Kristýna sipped her cold coffee in her cold room. She always wore her jacket nowadays. It was one of the few things she owned, along with a single bed, a desk with several drawers, and a chair. Continuous use caused the paint to flake and her back to ache; what a shame pain medication was a luxury. A soft orange light streamed in through the curtains.
Downstairs she heard her door creak and immediately, her head snapped up from its bent position. It could be either two things: her mother coming home or an invader. Slowly, she opened the top drawer of the desk and picked up a gun. Though she had never once in her life discharged the gun before. It was an heirloom of her father, something he had given her posthumously. Kristýna was a woman who preferred to fight with words, not with bullets. Still, that did not mean she was familiar with how one worked.
"Kristýna?" Her mother's voice echoed in the vacuous air. "I'm home."
With a sigh of relief, she put away the gun safely into the drawer and ran downstairs to kiss her mother hello.
"Hello mama. How was work?"
"Oh," she collapsed on the couch, holding the back of her hand against her forehead, "it was tiring as always. All I do is sew and sew in shades of green and now, I want to throw every one of my green garments out the window."
Kristýna lovingly patted her mother's shoulder and took the chair across from her. Like any other room in the house, the living room of their small house was sparsely furnished with only two sitting places and a table with an empty glass vase. There was a vacant fireplace where two black-and-white pictures stood forlornly on the mantle; the rest were left behind in a rubble. One of them was a family picture, where six-year-old Kristýna held her parents' arms and another was a portrait of her father, Emil Vaněk, in military livery.
They do not know where he was buried and therefore wasn't afforded the privilege of paying their respects.
"Do you want me to prepare you any tea? I think we still have a little chamomile left," said Kristýna, walking towards the kitchen.
"That would be lovely." Her mother's voice drifted through the room, ending with a loud sigh.
She prepared the kettle on the stove and stood on her toes to grab a porcelain cup from the cabinet. This particular one had swirling designs of leaves and small pink flowers on the surface. There were originally twelve cups in the set, but only three remained: one for her, one for her mother, and one for a guest. She put the teabag into the cup and leaned on the linoleum counter.
The kitchen was always scrupulously clean, partly because only two people lived in the house, partly because cleanliness was a virtue. Kristýna was responsible for the upkeep of the home once she returned home from teaching (oh, even the children knew how everything was).
The kettle whistled and she poured the steaming water to the rim of the cup. Immediately, a delicate floral fragrance filled the room, accompanied by light breathing. She peaked her head into the living room and saw that her mother was curled on the sofa, with her face pressed softly into the fabric.
Kristýna placed the cup back onto the counter and tip-toed upstairs, bringing back a large quilt blanket and wrapped it around her mother, who she knew would be sleeping for the whole night and half of tomorrow. It was Saturday today; Sunday was a day of rest.
But alas, not for her.
She quietly climbed the stairs again and grabbed a coat from her closet and Frederik's scarf. It's been one year since all universities had closed down and mayhem reverberated throughout the community. Frederik snuck away to Slovakia to visit his family earlier this month, just to let them know that he was going to be okay and was supposedly be returning today.
To her, there was no reason why he couldn't send them a letter, as it would be less harrowing and time-consuming. The man devised the most complicated way to solve a problem, sometimes, but he wouldn't be the same without it.
Kristýna locked the door behind her and emerged under the darkening skies. She had the characteristics of a young woman who grew up too fast; disillusioned eyes, a body riveted with memories, and a mind too tumultuous for its space. She carried a satchel that only contained several pens and pencils and a book she saved from a fire.
She turned her head left and right before heading off into the night. Her head was always tilted towards the sky, not only as a sign of confidence, but as a sign of hope to see if the answers to all the world's problems were embedded in the stars.
It was a just silly thought. How could gaseous, screaming balls of light say or write anything useful?
They did. They told her to continue shining, even against a cold and vacuous environment – and shine she did.
Kristýna reached a closed, unmarked warehouse. The time was seven o'clock in the evening and the sun had already gone down, replaced by impenetrable clouds and the smell of ozone. She flitted like a bird among a cluster of tree branches; hopping from one street to the other, avoiding eye contact with any lookouts. They were ominously dressed in black, blending into the surroundings. Flashlights were a rarity these days, so she had accustomed her ears to hearing footsteps on cracked concrete.
She swung around a corner to reach an alley with bits of trash littering the floor. She squatted on the ground, careful to keep the hem of her dress clean, and ran her hands on the doors of a metal cellar until she felt a small indentation. Once she found it, she opened the door with a key and descended the stairs, closing the door behind her.
