cloth cap glaring with furious, impotent anger at his shoulder boards – a visage that took him by surprise, coming from nowhere as it seemed to like some hideous spectre rising from the dark in a Murnau film – that he realised something was amiss. Turning to confront the man, he began to speak, but then he realised somebody was already speaking.

A calm, authoritative voice. In German. And not the sloppy Saxon or Bavarian dialect of the local occupation troops, let alone the mangled janky dialect that the Czechs always produced when attempting to speak German, but the efficient, clipped voice of a Berliner radio announcer.

“In an atrocity committed today by the Polish government, saboteurs attacked points all along the Polish-German border, including the radio station at Gleiwitz. The attackers were driven off with no losses, but at an emergency session of the Reichstag, the Fuhrer announced that he would no longer tolerate such provocations. At six this morning the Fuhrer ordered his Generals to put into effect Fall Weib for the defense of the Reich against the Polish threat...”

The broadcast continued. Adalbert reeled, dizzy, his stomach churning, feeling the rough touch of the granite wall he found himself up against like an abrasive kiss before he even realised he had slumped. Of course he had known something like this would come eventually, had seen the preparations, but to hear it, like this... Fall Weib. Case White. The plan for an attack on Poland. He had heard that name many times, in staff rooms, over field maps in bivouacs during exercises, even muttered derisively during drunken urinations in restrooms. But to hear it now, on the airwaves, announced in solemnitude... it was like a family secret had been brought out for display.

It would be happening right now. Stukas would be shifting on runways like bees preparing to head out for honey. Tank tracks would be chewing up roads, scout cars and bikes would be hurtling into action, their passengers grim faced, determined, silently ebulient, like bulldogs let off the leash. People would already be fighting, dying. His comrades, his friends. And he was here! God, in Prague! Thinking about architecture!

He had to get back. To Poland. Right away. There would be some sort of provision, surely? They needed officers, needed soldiers, needed him. He found himself striding, determined, back down the street towards the Castle, ignorant of the angry glares following him. Just as he formed a rough plan – The Castle, then a car, then a plane to somewhere in Germany, then another plane, to the front, then a motorcycle or a staff car or even hitching a ride with the infantry in a truck... the reality struck him. He might die. He might kill. Each prospect was equally terrifying. He felt weak at the knees. He cast his gaze around, mouth open, like a castaway.

As if by chance, but surely by divine guidance, he caught sight of a simple cross over a small doorway set into a shallow alley. Yes, yes... he could kneel, pray, prostrate himself, seek guidance or merely solace. Yes, yes! The Church was probably Catholic, they almost all were in Prague, even if he'd taken the time to seek out the only sizeable Lutheran Church just in case something like this happened, but now, any port in a storm... the Savior would understand.

Blundering through the door like a drunk, he was momentarily angered by the claustrophobic, narrow space of the church's interior. But that didn't matter. He had eyes only for the cross as he sank to his knees, his greatcoat pooling around him like a grimy puddle. Only dimly aware that he wasn't alone, he spoke, his mind going back to watching his father preach, echoing the same words.

“Our father who art in heaven...”

Milá Novákova

Supper in the Novák household had been quite the solemn affair since Frantisêk had left for Britain. There had been no word from him since that night almost six months ago. While Esterá and Papa tried their best to retain some normalcy, discussing the various approaches to teaching, Frantisêk’s empty seat was a powerful reminder that things would never return to the way they had been.

Esterá and Milá did the washing up as Mama and Papa retired to the living room. In the past, to Milá it seemed like an eternity ago, Mama, Esterá and herself would have been playing their instruments; the music had been as much a way of communicating as the conversations shared between the members of the Novák family, but the music had ceased just as Czechoslovakia had ceased to be.

Esterá was soaking the dishes in the sink and Milá dried them and placed them on the stand. It was old Brněnec porcelain, an heirloom from her paternal grandmother, almost brittle to the touch. Usually she and Esterá would share some little conversation much thanks to the limitless capacity of Esterá’s to lighten an otherwise bleak situation. Tonight was different though, with Milá hardly responding to her cousin’s attempts to start a conversation and only doing so in monotone Czech rather than the flowery Slovak they usually shared. She realized that it was a childish thing to do but she was still a bit upset with the way that Esterá had publically chided her earlier. It was a new sensation; up until recently Milá had not thought of young Ján Brückner as anything but her brother’s best friend but something had clearly changed, and the uncertainty of what it actually meant was unsettling her. It was not that she was ignorant of romance, even though she had to admit to being frightfully inexperienced. It was also quite annoying that while she found herself going numb every time Ján Brückner spoke to her Esterá was always witty and could even answer back whenever she thought that he had trod on Slovak or Socialist pride. Nevertheless, both of them seemed to be getting on extremely well, and while Esterá had always been a happy young woman, she seemed to be smiling more whenever Ján was around. Milá had never felt jealousy before, but the realization that her cousin and she might be in competition galled her in a way that she had hitherto never experienced.

