“There is almost no blood, Magdalena. When I uncover Samuel, I will pull his foreskin above the glans and then shave it off. It is almost like removing a skin protrusion.” He held her look. “Have you ever seen something like that done?”
Like a wart or a mole. “It’s fine, Herr Doktor. I understand.”
He smiled, plainly relieved. “There are several blessings, and the guests will have to respond. Frau Tauber has written them out for our guests. You won’t understand what we’re saying.”
Magda glanced at the waxy anatomical models. “Dr. Tauber?” She need only ask. "Would you mind explaining the rest of the procedure and the ceremony yourself?”
An hour later, in the rose garden overlooking the valley, Samuel was presented to her and they were led to sit on a chair beneath the canopy, where Dr. Tauber waited. He smiled at her serenely, and Magda’s heart soared as she lowered Samuel onto her lap. All around her, the guests offered quiet encouragement. The Dvoráks had driven up from Prague, and Anna Dvorákova had treated Magda like a star in one of her films, explaining to everyone else that this was the Magdalena, the one who had rescued Eliška from the burning nursery, and how delightful it was that the Taubers had bestowed Magda with the honor of Samuel’s sandek.
First, Dr. Tauber sanitized Magda’s hands with alcohol, then he addressed the gathering, requesting permission from the community.
The people around Magda answered with a quiet but assured “L’chaim”—to life.
After the first blessing, Dr. Tauber began the procedure, and Magda watched, holding still, taking it all in, as if she would later be examined about it all. Samuel’s little body spasmed at the incision, and then a cry of surprise exploded from him. There were soft chuckles, and someone clapped. Murmuring the next blessing, Dr. Tauber carefully placed the removed foreskin onto one of the trays.
He brushed a tear from Samuel’s cheek and kissed the top of Magda’s head. “We thank you. My children thank you.”
With the ceremony over, Magda stood with Samuel. Frau Tauber fed him and swaddled him tightly.
“He’ll sleep for a while, now,” she said. “Take him. It’s your day together.”
The guests sang praises or cooed over the baby as Magda made her way to Frau Tauber and Eliška. Above the singing, a droning sound hummed in the distance. Magda extended the child to Frau Tauber and whirled around, facing the house. The sound of engines was coming from the main road. Gears clattered. Magda knew that sound. They’d been in her farmyard. They’d brought back her father and taken her brothers.
Magda sprinted to the house, past the pool and up the veranda stairs. Chills ran over her body at the sight of the first truck just a short distance down the hill. Other vehicles followed the first. One, two, three of them, and a black Mercedes Benz with the two flags. Maybe they would drive by. Maybe the Obergruppenführer had mistaken an appointment. But he never came with trucks.
She had every intention to bar the gate. She did not know how, and by the time she reached the slope of the lawn, the rest of the party had gathered there.
“The children!” It was Dr. Tauber. It was a demand. He shoved the leather-covered box under Magda’s arm, sealed with the instruments inside. “Hide them. Now.”
She understood he meant the children and the box. The box would give Samuel’s very existence away. But when Magda saw Frau Tauber’s eyes widen, Magda froze and faced the granary. Where the border of the field met the woods across the road, the three does were bounding toward them. All three leapt onto the road before the first truck. There was nowhere to go except the iron gate, and they scattered in panic, springing between the vehicles as if the pavement electrocuted them.
Aleš barreled between Frau Tauber and Magda, snatched Eliška into his arms, and pushed Magda with Samuel into the house. Behind her, she heard the first truck brake to a halt at the iron gates. Not the front gate used by visitors and patients, but the service road gate.
II
June 1942
6
June 1942
Magda stepped out of the bakery, the bag of bread clutched in her fist. When she reached St. Stephen’s, she checked once more to make sure she had not been followed. She slipped her hand into her pocket and touched her talisman. Certain that nobody paid any attention to her in the streets, she made the sign of the cross and entered the church through the side. Today, it was empty. Magda went to the door leading to the back of the crypts below. She rapped in two quick successions, paused, and tapped three more times. On the other side, the iron bolt scraped across the heavy wooden door. As soon as it was opened wide enough, Magda slipped through.
“There you are,” Renata said. She peered over Magda’s shoulder and shut the door, then motioned for Magda to follow. “I’ve got everything downstairs.”
She led Magda below the church. Magda fought off the feeling of being trapped like a hunted animal in a burrow and the dogs digging furiously above. As they passed beneath the stone arches, Renata’s footfalls made two different sounds—scuff-clack, scuff-clack. The heel of her left shoe was worn, probably exposing a nail. On either side of them were rows of coffins—centuries of royals and bishops—stacked in threes behind wrought iron gates. Beneath the scent of melted beeswax, the air was dank and musty. Renata stopped at one of the last gates and reached for the sconce, then retrieved a medieval-looking key. She turned it in the padlock and swung the gates open.
Magda shuddered. It was sacrilege to be using the coffins, but Renata was already lifting the middle one open. Here was where they hid the Taubers’ possessions, the pilfered provisions, and the other weapons of their resistance. Here in these catacombs, Aleš’s youngest brother, Gabriel,
