Prague Counterpoint (Zion Covenant)

by Bodie Thoene

  “Charles!” Louis cried as he was propelled away from his brother. Only a tenuous hold on the suspenders linked the boys. “Charles!” he screamed again and tried to reach out to him. An elbow slammed into his face and he would have fallen except that the crush around him was so tight. He could see the white-knuckled hand of Charles, griping the strap, but nothing else. A hand poked out between two men who separated the brothers.

  Louis could hear the muffled cry of Charles as the grip slipped from three fingers to two.

  “I’m here, Charles!” he screamed. “Don’t let go of me! Charles! Hold on or we will be lost!” Then he called out for Walter. “Father! Father!”

  At that moment a great cheer erupted from the mob as Hitler emerged onto a balcony high above them.

  “There he is!”

  “Heil Hitler!”

  “Sieg Heil!”

  At that terrible instant the crowd thrust forward, and the grip of little fingers was broken. Louis fell to the cobbles on one knee, scraping away the skin. He yelped with the pain and cried out with fear. Where was Charles? Why had he let go?

  Someone stepped on his hand. He tried to claw his way to his feet. The press of human bodies pushed the oxygen from his lungs. He could not call out for Charles or Father any longer. He could only gasp for breath as if he were drowning, fighting to surface for air, now fighting for his life!

  Shoes, jackboots, trousers slammed against him. His nose was bleeding. His knee was bleeding. None of that mattered. A breath of air! Visions of his mother swirled before him. He tried to call to her but found no voice. He lashed out, slamming his fists against the leather of a soldier’s boots. He tore at a man’s trouser leg and, in a final act of desperation, opened his mouth and buried his teeth into the man’s leg.

  Above him he heard a curse. Then a hand reached down and grabbed him by the seat of his lederhosen, lifting him up, up, up into the light and the air.

  “What are you doing?” A red glaring face shouted at him.

  Louis was panting, filling his lungs with pure, sweet air. “I fell!” he wailed.

  “You bit me!”

  “Where is my brother?” Louis frantically looked around from the high vantage point of the man’s tight hold. “Charles! Charles! Where is my brother?”

  “Where are your parents?” the man demanded, not letting him go.

  Louis now repeated the name his father had told him, “Musikverein! Musikverein!” He struggled to be freed.

  “You’ll be killed!” The man shook him. “Be still!” Now he was also searching for Charles. “Two small boys loose in this!” He swung Louis onto his shoulder, oblivious to the bloody knee.

  Louis peered into the tightly packed crowd. “Charles! Where are you?”

  All around the chants of “Heil Hitler” drowned out his voice. Then, miraculously, he caught sight of a small hand reaching upward. It was Charles! He knew it was Charles! Their fingers were exactly alike. “There!” Louis cried triumphantly. “My brother is there!” He pointed toward the hole where Charles was lodged.

  The man struggled against the tide, fighting his way to within reach of the child. He elbowed between a wall of chanting men and stretched his hand out to grasp Charles by the collar of his shirt and hoist him up onto the other shoulder.

  Sweaty and disheveled, Charles pulled down the scarf that covered his cleft lip and gasped for breath. Then, out of obedient habit, he tucked his chin and covered the deformity once again. He seemed more angry than frightened by their ordeal. He had let go of Louis’ suspenders. Such carelessness had almost cost their lives. With a determined look, he threaded the leather of his brother’s suspenders through his fingers. They would not be separated again!

  “Heil!” the crowd roared as Hitler waved to them.

  Charles studied the smiling, waving man with the funny mustache and wondered if the man could see their father from where he stood.

  ***

  Maps of the “new” Austria were already on display in the windows of shops along the Ringstrasse. Their existence was proof to any doubters that the Führer had this day in mind many months before. Other shops were now marked with fresh red paint that spelled out the word JUDE!

  Leah averted her eyes and pressed on through the milling crowds that blocked the sidewalks. The grim determination on her face and the heavy instrument made her appear somehow official. People stepped aside for her. Vienna was music, and she must be connected with the great celebration of the Anschluss.

  She had forgotten her music, but she did not dare go back. Ahead was the familiar brick façade of the Musikverein. Tears stung her eyes as the multitude roared before the Imperial Hotel and Hitler stepped out to the balcony for his fifth curtain call. At the sight of the steps to the stage door, Leah began to run. She wanted only to be inside, to close the door and shut out this insanity that had so suddenly enveloped her home! How many members of the orchestra will be here today? she wondered. No one else was in sight. She clambered up the steps alone and flung the door open as though she were being pursued.

  Leah stood in the dim light for a moment. The great hall was silent. There were no musicians tuning their instruments before the Sunday program. The stage was dark beyond the wings. Music stands were empty.

  A vague rumble seeped into the building from outside.

  “Bitte?” Leah called hesitantly as though she had entered a vast empty crypt. Her own voice answered her. The roar of the Nazi revelers outside replied in distinct counterpoint, “Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!”