“Damn!” Milá rarely cursed but the admittedly mild profanity escaped her as she dropped one of the plates and watched the china break into fragments as it hit the floor. She felt her cheeks burn as Esterá cocked an eyebrow which caused her embarrassment to turn into anger. “Don’t look at me like that!” She gave her cousin a dark look as she swept the porcelain shards up, and with just a little more force than necessary, deposited them in the litterbin. She could feel Esterá’s gaze trained on her and as usual the sheer presence of common sense made her sigh with exasperation. “I’m sick and tired of being treated like a child Esterá. You never tell me anything what is going on except when I do something that you or Mama don’t approve of.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and then continued with less temper “I hate this!” Milá spoke quietly, never having been prone to raising her voice even when angry. She felt Estéra’s eyes on her and she thought she could detect the hint of a smile, which caused her anger to dissipate almost as soon as it had appeared, leaving only the lingering traces of sadness. “I hate that we’re not allowed to live our lives as we want to”. She said softly but without losing the passion in her voice, framing the sentiment that she felt permeated what was left of Czechoslovak society.

Milá felt her cousin’s hand gripping hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze and, in her usual sensible way suggested that perhaps it was less to do with the occupation of their country and all to do with a certain Ján Brückner. The sentence was phrased carefully, more a question than a statement which made it less confrontational than it would otherwise have been, and caused her to carefully rethink her position. Frantisêk had always been there to affirm her whenever she felt that she didn’t quite meet the expectations placed on her by her parents. It had been an uncomplicated relationship. With Esterá things were different; Milá had always looked up to her older cousin, envying her easy going manner and intelligence. In a way it had always felt that she would have to earn Esterá’s approval, and that was the reason why she stopped to think about how best to phrase her response.

“I don’t know Esterá”. Milá began a bit hesitantly, “I always considered Ján Brückner being nothing more than Franta’s best friend”. She gave her older cousin a mischievous glance as she continued “and not a very interesting one at that but I guess that things have changed. Not that it matters”, Milá shrugged and took of her apron and hung it up on the hook behind the kitchen door, “he clearly prefers your company to mine”. She felt Esterá’s hand on hers again but before her cousin could launch into an explanation Milá cut her short “It’s alright Esterá. I know you like him as well and really don’t want to be the one standing in between the two of you”. She offered her cousin a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but was nevertheless an attempt to show that there would be no lingering feelings of resentment. It was not that it didn’t affect her, but Milá still had made the decision that her relationship with her cousin was more important than a possible such with Mr Brückner. “I did ask him for coffee after Church though so I guess you should come along and act the chaperone”. Milá smiled as she squeezed Esterá’s hand conceding defeat in the matter of young Mister Brückner.

***

Milá had had another dream of Frantisêk. It was the same general theme that haunted her; her brother was flying his beloved Avia when suddenly a swarm of large birds of prey descended on him. No matter how much he swerved to avoid them there had been no escape and within moments, the airplane had been torn to pieces by the raptors.

She woke with a start, little beads of sweat on her forehead as she tried to regain some manner of composure. Esterá was already awake, sitting on her bedside and, like so many times since Frantisêk had left, tried to comfort her. It both amazed and irked Milá that her cousin never seemed to lose her poise or good humour, especially given that the news from Malinovo had been rather ominous. Aunt Katáriná had not been very forthcoming in revealing any details what had taken place, but it was evident that things were rapidly turning bad in Slovakia. With Uncle Jakub being an outspoken Socialist, and a Jewish one at that, it took no great genius to realise that the Sokolovs were sooner or later going to be targeted by the police or the Fascist militia. Even so, Esterá still managed to keep her humour and generally discarding any attempts to discuss the situation with a reference to Uncle Jakub’s and Aunt Kátariná’s ability to handle most things that the world could throw at them. In comparison, Milá should consider herself lucky, given that both her parents were still around. Even with Frantisêk’s whereabouts unknown, she still had come out better than her cousin. It was that knowledge which made her feel even worse about what had passed between them during the day. Esterá could hardly be blamed for Ján seemingly favouring her company. She had been selfish, something she didn’t particularly enjoy to admitting. Reaching out she pulled her cousin into an embrace hoping that the gesture would, like it had in the past signal the overtures to an apology.

“Sorry Esterá I didn’t mean to wake you but I was having another dream about Franta”. Milá shrugged as she acknowledged the reason. “I miss him so much”. She spoke the last sentence quietly not wanting to expose the full extent of her feelings on the matter. “I’ll try to get some sleep”. Milá offered her cousin a shallow smile as she lay down on the bad and turning over and pulled the blanket up to cover her face.
***
She woke early the following day, quietly getting up and walking across the hall to the small bathroom that she and Esterá shared. Mama would probably be up already; Juliá Novákova was an early riser and the tell-tale sounds coming from the kitchen confirmed Milá’s guess. She washed quickly and slipped back to her room where she got dressed in a light blue dress before heading to the kitchen to help her mother with breakfast.

“Good morning Mama” Milá kissed her mother’s cheek and started laying the table. “Did you sleep well?” She added as she poured hot water into the teapot and placed it on the table. Juliá shrugged as she started cutting the loaf of bread “I slept quite well thank you Sweetheart and what about you?” Juliá bestowed her with a knowing glance that told Milá that there was no point in trying to deny that sleep had eluded her. “I was dreaming of Frantisêk”. She felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I know you miss him, we all do but you must not let that govern your life Milá. Frantisêk will be fine and before you know it he will be back with us”. Juliá’s tone was determined and brokered no argument. Mama had always been a confident woman and even though her experiences ought to have made her more cynical, she still maintained the notion that things would work out for the best in the end, and her quiet assurance was enough to put Milá’s lingering worries to rest.

