She could feel him gazing at her through the falling darkness. Crickets chirped in the tall grass around them. Something splashed in the lake. A fish. A duck.
“I really like you, Magda. You don’t say much, but I know that you think a lot. I know you…see things.”
He moved closer, and she slid away along the wall. He tried again. This time she held her ground. His hand reached out to her face, and he lifted her chin to him.
“What will become of you, Walter?”
“What will become of any of us?” He kissed her, first tentatively, as if checking. His lips were cool, soft. There was a whiff of the alcohol—the plum of Becherovka. He kissed her again, and this time she kissed back. He led her arms around his waist, and they moved against the wall of the fish house, his hips against hers. Her back arched, and she ached everywhere.
His lips moved down her neck.
“I can’t,” she moaned.
“I’ll teach you how.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She pushed at him.
She could see his teeth in the sliver of moonlight and felt his hands inching their way up her skirt, his fingers pressing along her thighs. When he reached the hem of her underwear, one finger traced the fringe. She bit her bottom lip. He kissed her again, this time his hand easing beneath the fabric of her underthings, another hand on her breasts. Then he was unbuttoning his coat, fumbling with the belt buckle. She stood, as if pinned to the wall, watching it all. She shook her head, but her body would not cooperate, would not take her away from here. When he was back at her, her body betrayed her again. His hand covered her mouth.
“It’ll be over soon,” he promised.
He was right. He was buttoning himself back up, as Magda waded into the lake. Minutes had passed. Not hours. Simply minutes.
Two flashlights sliced through the darkness in their direction. Magda hurried, the dress sticking to her wet legs.
Walter was composed again just as the beams of light discovered him.
“There you are.” Gustav’s jeering voice. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
Another boy, whom Magda could not see, laughed. “Looks like we just missed it.”
She held her breath, outside the circle of light and hidden by the reeds.
“Come on,” Walter said. “Let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”
After they left, Magda came out of the water. She waited against the fish house, the iron smell of blood in the air. She wanted nothing more than to run to her mother. Her mother had been wrong. Magda needed to tell her that. There was nothing courageous about love.
4
September 1941
As Magda dressed Eliška for breakfast, the telephone rang several times downstairs. She stepped out of the room to see whether anyone would answer, just as the ringing stopped. When Magda led the girl out of her bedroom, she found Ruth Tauber standing at the banister in her morning gown. She twisted a strand of pearls around one finger, the other hand resting on the wrought iron banister. Her hair was done up in a scarf, a few strands dangling over her forehead.
Magda was about to ask whether she needed something, when the muffled sound of a car crunched to a stop on the gravel drive. A moment later, the front door flew open. Magda and Frau Tauber leaned over the banister. In the foyer, Dr. Tauber stripped his coat off, flung it onto the coat hook, and tossed his hat on the wooden bench where his patients normally waited for him. He stalked down the corridor and disappeared just before another door slammed. His office.
Frau Tauber headed for the stairs.
“Paní doktorová?” Magda followed with Eliška. “Has something happened?”
It was Tuesday. On Tuesdays Dr. Tauber still worked at the hospital all day, conducting surgeries and checking on his patients. Rarely was he home before supper, and more often than not, long after that.
“I want to go see Papa,” Eliška said. “I want to go listen to his heart with that thing…that steta…stetatope.”
Frau Tauber stopped her daughter short of the office. “Let Magda take you into the playroom. I have to speak to your father first.”
Ruth Tauber went to the door and knocked softly before letting herself in. There were no voices, no sounds, nothing that revealed a hint as to what had happened. Dr. Tauber was normally a composed gentleman. Slamming doors could only mean that the cruel world had found its way to Villa Liška.
Magda led Eliška to the playroom at the end of the corridor and set up papers and paints for her. Eliška put on a little overcoat to keep her clothes clean in case of mishaps. Once the girl was busy, Magda edged her way down the corridor. Now she heard muffled voices.
From the dining room, Renata appeared with Aleš, who was holding the box of silver. They were heading for the stairs, but both stopped at the sight of Magda and exchanged a guilty look.
Frowning, Magda went to them. “Where are you going with that?” She pointed to the familiar case.
“Are they in there?” Renata asked, indicating Dr. Tauber’s office.
“Yes.”
Aleš went upstairs, and before Magda could protest again, Renata stood in front of her, arms crossed over her chest.
“What’s going on?” Magda asked.
The front doorbell rang, and Renata looked relieved, before hurrying and opening it. Magda peered after Aleš and saw that he was moving to the attic floor, still carrying the silverware.
“Good morning, Renata,” Magda heard Mayor Brauer say. “I’ll just go in and see him.”
Renata did not budge. He peered over her at Magda. “I know he’s here.”
It was obvious anyway, with the car parked out front.
“Please wait here,” Renata said. “I’ll let him know.”
“It’s a tragedy, really.” He pushed in and took off his hat, hanging it on one of the hooks. “I suppose you’ve heard.”
Renata shook her head and shrugged. Mayor Brauer motioned for her to lead the way, though he seemed prepared to take charge himself.
He passed Magda as if she