A smell of mildew always lingered in the atmosphere because of the lack of ventilation, and the heat escalated to almost-intolerable heights in the summer, but this was the best that they could do.
At the end of the stairs, there was another door, locked from the inside. Kristýna knocked on its surface, three times with three seconds in between.
"…Password?"
"Bašta," she said.
The door swung open to revealed a cramped room, only furnished with four chairs, a table with unfinished works and papers, and a blackboard with scribbles of numbers and Greek letters and shapes on it, flanked by two file cabinets. Two of the chairs were occupied by her former classmates, Silvie and Tomáš, who were also twins. The last chair was a bonus.
"How's life, Kristýna?" Tomáš said, locking the door behind him.
Being twins, he shared many features with his sister such as a splash of freckles on the bridge of their nose and permanently startled eyes. He returned back to dismantling his own work.
She shrugged off her jacket and neatly folded it on the table before she answered. "As normal as it could ever be. She redirected her attention to Silvie. "Any progress?"
Silvie precariously held up half-a-barrel of a sniper rifle, sleek and shiny. "A bit. The inside is still needs to be smoothed out and I still need to start on the stock…"
"Once I'm done, if you're finished already, I'll help with the rest of the parts."
The other girl smiled, showing the little gap between her teeth. It made her look several years younger than she actually was. "Thanks for always helping me with my problems."
"Oh, and does she have many problems," Tomáš said.
"Shut up! No one asked you."
The room erupted into laughter and descended into muted sounds of productivity. She assumed her spot at the table and resumed her latest project: a Ballester-Molina. It was nearly complete after hours of tempering metal by a fire with steel-wool gloves and tediously constructing a symmetrical barrel. She had designed the blueprint herself after taking apart an empty model.
It would have been much easier if they chose a few weapons to furbish out of scrap metal but it would be a boring process, doing the same thing over and over again as if she worked at a factory. After the termination of all universities, she was forced to find other activities to occupy her time. There was no way she was going to do nothing and there was no way she was going to work in a factory. They combined two of her pet-peeves: indolence and monotony.
Similar projects laid scattered on the table as well. Completed ones were safely stored in a crevice under the floorboards.
Here, in this stuffy small room, was where they created the tools for revolution. They were commissioned by the Ústřední Vedení Odboje Domácího , otherwise known as the Central Leadership of Home Resistance, the organization that wrests its home back from the invader. It was completely voluntary, but working as a teacher, a factory worker, and a shoe-shiner did not encourage the application of the knowledge they have garnered over the years.
Revolution isn't born, it is made. None of them would ever think that they would end up in a cramped, poorly-insulated bunker furnishing weapons for something they initially had no heart in. Revolution is a gun; it is only activated when someone pushes the trigger.
Outside the city limits, Frederik slowly meandered his way towards Prague wearing too- big clothes. He considered himself a tall man, but horribly skinny everywhere. His mother tried fattening him with her delicious latkes, but alas, his energy conquered the calories and her efforts were unfortunately thwarted.
It's been too long since he'd seen his father, his mother, and his two younger siblings. They stayed indoors, for the most part, conversing with the rest of the extended family. He left in late November, and it was now the middle of December. Hanukah had just passed, but it was a solemn celebration. They lit a candelabra for each day and their mother made latkas but that was it. In a better time, they would have received gifts.
The air crackled with invisible electricity. Frederik's heart waltzed through New Town, and across the Charles Bridge where his second home resided. He had arranged to share an apartment with five other people who reluctantly worked at a printing place spreading Nazi propaganda among the populace, but concurrently, all of them were authors on the V boy, under pseudonyms of course. He hoped that they were all faring well.
It was by this organization who was able to briefly visit his family under the assistance of Mrs. Bernášková. He could've written them a letter, but he had no guarantee that they would have received it. Besides, there were certain emotions words cannot express: nostalgia for lazy Sunday mornings reading to your siblings, attempting to bake trdelník with your mother and failing to create a perfect circle, having a night-time conversation with your father about the future.
All of the Procházkas were good with words, but none of them knew how to express the bond they felt with each other; he felt the same way towards Kristýna. Whether that was any indication about future relations, he had no clue.
In his pocket, several forged documents were neatly folded, giving no indication of his Jewish heritage. His name was Ivo Červeny, and the reason for being outside Prague was that he was visiting his aunt in a nearby town. The situation sounded plausible in his head. Then again, everything sounded better in his head and it was the matter of transforming the ridiculous words into logic when they escaped his mouth - but he preferred life with surprises; some things were better steeped in ignorance.