They were joined by Esterá who unlike Juliá and Milá was not a morning person, but nonetheless made the effort not to let it show. The three of them finished laying the table and sitting down, waiting for Papa who usually wanted to listen to the news before taking breakfast. It was not long before he entered, dressed in a grey suit with the little pendants depicting St Wenceslas and St Ludmila, the patron saints of the Czech Lands on his watch chain. Emil Novák, like his wife had never been one for displaying his emotions but today proved an exception. Her father looked harried and stressed as he stepped into the kitchen and ran a hand over his greying hair.

“Germany declared war on Poland this morning!” He sat down with a heavy sigh and reached for his teacup which Juliá had just filled up. “They’ve done it now, damn them!” Professor Novák drained the contents of the cup, which was immediately refilled by Juliá. “The Poles will fight that’s for certain and then the French and the British can’t sit idly by”. Emil reached for Juliá’s hand and gave it a squeeze “God willing our Polish brethren can hold the line long enough for the British and the French to intervene and then” Emil smiled serenely “then we will see the end to Herr Hitler’s rule and this damned occupation.” There was a pause as Emil’s words sank in, causing each of the three women to consider the implications. The immediate thought that came to Milá was that the end of the occupation would mean that Frantisêk would come home and things would return to normal, and for a moment she did feel comforted by it, but even so Milá realised that it would not be easy or over quickly. The Great War had lasted for four years and for all she knew this one could possibly last just as long. Milá had heard her father and Uncle Jakub tell stories about the conflict between Czechoslovakia and Poland back in 1919. Even though Czechoslovakia had nominally won, Papa and Uncle Jakub had both spoken with respect of the Poles and their army, the two of them citing that the short war had been won mostly because the international community had supported the young Czechoslovak republic rather than a lacking bravery on behalf of the Poles. Then again, old men reminiscing sometimes tended to forget the harsh realities, and while Milá had no doubts that the Poles would fight she did dared not place her hopes with them in the manner that Papa did.

Milá was interrupted as the doorbell rang, bringing the four of them back to the present. Mama, offering Esterá and Milá a quick glance went to answer the call and returned a moment later with young Mister Brückner in trail.

“Ján what a pleasant surprise.” Emil stood up to greet the younger man and signalled with a nod to Juliá to clear a seat for their guest. “I was rather hoping you’d show up. You’ve heard the news no doubt?” Papa sat down as he had shook young mister Brückner’s hand. “I am quite certain you know the implications of the declaration of war.” He nodded sagely and motioned for Esterá to fill Ján’s cup. “In a few hours the British and the French will declare war on Germany and then...” Emil Novák smiled longingly as he raised his cup “then we will see the beginning of the end of German rule here.” He nodded knowingly to Ján. “Of course that will leave us with the delicate problem of the Slovak declaration of independence.” There was a brief pause as both Juliá and Esterá seemed to hold their breaths. “Slovakia as you know, Ján is an integral part of our homeland and there is really no difference between Czech and Slovak in the grand scheme of things”. Professor Novák put his cup down as he sought Ján’s eyes as if wanting confirmation of the statement.

“Surely there are differences” Juliá reached out, placing her delicate hand on Esterá’s arm to prevent the younger woman from speaking her mind. “I hesitate to tell you this husband but we are, after all two different nations within one bosom.” Juliá spoke quietly and without malice as she phrased her dissent. “Whatever the Germans have done to us it doesn’t alter that fact. The Czechs were not put on this earth to govern the Slovaks.” Juliá put her cup down as she looked deeply into her husband’s eyes, causing Emil to pause. “Slovakia might be misgoverned at the moment but you of all people should know that we do not want to be ruled. We want an equal say and an equal part in this venture.” Juliá smiled as she reached for her husband’s hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. Emil sighed as he heard his wife’s words and with a glance in Ján's direction he replied. “Yes I know dearest. There is the idea of the Czechs and the Slovaks being two different people but really.” Emil raised a finger as he continued “Czechs and Slovaks are no more different from say Swedes and Norwegians and the distinction between our people is merely down to politics.” He sat down again sipping his tea as Ján nodded his approval of the statement. “And look what happened to that union dearest.” Juliá spoke quietly yet with the confidence of a person who held all the aces on her hand. “Czechoslovakia is a beacon of light I give you that Emil but you must remember that we are two people, not one. What is good for the Czech Lands might not be good for Slovakia.” Juliá fixed her husband with a long stare willing him to contradict her but received nothing but a gracious nod of defeat in return as he reached for his wife’s hand giving it a squeeze. Esterá was looking less assured and it seemed that her attentions were focused on bringing Ján to the same kind of admission of defeat as Emil had just been forced to undergo. It was all too much for Milá. Not only did she feel left out but what really irked her was the fact that as soon as Ján had entered he had focused his attentions on her cousin.