  She shuddered and blinked at the music stands and the places where her friends and colleagues should have been. A thousand ghosts—faces of musicians who had become her family—filled the stage as she watched. Where were they now? Had this face of evil frightened them all away? Where was Elisa? Where was Rudy––?

  She jerked her head upward at the memory of Rudy. It was as though she could once again hear the gunshots and the horrible words shouted from the balcony by the enraged young Nazi trying to kill him. If she had known then what was to come, she could have warned him to leave this place, to hide somewhere far from Vienna. But she could not see the future then, and Rudy had died. She could not see the future now, and the vast blackness of her uncertainty was terrifying.

  Had the Nazi colonel in the Judenplatz sent her here, knowing that there would not be a concert today? Was this some sort of trap? She peered over her shoulder as if an evil presence had entered the building. She held the violoncello as if she found some comfort in its nearness.

  Again the roar outside invaded the silence of the hall. Leah wanted to run away, but everywhere there were beatings of Jews in the streets. The bloodred word JUDE was now splattered throughout the city. She swallowed hard and forced herself to walk out onto the stage to her place. She touched the stand, picked up the pencil she used to make notes on the score. She gazed at the nicked wood of her chair, then closed her eyes and imagined the utter stillness of orchestra and audience as the conductor raised his baton.

  It is that moment, she told herself. No one coughs or rattles a program. They are waiting. Waiting for the music. It is that moment now, she imagined. And I will not be afraid. For an instant, the thought seemed to settle her. Shimon stood over the kettledrums. Elisa was across from her. The maestro stood poised, and––

  From the wings behind her, she heard the sound of a door. And then the nervous cough of a man floated out from the wings.

  “Hello?” A man’s voice called loudly, shattering the peace of Leah’s reverie. “Is anyone here?”

  She did not answer. Footsteps clacked loudly against the boards. She was pale in the light. Perhaps she herself was a ghost. If she stayed very still, this human with the loud shoes and harsh, whiskey-rough voice would go away. Maybe he would not see the frightened spirit standing with her cello among the empty chairs and stands.

  “You there!” The voice found her. “Hey! Isn’t there supposed to be a concert today?” He stood in the wings, not willin
g to violate the sacredness of the stage.

  Leah felt she would be safe if she did not leave her music stand. No one would touch her if she did not leave this spot and enter again into the bright light of the real world.

  She stared at the man who was a shadow between the tall canyons and ropes of the stage curtains. “No concert,” she replied, startled at the sound of her own voice. No. She could not be a ghost. Ghosts could not speak.

  The man let out a sharp burst of laughter. “Ah yes. The Führer!” he said, as if that one name explained everything. “Interrupted Chancellor Schuschnigg’s plans a bit, didn’t he? Today was supposed to be the day of the Austrian plebiscite, wasn’t it? No concert. No plebiscite.”

  Leah regarded him without speaking. She had almost forgotten about the plebiscite. Today’s concert was to have been a celebration of Austrian independence. No wonder no one had come to play.

  “Are you alone here?” the man asked, and his question brought a surge of fear to Leah.

  “No,” she lied.

  He laughed again. “I don’t see anyone else.” He inclined his head. The light was behind him and she could not make out his face, but there was movement in the wings where he watched her.

  “This is a big place.” She lifted her chin defiantly as he took a step nearer.

  “Well, I have come on an errand.” He sniffed.

  “Then maybe you should go to the box office.” She still did not budge. If he came for her, she would simply run out the opposite side of the stage and pull the power lever to shut down the light panel. The plan gave her a feeling of superiority. She could find her way into the depths of the building while any pursuers would be left groping in the blackness. Her voice became sharp. “Only performers are allowed backstage.”

  The stranger sounded suddenly apologetic. “That’s what I told them, Fraülein. But they insisted that I come to the stage door and ask for someone named Leah.”

  Leah hoped that the wave of dread did not show on her face. Her hands became suddenly clammy. “Leah who?” she asked. She was thankful that her voice did not crack.

  “I don’t know Leah who, Fraülein.” The man seemed genuinely perplexed.

  Leah was certain that the visitor must be a member of the Gestapo who had come in search of her under the colonel’s instructions. Had someone already let the secrets of their operation slip? Had her name been added to the long list so soon? Visions of the power lever became clear in her mind. She had in an instant plotted her route of escape. “Leah is a common name,” she said.

  “That’s what I told them, Fraülein. But they insisted. The name of their aunt is Leah. The one boy is certain of it because it sounds like Louis.” He stepped aside and two golden-haired children moved forward slightly. They were obviously frightened. One had blood on the front of his shirt. The other, his mouth concealed by a scarf, stared upward into the rigging of the stage and then back at Leah. “They were somehow separated from their father in the crowd.” The man shrugged. “This one fell and was nearly trampled. I picked him up. I found the other one, too. Please, Fraülein. I have comrades to join, and certainly their father will come for them here. Or their aunt. The one they call Leah. They were told to come here, and . . . ”

  Leah did not budge. She looked first at the boys who were identical in every visible aspect; then she looked at the man. If this was a Gestapo trick to trap her into taking the boys, she would not yield to it.

