Magda looked at him as if he were crazy.
“Because I hear you were quite the smoker during the war.”
Magda glared at him. Renata smirked.
“And a drinker.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ve got a bottle of Becherovka in the back. We could celebrate.”
“What the hell have we got to celebrate?” How would he know she had smoked? She’d only done that when with the Soviet division, with Natalia and Ula.
Somebody jumped out of the back of the truck—she could only see the boots—and turned to face the rear again. There was a shuffling sound from within. She watched. Renata pushed herself away and now joined Aleš. She took out a cigarette from his pack and he lit it for her.
Around the back of the truck, the figure of a man appeared, a boy in his arms. The man wore a black shirt and khaki trousers over those boots. The ends of his mouth curved up but his lips quivered with uncertainty.
Her eyes darted to the boy. Wavy brown hair and ruddy cheeks. Johan Tauber’s eyes.
Magda clutched at her throat. Her chest constricted. She willed her legs to move, but they would not. She had to wait until they reached her. She did not know on whose face she should focus first, make sure she was seeing correctly.
When he stood before her, Magda could finally say his name. “Karol…Karol…” And then she could not stop saying his name, the tears springing and spilling over her cheeks.
Karol shined. “Magda, this is—”
“Samuel.” Magda reached for him. The little boy went to her but leaned back, as if to keep her in his sights.
“Samuel,” Karol said. “This is Magda, the one I was telling you about. Another person who saved you.”
Samuel’s big brown eyes stayed on her. He then took his tiny hands and placed them on either side of her face. He turned her head left, then turned her head right. He kissed her on the left cheek. “Karol,” he said softly, “says you’re my godmother. Hello, Godmother.”
Magda burst out laughing through the tears. She hugged the boy to her, squeezed him, her heart breaking. She gazed at Karol, the things that she could not utter.
He nodded. Yes, he’s the only one.
“I would say,” Renata called, “it’s time for a drink.”
Magda handed Samuel back to Karol. She strode over to Renata. They gazed at one another. The marks of this war—their scars—were deep. But it was also what made them who they were now.
Magda took in a deep breath and opened her arms, welcomed the strong embraces, first from Renata, then from Aleš. She wiped her tears and only then noticed Robert standing off to the side.
“Robert, come here.” He came slowly. She reached for his hand.
Karol lowered Samuel to the ground, and she led Robert to them. Robert assessed Samuel, his bottom lip jutting out.
“Robert,” she said, “go and pick some apples with Samuel, and I’ll make some fried apple rings for the two of you.”
Robert looked up and grinned. He reached across and offered Samuel his hand. Magda spotted the birthmark on Samuel’s right wrist bone.
“Come on, Samuel,” Robert said, “Let’s go pick some apples. Magda makes the best apple rings in the world!”
The boys trotted off to the apple tree at the back of the house.
Magda and Karol followed them. They watched as the children examined the apples on the ground for a little while, then Magda turned to him, the question on her face.
“Taras betrayed me,” Karol said. “He pistol-whipped me when we were searching a barn, and locked me in. And when I awoke, I heard vehicles approaching. He’d turned me over to the Polish Home Army for money, who would have certainly handed me over to the Germans in return for money and favors.”
Magda stared at him. She’d known something about Taras’s story had not added up.
Karol rubbed a hand over his head. “It took a lot of talking, a lot of convincing, but they let me go in the end. I headed into the Carpathians. I knew I would never catch up to all of you. I went on a different mission.”
Magda reached for his hand.
He took it in his. “How is my warrior queen?” he asked.
She was no warrior queen. She was no hero. But she had survived. One of the few. Those who had returned—like Radek Jelínek—were shells of themselves. Robert had prevented that for her. Robert was the reason that she was still managing, why she accepted who she was and the life she held within her.
Magda gazed to where the boys were picking apples. She nodded. “I’m going to be all right.” She reached for Karol’s hand and squeezed it. “Especially now.”
Aleš and Renata appeared with four glasses they must have rummaged out of her kitchen and a bottle of Becherovka.
Renata jutted her chin at the boys. “Now you have two. ”Magda glanced sideways at Karol. “I told you, there is bad luck in even numbers.”
Karol laughed a little. “Yes. I remember you telling me that.”
“We can’t risk that, can we?” She led his hand to beneath the apron she wore. She made sure he felt the life she carried.
“L’chaim,” she whispered. To life.
THE END
Author’s Note
Magda’s Mark was inspired by a friend’s anecdote. Her Austrian husband was born in Czechoslovakia. Her father-in-law was the commanding officer of the district and married to quite an imperious woman. On the day of their son’s birth, the boy was returned to his mother, circumcised.
When my friend shared this story with me, I was flabbergasted. The first thing I wanted to know was what kind of person and what sorts of events would lead someone to take that great of a risk?
It could very well be that the parents did it on purpose to perhaps save their own hides toward the end of the war. However, I had not even considered that aspect until much later when I was already in the process of writing Magda’s story.
This story is completely fictional, except where
