Three photos accompanied the article: Ema, pretty, in a dewy, unformed way; Redik, resembling one of the lesser Roman emperors; and Ilsaâlooking like a rose in full bloomâthe way she had looked that first day in the coffeehouse.
According to the story, Ilsa had discovered Ema and Redik in his dressing room, in a compromising position, and stabbed them to death.
Fenimore felt dizzy. He heard Ema's shrill voice defending the puppets. He saw Redik's mad dance on the tower. He felt the tingle of Ilsa's touch ⦠.
Charles IV's curse, it seems, was still intact. And Fenimore was not entirely glad.
He stared at the three photos again.
When Jennifer emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel, he showed her the article. She sat on the edge of the bed, biting her lip. “Why do I feel so bad?”
Fenimore didn't answer.
“For her, I guess.” Jennifer indicated Ema's picture. “And I never even met her.”
“I met her,” he said slowly, refolding the paper. “Redik's marionettes have lost a friend.”
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Anna was to be released that morning. When Fenimore arrived at the hospital, he went to check Vlasta first. His condition was steadily improving. Fenimore felt confident he could safely leave his cousin and return to the States. But it would be several weeks before Vlasta could travel by plane and come to Philadelphia for his cardiac evaluation. Anna, of course, would stay with her husband in Prague. But what about Marie? Fenimore would like to keep her in Philadelphia until her parents arrived. But, by then, school would be in session ⦠.
These thoughts flitted through his mind, on one level, as he made his way along the corridor to Anna's room. On another, deeper level,
lay the news of Ilsaâlike a coiled snake. He had known double-murderers before, but not quite in the same way. He was still numb from the shock. When the numbness wore off and the snake uncoiled, he wasn't sure what his reaction would be. With effort, he concentrated on his family problems.
When Fenimore entered Anna's room, she was sitting on the bed, fully dressed, speaking animatedly in Czech on the phone. Mrs. Doyle was sitting nearby, leafing through a magazine. She looked up, pointed to the phone, and mouthed,
Marie.
Fenimore smiled. This was not the time to tell her about the murders.
After consulting with Anna, it was decided that Marie should stay in Philadelphia until her parents arrived. Anna would have to tolerate this further separation from her child, and Marie could make up what she had missed at school. She was very clever, and third grade was not that difficult, after all.
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Fenimore accompanied Anna home in a cab. During the ride, he showed her the newspaper article. It didn't have the impact Fenimore had expected. After her recent experiences, Anna was impervious to shock. The human psyche can absorb only so much; Anna's had reached the saturation point. Scanning the article, she returned the paper to Fenimore with a mere shake of the head.
When Anna entered her apartment, she walked from room to room taking everything in; touching a book here, a lamp thereâto make sure they were real. “I thought I would never be here again,” she explained. “Yet, here I am ⦠thanks to you and Jennifer.”
Fenimore quietly went about collecting his things. He had decided to spend the rest of his stay with Jennifer, at her hotel, and leave his cousin to enjoy her homecoming in peace. He had told her that he had retrieved the manuscript. And there it sat, snugly in the bookcase, where he had stowed it. Before he left, Fenimore told Anna that he had paid the April rent.
“What?” She was dismayed. “I already paid for April. We always pay a month in advance.” She shook her head in disgust as she wrote
him a check. “That horrible man. He sneaks around here, eavesdropping. And I think he runs some illegal business from the basement. Black market, smuggling, orâ”
“Marie is afraid of him,” Fenimore interrupted.
“She is?”
“I think he may have hurt her once.”
“No!” Her ability to react was returning.
Fenimore described Marie's strange behavior on the day they were to leave for the airport.
Anna's eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. “I'll take care of him,” she said.
And Fenimore knew she would.
“By the way,” he said in parting, “be sure to order some pizza now and then. Milo is a good friend.”
Anna looked after his retreating back with a bewildered expression.
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Fenimore returned to the hotel to find Jennifer packing.
“I've made our plane reservations,” she said. “Mrs. Doyle's, too. Our flight leaves tomorrow morning at eleven-thirty.”
He nodded, preoccupied.
“Is that too soon?” She was afraid she had been officious.
“What?”
“Would you rather leave later?”
“No.” He wandered over to the window and looked out. “There's that picture of Kafka's house that I have to take for Larry ⦠.”
“We can go this afternoon.”
“You know”âhe turned back to the roomâ“Redik was mad! Did he really believe he could conquer the Czech Republicâand specifically Pragueâthrough subliminal propaganda via puppets?”
“Don't forget the crown. He thought it had mystical powers.”
“In a psychology course I took at college, we watched a movie that glorified the German Youth Movement,” Fenimore said. “It had been made during the Hitler era. The teacher told us he had to break it up into four segments, with ten-minute intermissions, otherwise
we might all be converted. We laughed, scornfully, of course. But, do you knowâeven
with
the intermissionsâwe all came out of that film marching and singing and wanting to join up?”
“You're kidding.”
“I kid you not. Little Fritz was so cute, and the music was so strong ⦠. Never underestimate the power of the media, whether film, radio, TVâor puppets. Goebbels knew this. He once said that Americans didn't need a propaganda ministry, they had Hollywood.”
“
Casablanca
is a good example,” Jennifer agreed. “When they sing âLa Marseillaise,' I'd do anything for them.”
“The thing I don't understand is why Ilsa bought into it. She seemed like an intelligentâ”
“Love.”
He looked at her sharply.
“Why do you think I hang around with you?” she said.
“You think
I'm
crazy?”
“Well, every now and then ⦔
After a long silence, he said, “I wonder what Ilsa would have been like, if she had achieved her dream.”
Jennifer paused in her packing. “And what was that?”
“To be an actress,” he said.
“She
was
an actress,” Jennifer said tersely. “And a very good one.”
He couldn't deny that.
“And her last act was worthy of a Verdi opera!”
After a while, Jennifer forced herself to ask, “Do you want to see her before we leave?”
“Hell, no.” He headed for the door. “Let's go take that picture.”
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As they made their way to Golden Lane, Jennifer asked, “Where is our lifeguard today?”
“On a bus tour of Prague. I thought she should see something of the city before she left. You know what she said? âI'll go anywhere as long as it's not on foot.' Apparently cobblestones and Doyle's feet are incompatible.”
“She does better on sea than land. Where did she learn those lifesaving techniques?”
“She was a Navy nurse ⦠and keeps fit with karate.”
“There it is.” Jennifer stopped in front of a stucco cottage with a crooked chimney and reached into her purse. She handed Fenimore the cheap little camera she had picked up at the airport.
Fenimore took two pictures of Kafka's house.
Jennifer scanned the guidebook. “Kafka lived in about a dozen places in Prague. Should we take them all?”
“One's enough for Larry,” Fenimore said emphatically. He took a picture of Jennifer leaning over the wall, gazing at the city. Then
she
took one of Fenimore leaning over the wall, gazing at the city.
A woman was about to walk between them, but paused so she wouldn't spoil their picture. Then she said, “Would you like me to take one of you together?”
They smiled self-consciously, and Fenimore handed her the camera.
Click.
“Thanks so much.”
“Yes, thanks.”
“No problem.” She walked on.
They took the steep, cobblestone path back to the city.