by Guy Rosmarin
As much as he hated to admit it, there was no place for him in Prague, or any other Nazi-controlled territory for that matter. Russia was probably his best option when he thought about it, or at least, the closest. The train station was on the other side of town from what he could recall, and he knew the decorated overcoat was his only ticket out. As long as his cover wasn’t blown, it was in his best interest to keep it on. He noticed the colorful well-preserved townhouses all around him. A three-fiddles emblem on one of the doors caught his attention. It looked familiar. That has to be…he caught a glimpse of the street’s sign that gave it away. “Nerudova Street,” he whispered. It should take me straight to Charles Bridge and the old town where the train station is.
Lanterns were being lit as he walked through the historic neighborhood. Up ahead he saw the turquoise tips of the bell tower and cupola of St. Nicholas Cathedral. When he got closer, he was tempted to walk inside, but the thick presence of German troops in and around the church drove him away and he headed straight to the two towers at the edge of the bank. By then, it was completely dark, and the lights of the old town on the other side of the river flickered like soft candles in the distance, bringing back sweet memories of his last weekend in Prague. It was probably his last romantic venture before choosing the path of a hermit. He had not seen the girl for nine years, but Prague remained forever in his heart. Now that he walked under the old stone arch that connected the two towers, and the marvels of the Charles Bridge stretched before his eyes, the long-lost feelings began to resurface.
Dimmed street lamps illuminated the broad path on the bridge, their reflections softly washed away by the great Vltava River underneath as the blue rooftops and towers from the old town square glimmered in full view on the eastern bank. Andy felt like he was back in the summer of 1991 and falling in love again. He slowed down his pace as he crossed the bridge, trying to feel and breathe the moment, but a voice inside kept reminding him that reminiscing was a luxury he could not afford. At the eastern end of the bridge, he turned back and took a last peek at the splendor of St. Nicholas Cathedral and the majestic Prague Castle that stood shining in the picturesque panorama.
As soon as he set foot on the eastern bank of the Vltava, he picked up his stride again. From what he remembered, the station was less than a mile across town. He figured it should take him only few minutes to get there, but the path he had followed led him straight to the old town square, another major attraction for ageless architecture and art enthusiasts. The streets seemed so familiar. He recognized the Jan Hus statue from his last visit. The station was right around the corner. The only obstacle was a building pressure in his bladder that compelled him to scan the scene for something that would pass as a public urinal. The first thing that caught his attention was a billboard sign with the words Die Zauberflöte on the wall of a spectacular white theatre. He walked over to the lit box office and cleared his throat. An irritated attendant turned to him and instantly switched on a phony smile at the sight of the uniform and ranks.
“Welcome to the Estates Theatre…officer,” there was a slight hint of an accent in his German. “I’m sorry, but the Opera has already begun. If you’d like, there are still seats available for tomorrow’s Haydn’s string quartets…”
“Can you just tell me where the restroom is?” Andy cut him short.
“Of course. It’s up the stairs to your right.”
“Danke,” Andy nodded and scurried up the stairway. The Estates Theatre…I’ll be dammed. He recalled walking by the place. They considered getting tickets for Don Giovanni but couldn’t fit it into their schedule. Andy found the bathroom on the second tier. He thought about the ironic turn of events leading to the moment while getting ready to pee, and just then, the place went completely dark. He thought someone walked in and shut off the lights. Even the free-fall sensation in the dark did not register as a “wake up call.”
Chapter 16
Andy lifted his right arm up to shield his eyes from a ray of direct mid-morning sunlight that pierced through the window. His left hand clutched his stiff member as he rose to his feet. A sore back made him grimace. He glanced at the sofa with no recollection of how or when he got there. His mind was worlds away. Only the pressure in his groin forced him to get oriented. The “here and now” gradually surfaced in his consciousness with the flow of urine and by the time he squeezed out the last drop, he was ready to put on his old self.
“What a mess.” Andy stared at his bloodshot eyes as he washed his hands. He rubbed his rugged, unshaven face with the back of his hand and grabbed the old Seiko wristwatch from the left corner of the vanity. He caught a glimpse of the hour as he reached for the shaving cream canister.
