“Nine June, 1942,” she said. “Close to midnight. Nazis close all roads to Lidice. No way in or out of town. The Gestapo go house to house. They search everywhere. They push families out into streets and loot their homes. Men are taken to the Horak family barn. Biggest building in the village. Women and children are herded into the school building. Then, at five o’clock in the morning, the shooting starts.”
Eliska lowered her head, as if she’d said as much as she could say. Jack knew the rest from his research. All the men were shot dead by a firing squad. The children were taken from their mothers and, except for those selected for reeducation in German families and babies under one year of age, were poisoned by exhaust gas in specially adapted vehicles in the Nazi extermination camp at Chelmno upon Nerr in Poland. The women were sent to Ravensbruck concentration camp, which usually meant quick or lingering death for the inmates. The town was burned to the ground. Even its cemeteries were destroyed.
“These are the children,” said Eliska.
Jack and Andie came to her side, and now he could see through the blanket of snow and shadows. Eighty- nine bronze children were looking back at him. Eliska’s hand was shaking as she handed him a card. It was a list of names and dates. Two names were circled for him. Petrak, Miloslav: 1931. Petrak, Zdenek: 1933.
“They were nine and eleven when they were gassed,” she said.
The thought sent chills down Jack’s spine. “Is that the same Petrak that runs in my family?”
“Petrak is common name,” said Eliska. “But in 1942, it was very dangerous name.”
“Why?” asked Jack. But the moment he said it, he remembered Andie’s research on General Petrak, the leader in exile of the Czech resistance.
“Nazis knew General Petrak helped with assassination. No need to prove relations to be guilty.”
Jack’s gaze swept the memorial. Children of all ages, from one to seventeen. He was drawn to two, in particular, that looked to be the figures of boys aged nine and eleven.
“That way,” said Eliska, “about two hundred meters. That is your grandfather’s spot.”
Jack didn’t move. He still didn’t understand. “How do you mean, ‘his spot’?”
“It was a barn. I met Joseph there. Eight of us, in hiding. Joseph was with his mother.”
“Petrak was her maiden name,” said Jack.
“Yes. One week before massacre, we all hear it not safe to stay in Lidice. Not safe for Jews. Not safe for a Petrak. We leave in time.”
It finally made sense. “My grandfather got confused at the end. He told me he was Jewish.”
She smiled sadly. “He was,” she said, “and I was a Petrak. Now go. Go and do your grandfather’s wishes.”
Andie urged him forward with her eyes, as if to say this was his moment.
The sculpture overlooked a valley, and the walk to the spot was entirely downhill. But it didn’t make it any easier for Jack. As he trudged through the snow, he was thinking of his grandfather. He was thinking of his friend Neil, too.
He stopped exactly where Eliska had told him to stop. A wisp of wind grabbed the fresh snow and covered his shoes with powder. He dug the canister from his coat pocket and removed the top.
“I’m a Petrak,” he said as he released some of the ashes into the wind. Then he remembered Neil’s family name before fear of the Nazis had changed it to Goderich.
“And I’m a Goldsmith,” he said, watching the remaining ashes scatter.