Night had almost fallen. Purple streaked across the orange sky, under pink clouds, as if they had been painted. The sun will soon be replaced by numerous versions of itself.
Frederik smiled fondly. Kristýna should be heading towards her headquarters by now. He suspected that he will not return to intersect, but he will be punctual enough to catch her on the way home. Still, that he had no confirmation whether she was alive from the two months. Ideally, she would be, or else he wouldn't know what to do with himself.
Indeed, they have been together since they were children, when the bulk of the Procházkas lived in Prague. His memory played like a scene from the yellowing-page of a fairy tale; it had been so long and so ingrained that he should know in the end, they will get married and have children and live their twilight years on a porch looking out onto the countryside. Frederik liked to believe in fairy tales but as his story unfurled, he began to doubt.
At this thought, Frederik gave himself a light slap on the cheek. There were only two answers to this question: definitely and maybe.
He kept a consistent beat throughout his journey. Any sprinting or skipping would raise alarms, though he doubts he could anyway in this weather; he heard running in the rain would stain his clothes anymore, and the last thing he wanted was to ruin the clothes that his mother so lovingly stitched for him. That, and a part of him hoped to see Kristýna on the way; he wondered if she thought of him as much as he thought of her. To this question there can only be one answer: perhaps.
By now, clouds have completed coalesced into a storm and the first droplets of rain began to form. He flourished open an umbrella and continued his furtive journey towards Prague.
Frederik's heartbeat escalated faster upon passing the University of Prague. It was only a few months since all high academic institutions closed. It was only a few months since thousands of his classmates screamed on the streets as the Nazis grabbed their arms and their hair and sent them to concentration camps and nine of them were executed…
He found himself stopping in front of the green roofed building, with its rectangular windows and terraces. The green grass has since grown wild and brown, ugly from months of neglect. As grey clouds passed over the sky, covering the brilliant sunset, it resembled more of a prison than a school.
His eyes remained fixated on the university. On a normal winter day, students would be bustling inside, running from class to class, some eagerly paying attention, others on the verge of sleeping. They should be making mock prayers to God for their success on exams and afterwards, anxiously discuss what answers they had. Then, by eight o'clock at night, most of them would be heading home by foot, by tram, by car, eager to rest after a long day. No such sight greeted the area anymore.
Yet, despite, being evicted of an education, Frederik firmly believed that learning should not stop.
He would have to cross the Charles Bridge and hope that there weren't any sentries; if there were, he carried a gun in an inner pocket in his jacket. Generally, Frederik was against using violence as it left an unnecessary mess that could be traced towards him but that didn't stop him from attending informal lessons in target practice.
He hoped that he wouldn't use one in the near future, but he lived in a world where even God has abandoned all hope.
The time on Kristýna's watch read 2:00 AM. She covered her mouth from a yawn and cracked her knuckles. There was no specific time when she left as it was contingent on how much she accomplished that day but the average was 1:30 AM, with a standard deviation of two. She was the first one to leave this time, thus she bode farewell to her companions and drifted her way into the night.
Unfortunately, as she approached the Charles Bridge, she felt her body suddenly jerked backwards, forcing her to land against a rough, taut surface. Oh no.
She twisted her neck around to find the stern glare of a German soldier staring at her. Kristýna knew that fighting was futile. Not only was he taller and probably stronger than he was, but he also had a weapon ready by his side. Instead, she plastered the nicest smile she could muster and waited for him to speak.
"What are you doing here late at night? A woman of your age shouldn't be wandering in the dark alone."
"I'm sorry," she said in a measured tone. "I was visiting someone and I didn't realize what time was it."
"And who were you visiting?"
"She was visiting me!"
Both of them swung their attention to a jogging figure emerging from the rain. Kristýna blinked several times in rapid succession to make sure that her eyes were not deceiving her. The figure finally caught up to them and gave a formal salute.
"Excuse me, officer…," he glanced at the name tag, "Ernst." Frederik coughed immediately as to excuse his terrible German. He tilted his head in reverence and extended a hand out to him. "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience but this lovely lady is my girlfriend and she forgot something at my house." From his bag he brought out a covered pan and handed it to her.
As soon as the last word left his mouth, a furious red bloomed on his cheeks. Kristýna gave no conspicuous indication of Frederik's impulsiveness, but her chest seized under her jacket and her grip tightened on his "gift." She felt Ernst loosen his grip on her but she and Frederik had to speak their lines carefully. She knew she would, as for Frederik, well, it was his fault that they had to act like this in the first place.