“That’s impossible,” he chuckled, but his smile quickly turned to a panicking frown. “No way!” He darted to his bedroom to check the time on his clock radio only to find the same blinking red 12:00 he had encountered on the previous morning.
“I thought I fixed it,” he cried.
A quick glance through the window at the busy street below assured him his watch was correct. It was 9:13. He had only seventeen minutes to make it to his faculty meeting. He put on the first pair of pants and shirt he could find, rushed back to the bathroom for his wristwatch and a quick splash of water to his face, grabbed his briefcase and car keys from the kitchen table, and stormed out.
He sped through the parking lot, contemplating his route options. The car clock read 9:19. At least it’s past rush hour. He turned his eyes back to the road and slammed the brakes. The car began to skid and stopped inches away from the Boston Edison truck that blocked the lot’s exit. His upper body jerked forward and back by the near-impact inertia, sending a rush of adrenalin through his veins.
“What the…” he cried. He honked his horn twice to no avail. The truck driver seat was vacant. Anger turned to hopelessness. The clock was ticking, he was stuck and there was nothing he could do about it. He stepped out and walked over to the sidewalk to see if his car could fit through the little space between the truck bumper and the brick wall. It was too narrow. He shook his head and let out a sigh of desperation when he saw a small crowd gathering outside the building lobby. There he is. He spotted a man in a blue work jumpsuit in their midst.
“Hey,” Andy shouted and pointed at his car when he had the man’s attention. The technician waved back as he walked away from the crowd.
“Do you mind?” Andy pointed at the truck’s cabin.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that, chief.” The man hopped into the driver’s seat. “I was backing up and your neighbors literally pulled me out of the truck.”
“Sure,” Andy muttered and rushed back to his car.
“Fucking blackouts,” the man shouted over the engine’s roar as he cleared the lot’s exit. “We get complaints in the middle of the night, and then when we come to check it in the morning, everything is tip-top. There’s no telling what’s causing it.” Andy sighed and slammed his foot on the gas pedal as soon as his path cleared.
With the exception of a blizzard that stranded him in Zurich for twenty-four hours two years earlier, Andy was never late for faculty meetings, lectures, or any other work-related duties. Not even a single sick day in his nine years in the history department. Now, he was pushing the limits on his Corolla engine, driving ninety-six miles per hour on the freeway in an attempt to beat his own record from last night and make it to the meeting on time. A quick glance at the clock on the dashboard proved it would be an impossible task. He reluctantly pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed the department secretary’s number. What am I going to tell her, that I had a bad dream? He blamed it on the power company utility truck that blocked his way and kept apologizing before he hung up and slammed the phone on the passenger seat.
Wishing to slip in unnoticed, Andy slowly turned the knob and pushed open the door to the conference room.
“Professor Spencer…please join us.�
� Dean Gottlieb greeted Andy with a smile. All the eyes in the room turned towards the door. Some remained staring, others exchanged giggles. Andy wondered if it had to do with his late arrival, but from the look in his colleagues’ eyes, he figured there was more to it. A glimpse at his reflection in the glass pane of a wall revealed his unkempt and unshaved self in a ridiculous combo of green slacks and red shirt.
“David.” He waved at the one person in the group sitting alone and found his way over to him, fleeing the spotlight, and pretending he had something important to say. But even the recluse professor for modern European history, who happened to be Andy’s closest coworker, gaped at him with disbelief.
“Rr-rough night?”
“Yeah….” Andy smothered his face with the palms of his hands, and his stretched fingers slowly slipped into the untangled mess on his head. “I barely got any sleep.”
“The trip went okay?”
“Oh yeah. No problems there. Came back Friday night.”
“And…did you get some answers?”
Andy shook his head. The thought discouraged him from dwelling on the topic.
