The Wooden King. Thomas Maxwell McConnell

in Europe? And when Mozart was your age he came here from Vienna and lived and wrote for a time. I can show you the building where he lodged.”

      The silence didn’t move even when he laid a hand there. Let me not seem to have lived in vain. Brahe’s last words, recorded by the hand of Kepler himself. Last words uttered at the end of eleven days spent thrashing in a deathbed. The chapters of life that are not for telling. That Holy Roman Emperor was an empty title. That Rudolf ended in disgrace. Let me not seem to have lived in vain.

      “You’ve had a long day,” Trn whispered. “I know you’re tired.” But before he could kiss the cheek he leaned for the covers rose and all the rest was hidden.

      As they climbed the steps from the street Alena said, “I don’t see then why I should have come at all.”

      “You’ll feel better for having done a good deed.”

      Trn pressed the button on the panel.

      “I hardly know her. What if she’s not even here?”

      “Where could she go?”

      He stepped back from the door to look up.

      “They’re not my friends.”

      “You’ve known them for years.”

      “I’ve known the baker for years but he’s not my friend. You could have brought the cake. All she will do is put it away.”

      A face appeared over the wall of the second balcony but said nothing.

      “Anamaria? Good day, Anamaria. It’s Viktor, and Alena.”

      “Oh. Good day, Viktor.”

      “Do you have a few moments? We came by to see you. Alena’s brought you something.”

      “Let me get the key. Yes.”

      She reappeared and against the blank sky a dark object dropped from her hand and Trn let it fall into both of his.

      “It’s the largest,” Anamaria said.

      “We’ll be up in just a moment.”

      “She didn’t even say hello.”

      “She will when she sees you, I’m sure.”

      At the landing she met them, arms folded so her hands disappeared at the sharp angles of her elbows. She wore black so only the pall of her face appeared in the stairwell.

      “Viktor, what a surprise. And Alena, thank you.”

      “It’s just a little cake,” Alena said, “for an evening, some evening.”

      Anamaria set a hand on Trn’s shoulder, took the ring of keys, leaned to press her cheek to Alena’s.

      “I’m sorry I didn’t come down. I don’t feel capable of all those stairs.” She led them up the flight. “We so rarely have company that I’ve become unused to them.”

      “Of course,” Trn said. “We’re glad we found you in.”

      Her hall was dark and she took them down its narrow passage, opened a door.

      “I’ll put this away. Please go in.”

      She sighed with both shoulders. “Or shall we have it now? You see. So little company I hardly know how to behave.” She looked from one to the other of them and Alena looked at Trn.

      “We’ve just had lunch,” he said. “Please save it for an occasion.”

      “I don’t know who will eat it then. Here we don’t have occasions anymore.” She heaved both shoulders as heavily again. “Put your coats anywhere. I’ll be back in a moment.”

      “I’m keeping mine on,” Alena said. “You’re not?”

      “No. I’m not.”

      “You can see your breath in here.” She put her hands in her pockets. “I’m glad I put it on a chipped plate. I’m sure I’ll never see it again.”

      Trn took from his pocket a folded note of a hundred crowns, slid his hand under the cushion as he sat, his coat over the arm of the chair.

      Anamaria came in, said, “Sit, Viktor. Sit. Alena, here’s your plate. Thank you so much for the cake. It’s so nice of you to come.”

      She took a place at the end of the couch and smoothed her black dress over her knees, pulled tighter the black sweater round her shoulders.

      “It’s been such a long time. How long has it been?”

      She looked from Alena to Trn and back, the skin below her eyes twin bruises.

      “How is your father, Alena? How is Aleks?”

      “Both as troublesome as ever. As men are.”

      Trn said, “How is Jakub? He’s not in?”

      Her right hand jumped in her lap as if the wrist were jerked on a string.

      “He’s studying. Studying German. That’s what he does now.”

      She looked at the floor.

      “It’s the only way he can talk to Pavel, you see. If you want to write to anyone at Buchenwald you must write in German.”

      “Has Pavel written recently?”

      “He’s getting quite good at it now. He studies all the time. I worry he’s neglecting school but what can we do? You know he wants to be an engineer. Wanted to be. Maybe he does still. We don’t talk of such things now. We don’t speak much, of the future. He said to me just the other day, he said, ‘Mama, should I learn the future in German? What do you think?’ And ‘Jakub,’ I said, ‘Jakub, why are you asking me? What do I know of these things?’ And he said, ‘I don’t know if I ought to spend the time to learn the constructions to make the future. I can’t decide if it would be good for Papa to think about the future or not.’”

      She closed her eyes and the bruises were all she had to see with. When she opened them toward the window they shone like little disks of glass. At her side the hand leaped, the thumb needling the flesh of her thigh through her dress before it retracted into the palm and went quiet among the other fingers.

      “What do you think, Viktor?” She turned the disks on him. “Pavel always thought so highly of your opinion. ‘We must ask Viktor about that when he visits.’ That’s what he would say. So what do you think, Viktor. Should he learn the future?”

      Alena took a hand from her pocket, examined her nails while the pendulum ticked in the clock on the mantel.

      “Yes, Anamaria, definitely. Jakub can always tell Pavel his plans for the next day. Learning all he can learn will be good for Jakub, good for his mind. I never heard anyone regret learning.”

      “I do,” Anamaria said. “I have regretted much that I had to learn.” She leaned toward him and the disks were eclipsed under the shadow of her brow. “But that’s not what I mean. I mean should Pavel learn the future?”

      “I should think it would give him hope, Anamaria. That would be quite a gift.”

      Her eyes blinked and went back to the window and she said, “I wonder if all gifts are only cruelty now.”

      Alena examined the other set of nails and put her hands in her pockets again.

      “We send him parcels when we’re allowed. You must get permission, a release. Of course we haven’t much to send. The last time we had a round of pork with a nice bit of fat to it, I thought he would need that, I’m sure he’s getting thin. The butcher passes us some cuts when he can. But please don’t tell anyone. Please. In the gymnazium when I saw him the last time before the transfer he was already going thin on that gruel.”

      The