Read The Doctor Dines in Prague Online
Authors: Robin Hathaway
The Doctor Dines in Prague
Table of Contents
The City
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
To Václav Havel,
1
playwright, statesman, philosopher ⦠scooter-rider
1
playwright, statesman, philosopher ⦠scooter-rider
Deepest thanks to my editor, Ruth Cavin, my agent, Laura Langlie, my husband, Bob, and my daughters, Julie and Anne, for their generous advice and moral support. And special thanks to VÃt Ho
ejš for his book,
Czechoslovak-American Puppetry
, published by GOH Productions/Seven Loaves, Inc., in 1994, and to William Keyes for his essay “âWe WereâAnd We Shall Be': Puppetry and Czecho-Slovak Politics, 1860â1990,” and to Milan
for his essay “The Marionette Proud and Dignified,” both of which are included in this beautiful book.
ejš for his book,Czechoslovak-American Puppetry
, published by GOH Productions/Seven Loaves, Inc., in 1994, and to William Keyes for his essay “âWe WereâAnd We Shall Be': Puppetry and Czecho-Slovak Politics, 1860â1990,” and to Milan
for his essay “The Marionette Proud and Dignified,” both of which are included in this beautiful book.W
hile going through his mail, Dr. Andrew Fenimore came across the latest issue of the
Prague Times
, which is the only Czech newspaper published in English. Fenimore subscribed to it in order to keep in touch with Prague, his mother's beloved native city. One day, he promised himself, he would brush up on his Czech and subscribe to a bona fide Czech newspaper. He had even bought some Berlitz tapes. But that day had yet to come.
hile going through his mail, Dr. Andrew Fenimore came across the latest issue of the
Prague Times
, which is the only Czech newspaper published in English. Fenimore subscribed to it in order to keep in touch with Prague, his mother's beloved native city. One day, he promised himself, he would brush up on his Czech and subscribe to a bona fide Czech newspaper. He had even bought some Berlitz tapes. But that day had yet to come.
As he perused the paper, a headline caught his eye:
TOWERKEEPER PLUNGES TO DEATH
The story went on to tell about the unexplained drowning of Tomas Tuk, who had guarded the tower of the Charles Bridge for over thirty years. It was his job to warn visitors of the danger of falling from the top and to make sure the tower was vacated at closing time. Apparently Mr. Tuk had fallen accidentally from the tower. There were no witnesses to his fall.
“Hmm.” Fenimore stroked his chin. Odd, that a man who had guarded a tower for thirty yearsâand was familiar with its dangersâshould have such a freak accident. Defenestration was historically a
favorite murder method used in that part of the world, Fenimore recalled. There was the uprising, in 1618, when Czech Protestants tossed a whole bunch of Catholic dignitaries from a window in Prague Castle. That incident had started the Thirty Years War. And, more recently, in 1948, it was suspected that Jan Masaryk, son of Thomas Masarykâthe former president of Czechoslovakiaâhad been pushed from his bedroom window by Communist thugs. There was no window involved in the Towerkeeper's caseâjust an open archwayâbut the principle was the same.
favorite murder method used in that part of the world, Fenimore recalled. There was the uprising, in 1618, when Czech Protestants tossed a whole bunch of Catholic dignitaries from a window in Prague Castle. That incident had started the Thirty Years War. And, more recently, in 1948, it was suspected that Jan Masaryk, son of Thomas Masarykâthe former president of Czechoslovakiaâhad been pushed from his bedroom window by Communist thugs. There was no window involved in the Towerkeeper's caseâjust an open archwayâbut the principle was the same.
Taking a pair of scissors from his desk, Fenimore clipped the article and filed it under
S
: STRANGE CASES. Crime detection was a hobby of the doctor's and his STRANGE CASES folder was overflowing.
S
: STRANGE CASES. Crime detection was a hobby of the doctor's and his STRANGE CASES folder was overflowing.
W
ith the telephone receiver tucked under his chin, Fenimore continued packing. As he listened to the repeated staccato ringsâEuropean, not Americanâhis anxiety rose. After a dozen rings he hung up.
ith the telephone receiver tucked under his chin, Fenimore continued packing. As he listened to the repeated staccato ringsâEuropean, not Americanâhis anxiety rose. After a dozen rings he hung up.
He had been calling his cousin, Anna, in Prague, every day for two weeks, to no avail. He had assumed she and her family were awayâat their summer cottage. But three nights ago, when he had called at four A.M.âCzech Republic timeâthe receiver had been lifted for a split second. No one spoke. He detected no sound of breathing. And as soon as he said, “Hello,” the receiver was replaced. That was when he'd decided to go to Prague.
It seemed crazy, even to him, to take such a long trip simply because someone didn't answer the telephone. But he had a strong feeling that something was wrongâcall it intuition. And he couldn't let it go. He owed it to his mother to look into it. Anna was his mother's sister's only child, and his mother and her sister had remained very close, despite the geographical distance that had separated them for all those years.