She could understand the reasons why of course; Esterá was not only graced with beauty but also with the same sharp mind as her father, rivalling the sharp wit of both Emil and Juliá. In comparison, Milá felt that she had very little to contribute neither regarding politics nor any other kind of spiritual conversation. Even though she had more or less acceded defeat she felt the same kind of jealousy that had assuaged her last night resurface as Esterá and Ján locked horns in another animated but clearly affectionate discussion. She felt left out, her shyness once more proving to be an almost insurmountable obstacle to being part of whatever the rest of them shared. With that came the longing for her brother. When Frantisêk had been around he had always done his utmost to include her in whatever activity had taken place, providing the space needed to let her participate. Now, however it felt like there had been a wall erected around the rest of her closest kin, effectively barring her from being part of their world.

She got up from the table with a barely audible sigh and without another word collected her grey woollen coat and her red hat and left the flat. The whole setting had felt both suffocating and surreal; as if none of the others had understood that the occupation and the forced separation from Frantisêk was not something that would be remedied as easily as they all seemed to believe. Milá hurried down the stairs, not really caring if anyone had noticed her depart.

The streets of Prague were crowded but despite the number of people gathered the air was eerily still. Every so often German patrols passed by, either on foot or riding at the back of big lorries conveying the image of vigilance and determination to crack down on anything that could be interpreted as resistance to their presence.

Walking briskly and with the collar of her grey coat turned up Milá proceeded along the Celetná Street towards the Catholic Church. Her parents belonged to different churches which had made her feel as home within the Orthodox community of her mother’s as within the Catholic. She gave the heavy wooden door a push to open it, dipped her fingers in the holy water and crossed herself before stepping into the virtually deserted nave of the church and took a seat, bending her head in what at least would look like prayer. It was mostly anger that had motivated her to seek out the refuge that the Church provided; anger directed both at Esterá and Ján for their ability to converse so easily when it was so much more of a challenge to her, especially after Frantisêk’s departure. The recollection brought back the lingering resentment of the German occupation and the fact that it had torn her family apart.

Milá’s train of thought was suddenly interrupted as someone addressed her in German. She glanced up noticing a young officer standing by her pew, cap tucked under his arm, asking her politely how best to get to the German HQ at the castle.

“I don’t speak German.” Milá spoke quietly but still held the officer’s gaze as she stood up and made for the exit only to stop short as he asked the question again in heavily accented but fully intelligible Czech. Even though she had decided not to talk to him she was caught off-guard and before she could check herself she had given him directions. He made a small bow and followed her as she hurried out the Church and as they reached the stairs he introduced himself as Lieutenant Degrande of the Wehrmacht, and in what seemed as a way of delaying his departure for the HQ asked Milá her name and she had blurted it out, not even realizing that he had changed from Czech to German and she had replied in German as well. She felt herself blush as he smiled at her, on the one hand being angry that she hadn’t been able to tell him mind his own business, but also being secretly and admittedly shamefully pleased that a young handsome man had approached her. She was about to say something when she heard her name and as she looked up she saw Ján Brückner standing in the street.

“I need to go.” She nodded to Degrande and hurried down the steps to where Ján was standing, noticing how he kept his eyes firmly trained on the German officer. She felt Ján grab her arm as he hurriedly ushered her away, mumbling that she ought to know not to be seen with Germans in such a way and pointedly ignoring her attempts to explain what had actually happened.

“Damn!”
The tinkling crash as the plate hit the floor brought Esterá back to reality instantly. Sensing Milá was in a mood she’d eventually given up trying to engage her in conversation for the time being. She knew her cousin well enough to know that sooner or later the mood would pass and the pair would be able to talk and carry on like they usually did. Instead of talking, Esterá had been working through plans for her next tuition sessions in her mind and, if she was honest, thinking of her parents and how they were faring. Rumours from the country and the news passed on quietly by her Aunt were not good, not good at all.
“Don’t look at me like that!”
Esterá opened her mouth to tell Milá she hadn’t consciously been looking at her in any way but thought better of it. The less than gentle way her cousin handled the broom was more than enough evidence that she’d only be wasting her breath.
“I’m sick and tired of being treated like a child Esterá. You never tell me anything what is going on except when I do something that you or Mama don’t approve of.”

“I hate this!...I hate that we’re not allowed to live our lives as we want to”.
“I know dearest,” Esterá insisted, drying off her hands and reaching out to hold one of Milá’s for an moment. “What’s happening to our country is appalling and unfair and just plain wrong…” She hesitated before continuing. Sensing her younger cousin’s mood had dissipated enough for her to risk bringing Ján into the conversation.
“But I think I might be right in saying, as sad as our country’s situation is…I do believe a certain young man might be more directly to blame for your…state of mind. Would I be correct in thinking Ján Brückner is at least partly responsible for this frustration you’re currently feeling?”
“I don’t know Esterá…I always considered Ján Brückner being nothing more than Franta’s best friend and not a very interesting one at that but I guess that things have changed. Not that it matters…”
Esterá felt a twinge of pride to know her suspicions were right but it was accompanied by a pang of disappointment, knowing she’d always put her cousin’s happiness before her own.
“He clearly prefers your company to mine”.
Esterá’s mouth felt open and she found herself reaching out for Milá’s hand.
“Well, as much as I doubt that, it wouldn’t make any difference because I don’t-”
“It’s alright Esterá. I know you like him as well and really don’t want to be the one standing in between the two of you”
Esterá frowned. This was not what she wanted. Despite any curious feelings she might have towards the young man in question, they faded into total and utter insignificance when compared to those she felt for her ‘little sister’.
“I did ask him for coffee after Church though so I guess you should come along and act the chaperone”.
“If you wish, I will come along for coffee but I’m sure he much prefers the sweetness of your countenance to the sharp of mine…” Esterá kissed her cousin’s cheek and hugged her quickly.