The dean called for everyone’s attention, kicking off the faculty meeting with a reminder that all midterm evaluations were due in two days. It threw Andy into further desperation, knowing he still had a big pile of papers on his desk waiting to be graded before he could begin evaluating his students. He knew he would have to sacrifice at least one full night to make the deadline. But it wasn’t such a bad idea when he thought about it; no sleep meant he’d be able to get the work done, avoid dreaming, and keep his sanity.
In spite of his optimistic approach, just the mere thought of the dream brought it back to life. From the bloodbath in the Czech trench to the Estates Theatre bathroom, his journey unfurled in his mind with such clarity he could not consider it a dream. It’s just too real. He rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips. Suddenly it hit him: If killing Ziegler was real, I just changed the course of history. He smiled. All he had to do was check the declassified documents to see if what he had read last night was still the same.
“Look for changes in Ziegler’s expiration date!” he jotted down on a little yellow Post-it note and stuck it to his briefcase.
“Another source?” Schor intruded.
“If he was alive, he would most certainly be one.”
The meeting continued for another two hours, and though consciously he wished to be part of it, Andy’s mind was torn between planning his tight schedule for the next two days and wondering what a look at Ziegler’s document may reveal. Everything around him turned into a hazy blur while he was introspecting. He didn’t even notice his colleagues clearing the conference room.
He heard his name being called. “Professor Spencer.” The second time the dean’s voice was clear and loud enough to pull him out of his daydream.
“Umm…I’m sorry,” Andy mumbled.
“No need to apologize. I was just wondering if I could have a word.”
Andy gathered his briefcase and glanced at the empty conference room.
“My office will probably be a more suitable place for this,” Gottlieb suggested, holding the door open.
“Oh boy. I guess I’m in real trouble now.”
“No trouble. Just some matters we need to address.”
Gottlieb closed the door behind him as soon as they entered his office and took a good look at Andy. “Any trouble in Costa Rica?”
“Actually…” Andy took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know if trouble is the right word, but I didn’t quite get what I hoped for.”
“But you did get something.” A plea for optimism shimmered in the Dean’s eyes.
Andy contemplated how much of the past week he wished to share with his old mentor. He smiled, and then gave a brief outline of highlights from the trip without stumbling over particulars and peculiarities.
“I see,” Gottlieb nodded. “You still have other sources, have you not?”
“Well…it appears like I’m running short. Heime claims he still has a high card for me, but he’s been saying that from day one and I’m not sure if I can wait much longer.”
“Good information always carries a high price tag. Sometimes, patience pays off.” Andy concurred with a nod. “So, the last one…Callo, that’s his name?”
“Yes sir.”
“Perhaps it will be worthwhile to conduct a comprehensive research on his background. From what you’re telling me, it sounds like he may have some useful information.”
Andy looked Gottlieb straight in the eyes. He felt the dean was seeing straight through him and wished nothing more than to share his recent experience with him, but he held back. “Well, I think he was just too old to give me anything.”
“I see,” Gottlieb nodded. “The reason why I brought you here...” his voice turned grave, “well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the publisher is giving us a deadline for a final draft. This time, it’s non-negotiable, they say.”
“Oh,” Andy murmured. He kept a straight face but felt his world crumbling.
Gottlieb could sense his distress. “There’s no need to panic yet. It’s not until mid-October, which gives us another…what? Six months?” He patted Andy’s shoulder. “Didn’t you say the writing is done for the most part and that you’re just looking to find a way to wrap things up?”
“Yeah, but I’m still missing evidence…the proof. Without it, I’m left with a history book that is based on groundless hypothesis. In other words, it’s worthless.” Andy rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. “Are you sure they can do that?”
“I’m afraid it’s in the contract. It’s their third deadline.”
“I see.” Andy turned his glazed eyes to the floor.
“It’ll be best if we all take some time and think about what we need to address in the meeting tomorrow.”
Another long moment of silence lingered in the thick air. Andy slowly raised his head and tightened his quivering lips to force a smile. “I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind…We have a meeting tomorrow?”
“Ten o’clock!” Gottlieb was quick to respond, as if Andy’s forgetfulness was something he’d expected. “And if you need a wakeup call, just let me know.”
