.” Murphy was speechless. Should he thank President Beneš for such dreadful news? “I don’t know quite what to say.”
“Good-bye seems to be the most sensible thing to say, Mr. Murphy. I cannot say that it has been pleasant meeting you; however, it has, I trust, been most enlightening to both of us.”
Murphy hesitated. “Most enlightening. But I . . . I don’t want Elisa to know about . . . about the fact that we might be . . . some sort of target.”
The president pressed his lips together. “I had assumed as much. That is why I met with you alone.”
“Her family . . . her father . . . well, you obviously know the details.”
Beneš nodded as Murphy continued. “They have been through enough already. Getting Elisa into the country is no problem since we’re married. And we have already made contact with the State Department about the Kronenberger child. A temporary visa for medical aid will be issued. But they have not been encouraging about Theo and Anna and their boys. The quotas, you know. Filled. And not just the U.S. quotas.”
Benešsadly shook his head. “We have not turned the refugees from our doors here in Prague. They come here even knowing the fact that we are Hitler’s next target. Have you seen the thousands that crowd outside the embassies to beg for visas? The press of desperate human beings has closed Embassy Avenue to traffic. And they continue to come again and again.”
Benešextended his hand. Murphy bowed slightly in the custom of Europe. He was saying farewell to far more than one man. “Perhaps one day I will be able to tell my wife and her family of your help this evening. Until then, I alone must offer you my thanks, and my prayers, that it will go well for you and your country.”
A smile played on the lips of Beneš. “Then farewell, John Murphy. A safe journey for you.”
6
Flight from Terror
“You are awfully quiet.” Elisa leaned her head against Murphy’s arm as they walked slowly onto the Charles Bridge.
Murphy did not answer, but turned to gaze back toward Hradcany Castle, where he knew the light in President Beneš’ office still burned. Murphy sighed, then looked past the row of saints that lined the bridge to where St. Nepomuk stood before an audience of flickering votive candles.
“Are you cold?” he asked Elisa as the damp mists of the river enfolded them. A chill much colder than the river mists penetrated Murphy’s heart. He had been subdued and preoccupied since he had emerged from the office of the president.
“I’m fine.” Elisa hugged his arm tighter, aware that something deeply troubled Murphy.
They walked on in silence for a few more steps until Murphy paused beside the statue of St. Nepomuk. He and Elisa had walked all over the city of Prague. He had stopped to kiss her a thousand times—in front of the library, on the steps of Tyn Church, outside the butcher shop, on the curb where the trolley car made its stop. For weeks her kisses and her smile had nourished him. He had given no thought that any other soul on earth might be watching them.
Tonight she tilted her face up toward his. Her lips were parted in an expectant smile. Was there ever a more romantic place than here on the Charles Bridge? In the flickering candle light with the rush of the river against the ancient pilings below them, the air was sweet, mingling with the scent of her skin.
And yet . . . suddenly the night had become full of unseen watchers. In the dark shadows enemies nudged one another and whispered, “ He will kiss her again here. Now is our chance. One little shove and they are drowned in the Moldau .” The windows of crooked houses now seemed like dark eyes concealing the evil that pursued them.
“Murphy?” Elisa whispered. “What . . . ?”
He stood very still, looking past her to the gatehouse where their taxi had dropped them several minutes before. There was movement in the shadows. The substance of his fears took the shape of
“Good-bye seems to be the most sensible thing to say, Mr. Murphy. I cannot say that it has been pleasant meeting you; however, it has, I trust, been most enlightening to both of us.”
Murphy hesitated. “Most enlightening. But I . . . I don’t want Elisa to know about . . . about the fact that we might be . . . some sort of target.”
The president pressed his lips together. “I had assumed as much. That is why I met with you alone.”
“Her family . . . her father . . . well, you obviously know the details.”
Beneš nodded as Murphy continued. “They have been through enough already. Getting Elisa into the country is no problem since we’re married. And we have already made contact with the State Department about the Kronenberger child. A temporary visa for medical aid will be issued. But they have not been encouraging about Theo and Anna and their boys. The quotas, you know. Filled. And not just the U.S. quotas.”
Benešsadly shook his head. “We have not turned the refugees from our doors here in Prague. They come here even knowing the fact that we are Hitler’s next target. Have you seen the thousands that crowd outside the embassies to beg for visas? The press of desperate human beings has closed Embassy Avenue to traffic. And they continue to come again and again.”
Benešextended his hand. Murphy bowed slightly in the custom of Europe. He was saying farewell to far more than one man. “Perhaps one day I will be able to tell my wife and her family of your help this evening. Until then, I alone must offer you my thanks, and my prayers, that it will go well for you and your country.”
A smile played on the lips of Beneš. “Then farewell, John Murphy. A safe journey for you.”
6
Flight from Terror
“You are awfully quiet.” Elisa leaned her head against Murphy’s arm as they walked slowly onto the Charles Bridge.
Murphy did not answer, but turned to gaze back toward Hradcany Castle, where he knew the light in President Beneš’ office still burned. Murphy sighed, then looked past the row of saints that lined the bridge to where St. Nepomuk stood before an audience of flickering votive candles.
“Are you cold?” he asked Elisa as the damp mists of the river enfolded them. A chill much colder than the river mists penetrated Murphy’s heart. He had been subdued and preoccupied since he had emerged from the office of the president.
“I’m fine.” Elisa hugged his arm tighter, aware that something deeply troubled Murphy.
They walked on in silence for a few more steps until Murphy paused beside the statue of St. Nepomuk. He and Elisa had walked all over the city of Prague. He had stopped to kiss her a thousand times—in front of the library, on the steps of Tyn Church, outside the butcher shop, on the curb where the trolley car made its stop. For weeks her kisses and her smile had nourished him. He had given no thought that any other soul on earth might be watching them.
Tonight she tilted her face up toward his. Her lips were parted in an expectant smile. Was there ever a more romantic place than here on the Charles Bridge? In the flickering candle light with the rush of the river against the ancient pilings below them, the air was sweet, mingling with the scent of her skin.
And yet . . . suddenly the night had become full of unseen watchers. In the dark shadows enemies nudged one another and whispered, “ He will kiss her again here. Now is our chance. One little shove and they are drowned in the Moldau .” The windows of crooked houses now seemed like dark eyes concealing the evil that pursued them.
“Murphy?” Elisa whispered. “What . . . ?”
He stood very still, looking past her to the gatehouse where their taxi had dropped them several minutes before. There was movement in the shadows. The substance of his fears took the shape of
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