Free Restitution by Kathy Kacer Page A

anything but relaxed. He climbed the stairs to his room, moving slower now, struggling to comprehend what was about to happen. They were leaving their home – the home in which he had lived for his entire life. They were leaving everything behind and fleeing, perhaps for their lives, or so his mother was suggesting. And they were heading straight for Prague, the eye of the hurricane, the site of the impending invasion.
    Karl entered his bedroom and glanced around. What to pack? His mother had said to bring only clothing, but that meant that everything of personal importance and value would be left behind. The camera was a must, he thought, throwing it into a bag, though he wondered what if anything he would be able to photograph. His books lay open on his desk and he suddenly realized that he had only two more months left of school. His matura , the final exams for which he had been studying for months, would now be abandoned as well. He would not complete high school. There would be no graduation.
    With his bags packed, Karl descended the staircase, walking slowly this time, taking in the details of his home as if he were seeing them for the first time. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned to go to the front door when something in the salon caught his eye. It was his mother. She was circling the room, stopping in front of each of the four large paintings that had graced the walls for months now. As Karl watched, she reached out to touch the painting of the young housewife, her face almost as pensive and distracted as the model’s.
    â€œMother?” Karl whispered.
    Startled, Marie withdrew her hand and turned around. “Are you packed, Karl?”
    He nodded and glanced up at the painting behind her. She followed his gaze.
    â€œIt seems silly, doesn’t it?” she asked. “To be so attracted to these paintings and to be so sad about leaving them. They’re just things after all, so unimportant compared to our lives. And yet….” She paused, looking back at Karl and then again at the painting. “I can’t help this feeling,” she continued. “I wanted to have something to pass on to you and Hana one day. And now, I’m not sure if we’ll have any of it.”
    Karl stared, unable to respond.
    â€œCome,” she finally said. “It’s time to go.”
    When all the bags had been loaded into the car, Marie, Hana, Karl, and Leila climbed in, squeezing next to one another and next to the dogs that were also accompanying them. There had been one final discussion with Mother about the fate of their beloved pets and in a moment of weakness she had acquiesced to the pleas of Karl and Hana.
    The sun was just beginning to rise over Rakovník. A layer of frost covered the town and Karl’s breath formed a steamy circle over the window as he gazed out. It cast his town in a white, hazy shroud. Once more he shuddered. War was on the horizon, but here it was eerily quiet, a kind of peacefulness that was a complete antithesis to what the country was facing. He breathed in deeply, trying to savor the calm.
    â€œLet’s go, Kalina,” ordered Mother, and the car began to inch forward, driving the family eastward toward Prague. Karl did not look back.
    * The literal translation is “someone from over the fields.” It refers to someone who is from the country.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Prague 1939
    THE WEATHER HAD TURNED quite miserable by the time the Reiser automobile rolled through the streets of Prague. Snow was falling in a steady cascade in one of the worst storms of the season, blanketing a city that lay in wait for its opponents to strike. Few people were outside and those who walked had their heads and eyes down, keeping the business of the world at bay.
    The family car headed straight for the villa in the Vinohrady suburb of Prague at 20 BeneÅ¡ova ulice, a beautiful section of the city with tree-lined streets and impressive private homes. It did not