“I guess we will have to do a lot of thinking, then,” Andy said in a semi-cynical manner, and then grabbed his briefcase and slowly strode towards the door. “Any chance you could do something about the midterm evaluations deadline?” he asked with a half-smile not expecting a favorable answer.
“I wish I could, son, but you know when it comes to department deadlines, I’m pressed against the wall.”
Chapter 17
Tangled in a chaotic cluster of disappointing news and impending tasks, Andy put his feet on auto-pilot and wandered down the hall. A short minute later, he found himself facing the door to his own office, though it made more sense for him to head straight home and tackle the pile of ungraded papers waiting on his desk. He took a deep breath, staring at the door, and tried to organize his scattered thoughts as the needle on his stress meter crossed over to the red zone. He was officially in crisis mode. For most, that would mean the beginning of a mental breakdown, but with a reputation of performing his best under pressure, it was a good sign for Andy. As his mind began to regain focus, a clear agenda for the day unfurled. Grading the remaining papers took precedence, midterm evaluation followed, and all other tasks were pushed to the bottom of the list. Without further delay, Andy shoved all the material he needed into his briefcase and headed back to the parking lot. He put the car in gear and drove with tactical precision and optimum speed, avoiding obstacles while maintaining continuous green traffic light waves. The ride home was almost as quick as his morning rocket-cruise to campus. It gave him an extra minute to pick up a pound of ground Colombian Roast and a large container from the salad bar at the corner deli
.
From the instant he entered his apartment, not a single moment was wasted. Coffee brewed and salad was always in arm’s reach, while keeping his faculties focused on the work. By the time he beat the dreadful pile, it already was dark, but the late hour did not halt his momentum. It did not even slow him down as he relentlessly moved on to evaluations with the same level of sharpness and dedication.
Halfway down the list, he took a quick peek at his wristwatch. It was a little after one o’clock. He had his last cup about four hours earlier, and his body was showing signs of fatigue, prompting him to reconsider his original plan to pull an all-nighter. He could use a break. He’d earned it with a work yield that far exceeded his expectation, yet part of him wanted to keep riding the momentum until the work was done. He picked up the empty mug and stared at it. All he needed was another cup to keep him up and sharp through the remainder of the night. “No,” he whispered, slowly shaking his head. The thought that a superficial caffeine-induced attentiveness during the crucial meeting could pose serious implications on the future of his career made a few hours of real sleep seem not only desirable but essential. The work could wait. He put the mug down and rose to his feet. He still had tomorrow afternoon, evening, and night, if he needed it. All he had to do was cancel his weekly at Pat’s. Nate would understand.
His head dropped on the pillow like a sack of stones. He laid flat on his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to unwind with deep breaths, in and out, until his eyelids began to crumble under the weight of fatigue. The instant his eyes shut, the streets of Prague surged to the surface of his consciousness and his desire to fall asleep suddenly stalled. He sat up and looked around the room to find a safety anchor, something that would pull him out of the dream when he needed. His eyes rested on the alarm clock. The blinking red 12:00 was not a good sign. He knew he could not afford another one of those late mornings, especially not tomorrow. What the hell is wrong with this thing? He yanked the power chord from the wall and counted to ten before plugging it back in, then he reset the time and set the alarm to go off at 6:30. The blinking dots in the middle indicated the clock was running, but Andy knew it was not enough. There was no certainty the odd malfunction of the last three mornings was not going to repeat itself. He stared at his wristwatch, wishing he had gotten one with an alarm feature rather than this gaudy jewel, but it somehow reminded him he had something he could use. He found it on one of the shelves in the living room, where it had been sitting for the last five years or so. It was an old mechanical alarm clock he picked up in a flea market on one of his trips. Until that very moment, it was just a souvenir, but as far as he knew, it was still working. All he had to do was wind it. It was purely mechanical. Once he could hear the ticking, he tested the alarm. The harsh metallic buzz startled him, but once he got over the initial shock, it was music to his ears. He set the time and the alarm and put the old next to the new on his nightstand.