He had been in closer touch with Anna recently because her husband, Vlasta, was ill. He suffered from anginaâa suffocating
pressure in the center of the chest caused by too little blood getting to the heart. They had been making plans for him to come to the States for a complete cardiac evaluation. Then, suddenly, they had dropped out of sight.
pressure in the center of the chest caused by too little blood getting to the heart. They had been making plans for him to come to the States for a complete cardiac evaluation. Then, suddenly, they had dropped out of sight.
Some people might wonder why Fenimore didn't notify the Prague police. This did not occur to him. Since he'd been a small child he had heard his mother's tales of the police.
The secret police
. The gestapo under the Nazis; the KGB under the Soviets. These stories had come from his mother and her family in Prague, and they had remained indelibly engraved in his mind. Despite all the noise about police brutality in the United States, the fear of the police in the States was nothing to the terror of the police in Central Europe. Although the Czechs had been free of Communism for over ten years, there had been very little retaliationâor purging of the old guard. (Czechs, by their nature, are not a vengeful people.) Some thugs from the former regime still held positions in the bureaucratic ranks. Most were probably doing a good job, but Fenimore could not bring himself to call on the Prague police for help.
The secret police
. The gestapo under the Nazis; the KGB under the Soviets. These stories had come from his mother and her family in Prague, and they had remained indelibly engraved in his mind. Despite all the noise about police brutality in the United States, the fear of the police in the States was nothing to the terror of the police in Central Europe. Although the Czechs had been free of Communism for over ten years, there had been very little retaliationâor purging of the old guard. (Czechs, by their nature, are not a vengeful people.) Some thugs from the former regime still held positions in the bureaucratic ranks. Most were probably doing a good job, but Fenimore could not bring himself to call on the Prague police for help.
Only a few things remained on the bed to be packed. A green-and-black tartan bathrobeâfaded and frayed. Well, why not, after a dozen years of wear? But it was still warm, and no one ever saw him in it, except Jennifer, and she didn't care about such things. A pair of bedroom slippers, once lined with something warm and fuzzy, but now bare. And a battered shaving kit. He placed these items into the shiny new suitcase that lay open on the end of the bed. His friends had presented him with the bag the night before at an impromptu bon voyage party. His decision to go to Prague had been sudden and there had been no time to plan anything more elaborate. His good friend Detective Rafferty had brought the champagne. Mrs. Doyle, his nurse, had made the cake. Horatio, his teenage office helper (also known as Rat), had decorated the office with red and green streamers (the only ones available in Fenimore's “party drawer”). The boy had also ransacked a thrift shop and come up with an old poster of an ocean liner (although Fenimore was traveling by plane), which he had tacked on the wall. Jennifer, Fenimore's
frequent companion (he refused to use the more trendy “significant other”), had organized the whole thing.
frequent companion (he refused to use the more trendy “significant other”), had organized the whole thing.
His biggest problemâgetting someone to cover his patients while he was awayâhad been easily solved. Larry Freeman, a cardiology colleague, had offered his services as soon as he heard Fenimore's destination. But Freeman had his price: Fenimore had to take a photograph of Franz Kafka's house for him. Fenimore eagerly agreed, only to remember that he didn't own a camera. Mrs. Doyle offered to lend him her old box camera, but Jennifer bought him one of the new disposable kind. “It's lighter and easier to carry,” she said. “And if you lose it you won't feel guilty for the rest of your life.”
There was no denying it, the new suitcase was handsome. But much too extravagant. Fenimore would have preferred a more economical backpack. Not because he was hip or into camping out, but because he had few clothes and paid little attention to his appearance. He didn't think much of his looks. Short, middle-aged, verging on bald, with prominent earsâwhen confronted by his image in the mirror, he had been heard to mutter, “You certainly won't win any beauty contests.”
“How do you know?” Jennifer had retorted once when overhearing him. “You have very expressive eyes, artistic hands, and a certain ⦠indefinable charm.”
“Humph,” he said, and his ears turned bright red, which did nothing to enhance them.
The only things left on the bed were his traveler's checks, his passport, and his plane ticket. He glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. In a few minutes Jennifer would arrive to take him to the airport. Since she didn't own a car (a real city girl), they had agreed she would drive his. He had one ordeal to face before he left. As if by extrasensory perception, that ordeal sidled into the room. Sal, his marmalade cat, had sensed impending doom for three days. Now she realized it was imminent. She hopped on the bed and investigated the foreign objects lying there. Fenimore stroked her back and scratched under her chin.
“Now, don't mope,” he said sternly. “You're in good hands.” He had arranged for Horatio to stop by once a day to replenish her food and water and change her litter box. “I'll be back in two weeks,” he assured her. “Before you can say âJack Robinson.'”
Her two, sharp, answering mews, Fenimore was sure, would translate into “Jack Robinson.” As she leapt to the floor and wrapped herself around his ankle, the doorbell rang. Hastily disentangling himself, Fenimore picked up his suitcase and started down the stairs. With a final glance around his office and waiting room, he made for the front door. Sal was close on his heels. When he reached the vestibule, with a single adroit motion he shoved his suitcase in front of him and shut the vestibule door behind him, leaving Sal on the other sideâan act that had taken years to perfect. An indignant
“Rowrrr!”
was the last sound he heard as he stepped outside.
“Rowrrr!”
was the last sound he heard as he stepped outside.
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