The Wooden King. Thomas Maxwell McConnell

Please.”

      “What’s wrong?” Miroslav said. “What’s happened?”

      “I just saw a dead man.”

      “A dead man? Where?”

      “There was a crowd around him, staring.” Trn watched the steam laze from Miroslav’s cup. “On Udolni. On the way back to the tram.”

      “But that’s just the other side of the hill,” Alena said.

      Trn traced a stain on the table.

      “He was stretched across the sidewalk. His head was almost in the gutter.”

      “How do you know he was dead?” Alena said.

      “He was dead. There were two policemen with their backs to him, keeping people away. Around his head the blood had pooled, like a dark glue.”

      “So it only just happened,” Miroslav said.

      Trn shrugged.

      “Probably one of those gangs,” Alena said, “those little fascists running around.”

      “They put that rabble down last year,” Miroslav said. “You didn’t know him, did you?”

      “I didn’t recognize him.”

      “Maybe the SS. He might have been with the resistance.”

      “Or the Gestapo,” Alena said. “He might have been a Jew.”

      “Or he might have been a collaborator,” Miroslav said, “and the resistance left him as a warning. Broad daylight, you know. Gutsy people, those.” He nodded to himself, sipped and set his cup down. “God this is awful coffee.”

      “He looked so ordinary,” Trn said. “Dark pants, a black sweater. He lay there on his back in the sun. You might have thought him drunk.”

      “Except for the price of beer,” Miroslav said.

      “His feet, they splayed out flat, as if his ankles were broken. The wind blew his hair into the blood and it stuck there. He still had on his shoes.”

      “That’s what the police were after. As soon as the crowd departs they cleverly grab the shoes. One each.”

      “May I have that coffee, Alena?”

      She brought it, sat herself.

      “He looked so like anyone,” Trn said.

      “Probably a collaborator,” Miroslav said. “They’re everywhere now, top to bottom. Did you hear that Göring was in Prague the other evening? Called on Hacha and invited him to dinner. When the waiter handed Hacha the menu our president opened his pen and said, ‘Now, where do I sign?’”

      Miroslav laughed and clapped the table so the spoon jumped in the saucer.

      In the stairwell they could hear the shouting. The boy looked up and said, “Is that Grandfather?” Trn took the steps two at a time.

      He was in the sitting room with the neck of a bottle in his fist still raving over Alena’s pleas to be quiet. Trn laid a hand on Miroslav’s shoulder and the old man looked at him like a stranger had put a finger in his face.

      “Fifteen million,” Miroslav said. “They mutilated a country of fifteen million.”

      “What began this?”

      “He heard Benes from London,” Alena said. “Father, you must be quiet.” She scowled at Trn. “Why do we even have that machine here? It causes nothing but grief. It was better when they took the shortwave away.”

      “How could they allow that to happen? Civilization. Ha.” Miroslav slapped the table and a pencil leaped to the floor. “The whole of Europe has abandoned us.”

      The boy picked up the pencil and stood holding it.

      “Aleks, why don’t you go out onto the balcony.”

      “It’s almost dark.”

      “You’ve got a while. Go count the swallows. Take Grandfather’s spyglass so you can see better.”

      “About us without us. That’s all Munich was. About us without us.” The old man slapped the table again and the empty bottle wobbled till Trn set it right. “Bastards.”

      “Where is the spyglass?”

      “Goddamn them all.”

      “I’m sure it’s in his desk where it always is.”

      “They’ve consigned us to a German hell.” The bleared eyes looked up at Trn. “To make life gentler for them. And you know it too.” He looked at Alena. “You know it. Chamberlain, that ass. A far away people of whom we know nothing. At least the bastard knows he’s ignorant.”

      “And before the radio?” Trn said.

      “The Asterovi had been in the country,” Alena said. “They came back.”

      “Did he finish all of it?” Trn said.

      “What do you think?” Alena said. “He stinks of plum slivovitz.”

      “I mean was it just the one bottle.”

      “If it had been more he’d be asleep by now. But that would be too much to ask.”

      “The sons of bitches. The whole thing is so utterly stupid. Austria was one thing. A different thing entirely. If that was rape then the Austrians liked being raped. But we cried for justice and not a soul in the world bothered to look us in the face.”

      “Father.” She shook his shoulder and the old man smacked his lips. “Father. If you don’t shut up they’ll call the police. They’ll bring the Gestapo.”

      “Who will call? The Steinhardts? Let them. I pay their goddamn rent but they’re not my overlord and master, those traitorous bastards. Imagine Czechs flying that blood flag. On Hitler’s birthday. And for ten days ringing every church bell after France pisses her pants and falls over.” He lifted his wet eyes to Trn again. “We were the eighth largest economy in the world. Not Europe. The world.”

      “I know,” Trn whispered. “The crown was a respected currency the whole continent over.”

      “That’s it. You could spend the crown in Paris. In the Rotonde you could buy a cup of coffee with the crown.”

      “All we needed was fifty years of peaceful evolution.”

      “That’s what Masaryk said. And we didn’t have it. Goddamnit we didn’t have half that.” His eyes leaked at all four corners and Trn offered the handkerchief from his trouser pocket. The old man took it, brushed it over his face and tossed it on the table.

      “Masaryk was so wise,” Trn said. “Did it come to him with age?”

      “No.” The old man shook his bald head. “Masaryk was always wise. He was born wise. He wasn’t just a president, he was a prince. A philosopher-prince like Plato dreamed of but better than Plato dreamed because the people elected him. We don’t know that world anymore. All we have now are goose-stepping charlatans and toffee-nosed appeasers.”

      By the hand Trn began to draw the old man toward his room and said over his shoulder, “Alena, would you bring us a glass of water please?”

      They sat later listening to waves of snores crest against the door. On the table Trn laid out the cards for solitaire and Aleks in his lap helped him spot the combinations.

      “I guess he’ll rumble on like that all night,” Alena said in her chair.

      Without looking from the cards Trn said, “Did Mrs. Asterova say how things were in the countryside when she brought the slivovitz?”

      “How would I know?” Alena said. “I was out.”

      The raids worsened with the summer. Miroslav