The rest of the cleaning up passed without event and the rest of the evening was spent in the sitting room, the ladies lost in their own pursuits. Esterá hemming a pair of her Uncle’s trousers so that her Aunt could read a little. Milá seemed lost in her thoughts, the book open on her lap mostly ignored but Esterá made sure to keep that observation to herself, not wanting to stir up the frustrations that had reared their heads in the kitchen.
Goodnights were said before long and the girls excused themselves to their bedroom. Esterá read her book for a little while, smiling when she glanced across and saw Milá had already fallen asleep, the book that was still open at the page it had been all evening, lay beside her pillow. Slipping from beneath her sheets she carefully moved the book to the small dressing table beside the bed and pulled the covers a little higher around her cousin. She brushed an errant lock from her forehead and pressed a soft kiss to the same place.
“Goodnight dearest, may your dreams be sweet…” She whispered before creeping back into her own bed and turning out the light before adding under her breath,”…and if Ján should appear in them, I hope he makes you smile.”

Sleep evaded Esterá for quite some time afterwards. She lay awake in the darkness trying to ignore the gnawing sensation of fear deep inside her. News from Malinovo had bene playing on her mind ever since they had read her mother’s most recent letter. She had kept the content deliberately vague, no doubt to spare Juliá and Emil from having to lie to Milá and herself but Esterá knew her mother enough to be able to read between the lines. She had heard rumours on the street, whispered and frightened conversations of attacks, of people vanishing. Whole families going missing in the dead of night. Entire villages becoming little more than ghost towns. She dimissed it largely. She had to or she would go mad with worry. At first she had wanted to go home, although what help she thought she could be was a moot point, but Juliá had convinced her to stay. As such when she did eventually manage to drift off to sleep it wasn’t long before Esterá was pulled from her own fitful dreams about her family by the sounds of Milá clearly having bad dreams of her own.

Milá explained the nightmares that plagued her were about Franta, as they had been repeatedly ever since he left. Esterá returned the embrace, glad that their earlier words seemed to have been forgotten, before stroking her brow and tucking her back under the blanket once she had calmed down. She lay down beside her, stroking her hair and humming one of the lullabies they had been sung in their childhoods. A soft, slow, lilting melody that had always helped ease any worries on her mind. Once her cousin’s breathing had slowed and deepened Esterá slipped from her side and back into her own bed.

The sheets were cool and the clock in the living room suddenly seemed very loud. She tried to ward off the thoughts of her own that threatened to turn into nightmares by humming the same lullaby but somehow it only made things worse. Memories of her mother singing to her and Lýdia in their beds, hushing their tears during thunderstorms, soothing fevers and stomach aches, memories rushed over her and, pulling the blanket high over her head, Esterá wept. She somehow managed to hold back her sobs as the hot tears raced down her cheeks. Tears for her parents, tears for her dear sweet sister, tears of sadness and tears of all consuming anger and hatred for what was happening in her beloved homeland. She didn’t cry often, not from a lack of emotion but from an odd sense of duty to her family. She had been seen as the strong, dependable one for so long, that it almost like to cry in front of them would shatter that image and that was something Esterá couldn’t bear to think of. To think that those she most loved might not feel her strong enough to lean on. And so she sobbed silently in the darkness until her head ached and the tears eventually stopped flowing.

When she awoke the next morning her eyes were a little puffy, as she knew they would be, but luckily mornings were not her favourite time of the day and so they probably would go unnoticed for a little while. Emila, Juliá and Milá somehow knew it was usually better to avoid conversation with her until she had eaten something, no matter how polite a face she put on. Milá was already up and, going by the sounds and smells coming through the slightly open door, so was Juliá.

Esterá pulled herself out of bed with a long sigh, splashing water on her face in the bathroom before dressing and taking a few minutes to comb and then pin up her hair. She joined her aunt and cousin in laying the table, Esterá pressing a kiss to her aunt’s cheek and squeezing her cousin’s hand before taking cutlery and setting their places ready for breakfast.
She was just taking a sip of her tea when her uncle entered and something was clearly on his mind given the less than calm visage that looked upon them.
“Germany declared war on Poland this morning!”

The rest of his words washed over Esterá slightly. There were many, varied, and most thoroughly unpleasant, possible outcomes to this development. Before she could voice any of them and ask Emil for his opinions the doorbell cut through her musings. Soon Juliá returned with Ján in tow. Esterá didn’t want to smile when she saw him, she wanted him to look at Milá and her pretty blue dress that highlighted the blue of her eyes, so she kept her own eyes focused on the tablecloth until Emil silently asked her to pour him a tea. She did so carefully, making sure not to leave any drips on the white material, offering milk and sugar while her uncle and he continued their conversation.