  “Why don’t you wait outside with them? If they are lost, their father or aunt will certainly come for them.”

  “Fraülein––” the man cleared his throat nervously—“I simply picked them off the pavement before they were killed. I have brought them here like a good citizen, and now I bid them Auf Wiedersehen.” He tipped his hat. “And I bid you adieu!” He wheeled around and patted one of the boys on the head as he hurried out of the building.

  The outside door crashed to a resounding close as the man exited. Leah remained beside her stand. The two young boys stared at her for a moment, then curious hands reached out to stroke the soft red velvet of the curtains. Heads craned back to gape upward at the catwalks and lights and rigging. Eyes glistened with wonder at the sight.

  Leah hesitated before speaking. She would have to choose her questions carefully. If these boys were brought here to entrap her, she must not give any hint that she had been instrumental in the escape of dozens of children from the Reich.

  “Have you ever seen a stage before?” she asked gently. They were, after all, only children, she reasoned. If they were being used by evil men, it was not their choice.

  “Once Mother took us to see Nutcracker,” one of the boys said eagerly while his brother answered with a nod.

  “You are brothers?” Leah asked, even though the answer was obvious.

  “Yes,” the verbal boy said proudly. “I am Louis, and this is Charles. Who are you?”

  Leah ignored his question, feeling as though there were other ears listening in the upper reaches of the balcony. “You must have been very frightened, getting lost from your father.”

  “Charles held on to my suspenders, but then I fell and skinned my knee.” He held up his bloodied knee to show Leah. “But I didn’t cry. Not too much, anyway. Then that man picked me up because I bit his leg when he stepped on my fingers, and I told him to bring us here where Father said Aunt Leah would be.”

  “What does your Aunt Leah look like?” Leah asked, taking a step toward the duo.

  Both boys shrugged and looked upward again into the mass of stage rigging. “Father packed us lunch but I lost mine. And we lost the suitcase. But Charles has his lunch.” Charles nodded again, touching his hand to his stomach. “Do you have lunch, Fraülein?” Louis asked. He was still stroking the velvet curtain.

  Leah smiled thoughtfully. Skinned knee, lost suitcase, only one lunch between them. A five- or six-year-old child could not lie so convincingly about such things. Still she would not continue to talk to them here on the stage.

  “Would you like to see the stage?” She gripped the violoncello case and walked toward them. “Top and bottom. It is quite a wonderful thing to see. Then you can tell your father about it when you see him.” She reached the wings and touched the quiet child on his shoulder. His eyes smiled. Leah wondered why he wore the scarf around his mouth. “Perhaps you can show your Aunt Leah also when she comes for you.”

  She guided them through the backstage maze, pointing upward to explain the purpose of different ropes and lights as they went. “Only one lunch for two such big boys! Perhaps I can find something more to share between us.” She had lowered her voice to a whisper now. If there were others watching her in the building, she did not want to be followed. “But now we must be very quiet.” She put a finger to her lips as they reached a staircase leading downward. The area beneath the stage was a rabbit warren of little practice rooms. Corridors twisted and turned among closets and lockers. Trap doors opened onto the stage above them.

  The boys followed her down into the maze. It was as if they knew what it meant to have to remain silent. They held tightly to each other’s hands. Charles clutched his lunch as Leah maneuvered the awkward cello case around piles of dusty scenery and props and heaps of extra chairs.

  Ahead of them was an inky corridor with steps that led downward into yet another level. At that moment the crashing of a door sounded from somewhere in the building. Leah put her hand out to halt the boys. Above them the loud click of boot heels and rough male voices could be distinctly heard on the boards

  Words echoed down. “My apologies, mein Führer. All of Vienna has come to see you. No doubt the entire orchestra was among the crowd. A holiday. Even the music of Vienna must be silent when you raise your voice to the Volksdeutsche!”

  “I am surrounded by fools and incompetents!” The Führer now raised his voice in anger to a small audience. “Our tanks and lorries litter the roads of Austria! Our arrival here was delayed by hours! We looked like unprepared idiots to the French a
nd the English! Surely they will not overlook the fact that half our equipment has broken down! And then I arrive in Vienna and everything is equally unprepared!”

  The whining voice was unmistakable. Leah shuddered and nudged the boys back into the darkness of the corridor. She did not want to hear any more. Hitler was angry at his reluctant generals, and now there would be no concert to greet him. Somehow this glimpse of his fury was satisfying. The great triumph was marred by faulty equipment and the lack of musicians to play for Hitler. It had never occurred to Leah before that a man of such monumental evil could also be so peevish and banal.

  Leah could not manage the cello, the boys, and the darkness all at once. “Put your hands in my pockets,” she said in a hushed voice as the rage of Hitler echoed from the stage and filled the auditorium beyond. The gloom of the hallway was profound, but Leah knew exactly where she was going. Taking the cello in one hand, she slid the other along the wall as they shuffled blindly forward. Hitler’s voice sounded distant now, as though someone had turned down the volume of a radio.