trudged unbroken toward its decisive battle.
His new resolve had an impact on his behavior toward the two Czechs. He knew that for them, Hitler probably embodied all Germans. Suddenly he no longer wanted to contribute to this false impression. And so, to his own surprise, he accepted the gift they brought him: bread with bacon in a fresh white napkin. He continued to keep his distance, so as not to arouse suspicion. However, he felt sure that Beran’s assistant was indebted to him, and so, like it or not, would come out of his shell. The kid even explained that he had wanted to let his mother know he had gotten engaged.
Buback kept up the flow of conversation without asking suspicious questions. A competent young man in a demanding job, like Morava, had to be aware that a police liaison officer to the Gestapo might be interested in other things besides a brutal murderer. And that in itself said a lot about the Czech mentality, which had changed drastically during the Occupation.
Then, later on, Morava began to repeat a certain woman’s name. Belatedly Buback realized it belonged to the very girl he had been thinking about—these days, more often than about Hilde…
The conversation with his mother comforted Morava. For years he had felt guilty for ruining her dream of keeping the smithy in the family. He visited her regularly, but the weight never lifted.
Until today, that is, when a miracle occurred. As he raced to tell her about Jitka, the tears in her eyes frightened him at first. Would she be jealous now, as well? But suddenly she hugged him and said he had made her unbelievably happy.
He suggested to her that she move to Prague, at least for a while. She could stay in his room, since he would be living at Jitka’s anyway. That way, she’d get to know Jitka and they wouldn’t have to fear for her safety here, where the war loomed larger every day. Then, with his head turned, his conscience clear for the first time in a long while, he watched the place where his life began to shrink away, until all that remained was a bright spot soon swallowed by the horizon of grapevines.
To add to Morava’s unusually good mood, the German’s priggish-ness was noticeably on the wane. Of course, Morava turned even the most innocent of questions inside out before answering, swiftly figuring how Beran would read it. But Buback seemed more interested in the area they were passing through, so Morava told stories about his childhood, confident that he was on safe ground. In some places here the road formed an unguarded border between the Protectorate and the Sudeten territories of the former Czechoslovak Republic, which the Munich agreement had effectively given to the Reich, a goodwill gesture that foreshadowed the annexation. How would things look after the war, he suddenly wondered, would he meet his classmates—if they hadn’t fallen in battle, that is—who had saluted Hitler and roared “Heim ins Reich”? Could they still live here, side by side?
To Buback, however, Morava simply described how ten years ago they had thought nothing of switching back and forth between Czech and German; no one would ever have claimed that one was better than the other. Emboldened by a further innocent question, he recalled how they had sung in both languages during wine tastings in the cellars and invited anyone they wanted to the zabijacka, regardless of nationality. What was a zabijacka? the German queried, and Beran’s instructions flashed through Morava’s head.
He described carefully and yet vividly the Moravian custom of the pig slaughter, in which the most basic human need for nourishment merges with a time-honored ritual of civilization and culture. By offering another person food from your own plate, you prevent the elemental greed at the root of all wars. Without using exactly those words, he emphasized that even in times like these, when food became a rare commodity traded on the black market, in south Moravia the old laws
His new resolve had an impact on his behavior toward the two Czechs. He knew that for them, Hitler probably embodied all Germans. Suddenly he no longer wanted to contribute to this false impression. And so, to his own surprise, he accepted the gift they brought him: bread with bacon in a fresh white napkin. He continued to keep his distance, so as not to arouse suspicion. However, he felt sure that Beran’s assistant was indebted to him, and so, like it or not, would come out of his shell. The kid even explained that he had wanted to let his mother know he had gotten engaged.
Buback kept up the flow of conversation without asking suspicious questions. A competent young man in a demanding job, like Morava, had to be aware that a police liaison officer to the Gestapo might be interested in other things besides a brutal murderer. And that in itself said a lot about the Czech mentality, which had changed drastically during the Occupation.
Then, later on, Morava began to repeat a certain woman’s name. Belatedly Buback realized it belonged to the very girl he had been thinking about—these days, more often than about Hilde…
The conversation with his mother comforted Morava. For years he had felt guilty for ruining her dream of keeping the smithy in the family. He visited her regularly, but the weight never lifted.
Until today, that is, when a miracle occurred. As he raced to tell her about Jitka, the tears in her eyes frightened him at first. Would she be jealous now, as well? But suddenly she hugged him and said he had made her unbelievably happy.
He suggested to her that she move to Prague, at least for a while. She could stay in his room, since he would be living at Jitka’s anyway. That way, she’d get to know Jitka and they wouldn’t have to fear for her safety here, where the war loomed larger every day. Then, with his head turned, his conscience clear for the first time in a long while, he watched the place where his life began to shrink away, until all that remained was a bright spot soon swallowed by the horizon of grapevines.
To add to Morava’s unusually good mood, the German’s priggish-ness was noticeably on the wane. Of course, Morava turned even the most innocent of questions inside out before answering, swiftly figuring how Beran would read it. But Buback seemed more interested in the area they were passing through, so Morava told stories about his childhood, confident that he was on safe ground. In some places here the road formed an unguarded border between the Protectorate and the Sudeten territories of the former Czechoslovak Republic, which the Munich agreement had effectively given to the Reich, a goodwill gesture that foreshadowed the annexation. How would things look after the war, he suddenly wondered, would he meet his classmates—if they hadn’t fallen in battle, that is—who had saluted Hitler and roared “Heim ins Reich”? Could they still live here, side by side?
To Buback, however, Morava simply described how ten years ago they had thought nothing of switching back and forth between Czech and German; no one would ever have claimed that one was better than the other. Emboldened by a further innocent question, he recalled how they had sung in both languages during wine tastings in the cellars and invited anyone they wanted to the zabijacka, regardless of nationality. What was a zabijacka? the German queried, and Beran’s instructions flashed through Morava’s head.
He described carefully and yet vividly the Moravian custom of the pig slaughter, in which the most basic human need for nourishment merges with a time-honored ritual of civilization and culture. By offering another person food from your own plate, you prevent the elemental greed at the root of all wars. Without using exactly those words, he emphasized that even in times like these, when food became a rare commodity traded on the black market, in south Moravia the old laws
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