“In a few hours the British and the French will declare war on Germany and then...then we will see the beginning of the end of German rule here.”
Esterá sipped her tea, biting her tongue against joining in.
“Of course that will leave us with the delicate problem of the Slovak declaration of independence.”
At that statement there was nothing that could have kept Esterá’s eyes lowered. They rose sharply to fix on her uncles face, slight disbelief shining in their dark depths.
“Slovakia as you know, Ján is an integral part of our homeland and there is really no difference between Czech and Slovak in the grand scheme of things”.
“Surely there are differences.” Juliá spoke up before Esterá could. The placing of her hand upon her arm holding her back momentarily as her Slovakian blood rose in temperature a few degrees. “I hesitate to tell you this husband but we are, after all two different nations within one bosom. Whatever the Germans have done to us it doesn’t alter that fact. The Czechs were not put on this earth to govern the Slovaks. Slovakia might be misgoverned at the moment but you of all people should know that we do not want to be ruled. We want an equal say and an equal part in this venture.”

Esterá fidgeted slightly in her seat, fingers twisting the edge of the tablecloth as it hovered above her lap, her teeth moving to catch on her lower lip as she fought against adding her opinion to the conversation. A fight that became so much harder to win when her uncle likened the Czechs and Slovaks to the Swedes and Norwegians, a fight that rapidly escalated to a battle when she saw Ján nodding in agreement.

As her aunt and uncle continued the debate between them, in a quieter tone of voice, Esterá braved a glance at Ján, the urge to let her point of view be heard becoming too great.
“And what do you think Ján?” The question was loaded and if she was honest she had asked it partly to test him. To see if the young Mr Bruckner had the passion, the belief in his convictions that the one who courted her cousin would need. At least in her opinion.
“Personally, it may well be my Slovakian blood that pushes me to speak such things but I must disagree with a little of what has been said. Slovakia can and should rule itself, at least to my way of thinking it can.” She refrained from commenting further, not wanting to cause a scene. Esterá sat forward slightly as Ján answered, trying and failing not to smile as he did so. His ideas didn’t match hers but he didn’t dismiss hers and to her that was an admirable quality.

“What’s happened to Milá?” Emil’s voice interrupted their discussion as she was about to reply and Esterá noticed the empty chair where her cousin had been sitting.
Juliá excused herself and went to check the bathroom but came back wringing her hands and looking more than a little worried.
“She’s not there…I can’t find her anywhere. Where could she have gone?” Juliá’s voice broke as she spoke, eyes growing glassy with tears.
Emil rose from the table at her words, moving to wrap a calming arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“Oh, she…she told me she wanted to say a prayer for Frantisêk,” Esterá quickly lied, guilt tightening her stomach that Milá had no doubt watched her conversation with Ján and taken it completely the wrong way. “I’m sure she’s just headed to church ahead of us to make sure we had the best seats for mass…” She rose smoothly and moved to stand beside where Ján now stood, her hand falling upon his arm.

“Could you go on ahead and find her…?” She asked quietly, throwing a cautious glance over to where Emil was trying to soothe Juliá, having walked her over to one of the armchairs. “I’ll help calm things down here and we’ll meet you at the church,” Esterá turned back to look up into Ján’s face, lowering her voice a little. “Milá and I had a little disagreement last night and I think I may have upset her again just now, although quite by accident. Anyhow, I’m quite sure you’re the best person to go find her right now.” Esterá’s cheeks flushed a little at her admission.

“Maybe take her for that coffee while you’re waiting for us.” She added with a knowing smile. “I need to go to my Aunt but thank you, in advance, thank you for your help…for all of your help…” She pushed herself up onto her toes to press a single kiss on Ján’s cheek before hurrying to her Aunt’s side and curling a consolatory arm around her shoulders.

“It’s alright Mama, Milá will be just fine, Ján will go now and make sure…now come, let’s get dressed. If we don’t get going ourselves we’ll be late for church!”
Esterá left her Aunt in the more than capable hands of her Uncle as she swept through the apartment, turning out lamps and ensuring the fire in the fireplace would still be smouldering when they returned. She pulled her long black woollen coat over her dress and pinned her hat onto her carefully arranged curls. She may be going to church but she had been brought up to know that one should always look one’s best, you never knew who you might see, or be seen by. Soon enough she was ushering her Aunt and Uncle out of the door and down the street, reassuring them every few steps that Ján would have found her before long and that they’d all be in church before they knew it.

"Here is our Ján. I am surprised that young Milá Novákova let him go so soon."

"Now, mama, leave the lad alone. You know he is helping his friend Franta by making sure his little sister come to no harm."

Ján rolled his eyes as he closed the door. His mother was looking forward to being a grandmother, so anytime Ján took an interest in any woman old enough for him to marry, she saw matches where there were none.

"Oh, papa. You know how pretty the young woman is. She is smart too. The Nováks are a good family. Teachers, papa. Of course, she is well known to us, and Ján. Plus, the Nováks, they like Ján too. I think that they would be pleased if Ján took her as wife."

"I'm home." Ján's voice carried through their modest home, immediately silencing his mother. Well, silencing her long enough for her to welcome him home, then start on him directly. He hung his coat on the proper place, and walked through to the dining room where his parents sat, waiting to start their dinner.