"Can I see your papers?" Ernst said. He seemed to be a rather young man, probably not much older than they were.
Frederik smiled again. "Of course! But first, do you mind moving to a drier place? I wouldn't want any of us catching a cold."
Otto nodded and they took refuge under an awning of a café. He released his hold on Kristýna, but his right hand maneuvered to his side, where a gun was kept snugly in its holster.
Kristýna gave the pan back to Frederik and flourished a neatly-organized file and presented it to Ernst. "I'm sure you'll find everything in order," she said, in equally bad German as Frederik.
He snatched the file from her hands and rifted through it, his eyes scanning it with impressive alacrity; only muddled by the thought he was merely seeing the words instead of reading it. She hoped it was the latter.
Meanwhile, Frederik rifled through his bag's contents for his own papers. He delicately placed his mother's foodstuffs on the driest parts of the asphalt, on top of his spare clothes, but the same could not be said about his law books and hygiene utensils. Out of the corner of her eye, Kristýna released a soft, exasperated sigh. When will he learn?
She turned her attention towards Ernst, who placed her papers back in the file. "My apologies, Miss Stárek. Are you finished Mr…"
Frederik shot up from his squatting position, triumphantly waving a crumpled mess of documents. "Červeny. Ivo Červeny."
"…Right." Ernst gave him a brief, perplexed look before focusing on Frederik's papers.
They had two aliases, one for residency in Prague and one that lead to nowhere. They used the former one in this situation and the other for more complicated situations.
Outside, the rain grew into a crescendo, as if an orchestra started to wildly beat at their percussion instruments and blew in their woodwinds. Neither of them looked at each other, but their fingers were outstretched, flexing as a stress reflex for something to hold on to. They were playing the part of the couple; it would've been a normal sight. But they didn't. Kristýna's fingers curled against her palms. Frederik's fingers, instead, stretched outwards.
She couldn't say she missed him terribly much; days working as a teacher and nights working as a weapons technician occupied most of her time. Her breaks were sparse, small patches of oasis amidst a desert. There she would sleep, dreaming of better times before the reality of the present manifested at her bedside.
What she didn't want to admit, however, was that every day when Frederik was gone, she would wrap his scarf around her neck no matter the weather and no matter the situation. Otherwise she did not realize he was on the other side of the country.
"It seems that everything is fine. You are free to leave. Heil Hitler. "
Frederik's smile twitched. Kristýna hid her hands behind her back, so Ernst wouldn't see them balled up into fists.
"Heil Hitler, " they both said.
Ernst gave them a courteous nod and went off his way, whistling an unnamed tune. He thought those two were very amiable; truly examples of ideal people. What a shame they knew middling German.
As soon as Ernst left his vision, Frederik's mouth recoiled in disgust and spat out a gob of spit in the direction he was walking in.
"Don't do that," chided Kristýna. She glanced briefly behind. "Someone might be watching."
"Well, if they're watching, then I will fight them," he grumbled. He then turned towards her. "I'm just glad to see you again."
Kristýna grabbed the umbrella leaning from the wall of the café and stepped out into the cold rain, slyly grinning. "I'll walk with you to your apartment."
"What a lady you are."
They made idle chatter as they crossed the Charles Bridge. For a few minutes, it felt like they were students again walking home from night classes. They would open the door and be greeted with the comforting scent of brewing tea and smiles from their family.
They reached their shared section of the city. Since a few months ago, locations have shifted. Kristýna's house was first when they left school but now it was Frederik's house that came first.
"Do you want the umbrella with you," he asked her. "It's raining."
"Oh. It's fine. I like the rain."
"Really? Whenever it's raining, you always have an umbrella."
Kristýna laughed softly. "My mom would never let me outside with nothing to protect myself! Even if I am out of eyesight, I still walk under the umbrella. But here, my mother is not watching, so I am free to do whatever I want."
"Ah. Okay."
A brief silence passed between them.
Kristýna started to turn her body away from him, starting with a small wave with her hand. "Goodnight, Frederik. I'll see you soon."
"Goodnight, Kristýna."
He waved goodbye but she slunk back into the misty rain. He could faintly make out her waltzing figure, moving like flower petals in the wind.
It was a good thing she left as soon as she did, or else he would've said he loved her.
This is a continuation of the first chapter, so no major historical events happen in this.