"How is young Milá?" Ján ignored the twinkle in her eye as she asked. He wanted nothing more than to not think about Milá at that moment. Her question about having coffee together was still sitting uncomfortably. What he needed was some time to think about it without his mother prying too greatly. He had little hope on that front.

"She is fine, mama." Ján took a quick bite of his food, reminding himself of how hungry he was. He ate with some gusto, which meant a small reprieve from his mother's questioning, and unsubtle matchmaking. He watched his father out of the corner of his eye, noting that the industrialist seemed a little more at ease than normal.

"Papa, how are the factories doing?" He was genuinely interested, and talking about the family business was one sure way of keep his mother quiet. She was proud of her husband as his business acumen, and she always listened to when he had good news. Good news was always something to share with the other ladies she met regularly. Ján suspected it was a way of mother keeping on top of her social circle.

"Better than expected, son. With the Germans taking over administration of the country, we now have access to the German market. That means we can sell our product for less and still make a good profit. Some people I know have been telling me that their businesses have picked up well because they can fill parts of the German market that have been lacking."

"Administration of the country?" Ján swallowed the last morsels of food that were in his mouth. "Well, I am glad that you feel that the invasion was worthwhile for business. I don't like the fact that we are now a part of the Greater Reich, papa. We're Czechoslovakian, not Germans."

"Ján! Do you know how much this is worth to us? How much easier the income is? That we are not exporting anymore to the biggest market for our products? Czechoslovakia was a nice idea, but it was not working. I prefer us to be a part of the Greater Reich for the stability it offers us. If we were run better alone, then I would be happy if we were not were we are now.

"Can I change it? No. Shall I take advantage of what good fortunes come our way? Yes. I will not apologise for what I do to put food on our table, and a roof over our heads. Now, eat."

Ján sat stunned at his father's reaction, and more so his own. He never felt so strongly about politics before, enjoying the talks with Emil Novák more from the cerebral exercising and the respect shown by the elder man concerning Ján's thoughts and opinions. Ján ate slowly, his mind working on the newly discovered thoughts and outlooks. He was so self absorbed his missed the looks passed between his parents over his outburst. He continued to eat quietly until his dinner was finished.

Without any further talking to his parents, he excused himself and went straight to his bedroom. Neither topic of discussion put him at rest. He was unsure about how he felt about Milá, even more so about how she felt about him. Any relationship between them would be delicate in the initial stages, mainly due to his respect for her and Franta. He briefly thought of Esterá, but he was more comfortable with her. She was much more easier to guess what she was feeling and thinking, plus he was certain that she didn't harbour any feelings for him. Still, if she did, he would be flattered, as she was a very attractive woman in many ways. But then, her fiery nature and her strongly held political views could make any relationship between them rocky.

Then his father. Ján was so disappointed in the degree that his father was agreeing to the current state of German occupation. While Ján could see the advantages, the losses to the people as a whole far outweighed any gains by a lucky few businessmen. Rather than dwell on either matter further, he readied himself for bed, and soon fell into a troubled sleep. His mind presented him with images of Milá and Esterá both vying for his attention, while watched closely by his mother, who stood beside his father who wore a German army uniform, gleefully counting an enormous number of Reich Marks.

When Ján woke, he felt a little better, but the talk of the previous night still weighed heavily on his mind. When he joined his parents for breakfast, the pained silence clearly spoke that his parents were equally burdened. In a fit of immature spite, Ján made sure that he was not the one to break the silence. For the first time that he could recall, Ján sat at the family table where not a word was spoken. He ate his breakfast, ignoring the pleading looks his mother gave the two men in her life. Once finished, he pushed his plate and utensils away, looking straight at his father and ready to talk.

"I am going for a walk. I will be back later." He rose from the table, grabbed his coat on the way out, and closed the door without looking back. He got to the street and started walking. He didn't think about where he was going, just that he needed to be away from his home for a little while and let himself settle. He knew that one, or both of his parents would be having words with him on his return, mainly about the lack of respect he showed to his father.

His feet carried him as he went over everything that had happened, trying to see what had caused his outburst. There was the question by Milá, which he hadn't got to answer. He was frustrated with himself for not giving her an answer, as well as frustrated over the reasons for her request. Then, add his father's apparent liking of the new political scene. The two alone were not enough to cause his outburst, but together, it was enough.

"I am thankful that it wasn't the other way around. I don't think I would stand myself if I spoke to Milá that way."

Ján paused, deciding that he would visit the Nováks, and give Milá the answer to her question. Having not paid attention to where he was, he quickly looked around. He chuckled to himself when he saw he was less than a block away from the Novák home. With a more lively step, he continued on his way to see Milá and give her his answer. He stopped at the front door, pressing the doorbell and waited patiently. When the door opened, he was surprised to see Julia there.

"Good morning, Ján."

"Good morning... Julia." Ján looked a little embarrassed.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Come in."

Ján followed Julia inside, and continued to follow her until they reached the rest of the family. Ján immediately picked up on the tension in the air. Some unpleasant news or words had been said. Ján looked to Milá, admiring the dress she wore, and how pretty she looked. He looked over at Esterá, who he noticed was staring at the table. Before his thoughts could go anywhere else, Ján was directed to sit, and offered some tea.

"Thank you," he replied softly. Esterá pour his cup, and he fixed it to his liking. He sat quietly as Emil continued his talk. Ján was stunned. He didn't hear the radio that morning, and he was not sure how he felt about the fact that there was a war going on so close to home. And if the war spread, Franta would be involved. Ján lowered his cup, trying not to think of Franta being killed while flying. Any fighting ran the risk of death, something any soldier would know.

Ján listened politely to Emil as he spoke, though his own thoughts meant that he had to catch up as he was being asked for his opinion. Esterá, along with Julia, did not hold the same opinions. Esterá seemed a little more passionate than Julia. But to her credit, Esterá was holding back on whatever she was wanting to say. Whatever it was, he knew it would be loaded to the brim to make sure that Emil, and Ján, were put in their place.

“And what do you think Ján?” Ján turned his head from the ongoing discussion between Milá's parents, one he had seen many times and could summarize without too much thought. “Personally, it may well be my Slovakian blood that pushes me to speak such things but I must disagree with a little of what has been said. Slovakia can and should rule itself, at least to my way of thinking it can.”

"Yes, Slovakia probably could rule itself. One day. What amazes me is that the Slovakians, the intelligent ones at least, can't seem to look past their overblown nationalistic pride and see what the Czechs are doing to help our cousins. We each have strengths that the other can use. Together, we can be much stronger than we are alone. All I ever hear is -"

“What’s happened to Milá?”

All thought of responding to Esterá vanished. He was half out of his chair when Julia went to check. Ján continued to stand, slowly moving to control himself due to the adrenaline coursing through his body. He didn't even need to hear Julia's words to know that Milá had not been found.

“She’s not there…I can’t find her anywhere. Where could she have gone?” Emil moved to comfort his wife as much as was acceptable in mixed company. Ján was pleased to see the elder Novák supporting his wife like that.

“Oh, she…she told me she wanted to say a prayer for Frantisêk. I’m sure she’s just headed to church ahead of us to make sure we had the best seats for mass…”

Ján knew both Milá and Esterá well enough to know that it was a lie, or at least a severe bending of the truth. He was about to excuse himself and head off to find her when Esterá moved to his side. If he wasn't worried about Milá, the feel of her hand resting on his arm would have been a much nicer event than it was.

“Could you go on ahead and find her…? I’ll help calm things down here and we’ll meet you at the church. Milá and I had a little disagreement last night and I think I may have upset her again just now, although quite by accident. Anyhow, I’m quite sure you’re the best person to go find her right now.”

A frown appeared on Ján's face, followed by a look of mild hurt.

"Of course I will find her, Esterá."

“Maybe take her for that coffee while you’re waiting for us. I need to go to my Aunt but thank you, in advance, thank you for your help…for all of your help…”

Before Ján could say another word, Esterá raised herself up to place a kiss on his cheek, then hurried back to help her family. Ján turned, a little lost at the effects Esterá's kiss had on him. Where her lips touched his skin was warm long after the heat from her lips faded.

Once more he found himself on the street, trying to figure out where he would go. This time, the reasons were far more important and pressing. He started walking in one direction as he tried to think of where Milá would have gone. Each street corner brought forth a wave of panicked thinking and decision making. He made a few decisions based on randomness, before he stopped himself halfway along on row of apartment buildings.

"Stop, Ján. Think. Plan. Then do." He looked around to get his bearings. He was relived that he knew exactly where he was, and he could get back to the Nováks the quickest. "Where would the safest place for a troubled soul to go?" Ján smiled as he turned and walked with a rapid pace for the Church nearest to the Nováks.

He reached Celetná Street, at the end furthest from the Novák home. In his haste, he forgot that there was a Church located there. He was focused on where he was going that he almost missed the church as he walked passed it. Due to the association, Ján looked over the road to see Milá talking to a German officer on the stairs to the Church. Ján was both scared and relieved at the sight.

"Milá! Milá!" He crossed the street to reach Milá as she got off the steps. He grabbed her a little more forcefully than he intended, and directed her away from the Church.

"Milá Novákova," Ján whispered angrily, "not only was it foolish to run off like that, but to be seen speaking to a German officer so... Your mother is sick with worry, and your father is rather concerned too. Not to mention giving me a fright that I would rather not have." Ján closed his eyes for a moment, then peered over his shoulder to see what the German was doing. He wasn't able to see the man anywhere, which made him feel a little better.

"Milá, what is wrong? You have never run away like this before. Not that I know about. I was afraid that you might get hurt, or lost." He took a pause to calm himself further. "Also, I am sorry for being rough when I found you. It was not polite of me to act that way. There are no excuses for me to be that way. I also owe you an apology for not answering you last night."

Ján stopped them, reaching out with one hand to take Milá's hand in a soft, comforting hold. He looked at her, feeling a bout of nerves rise within him.

"I would really like to have some coffee with you somewhere. While I have know Franta's little sister for many years, I haven't really got to know Milá that much."

Ján held her hand a little longer, enjoying the simple contact between them. He let his grip of her hand loosen, allowing it to slip free. He turned, waiting for Milá to follow his lead, and started to head back to her home. He managed two steps before he saw the Novák family coming down the street towards them. Ján took a slight step to the side as Milá's parents closed to embrace their daughter, relieved that Milá was safe.