The Doctor Dines in Prague (5 page)

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Authors: Robin Hathaway

BOOK: The Doctor Dines in Prague
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She looked puzzled.
“Is it okay?”
Slowly, she nodded.
T
hat hurdle over, he tackled the passport problem. “Where do Mama and Papa keep their important papers?” he asked Marie, praying she didn't say, “In the bank.”
She led him into the master bedroom and pointed under the bed. He peered under and saw a strongbox. He dragged it out and blew off a thin coating of dust. It was locked.
“Key?”
She looked puzzled.
Fenimore imagined having to lug the box into a field and blow it up with a stick of dynamite. He retrieved the dictionary. “Klí
?” he said.
She brightened and led him into the kitchen. On a nail, beside the door that opened into the alley, hung a ring of keys. Fenimore had probably looked at it a dozen times since he arrived—without seeing it. Quickly, he fingered through them—door keys, car keys, closet keys, trunk keys—until he came to a small, nondescript key, cut in the shape of the letter
E
. It looked just right. He took it into the bedroom. A perfect fit. He turned it and lifted the lid of the strongbox. Inside lay a pile of legal papers wrapped in a large rubber band. A will, a document donating various organs to various organizations,
three insurance policies—two life, one car—a marriage certificate, and three birth certificates. Marie's was on the bottom. “Eureka!” he cried, waving it in the air.
Marie giggled.
Hurdle number two had been scaled. Now for number three. “Photographs?” he said.
Marie led him to her mother's closet and pulled out a cardboard box. Inside were three hefty photograph albums and numerous packs of loose photos. He groaned at the thought of going through all of them. Marie reached into the box and drew out a large yellow envelope. Inside was a recent eight- by ten-inch picture of Marie and six wallet-sized pictures. They were taken at school this year, she told him.
Praise the Lord,
thought Fenimore. He planted a kiss on top of her head and slipped two of the smaller pictures into his pocket.
Next, with Marie's help, he filled out the passport application form. It was a laborious task—communicating his questions and interpreting her answers. But, with the aid of the dictionary, they got through it. He had taken the precaution of writing it in pencil first, then inking it over. When it was finished, Fenimore sat back with a sigh and looked at his watch. Good grief! All this passport baloney had taken almost three hours! It was two-thirty; the passport office closed at four o'clock, and it was on the other side of town.
An unpleasant thought struck him. What if someone was watching the apartment? If the phone was being tapped, the apartment might also be under surveillance. No one must know that Marie was here. But the government never would issue her a passport without seeing her in person. Somehow he had to smuggle her out. But how?
“I'm hungry!” Marie handed the pizzeria card to Fenimore.
His stomach contracted. He glanced at his watch. Almost three! But the last thing he wanted was a pizza. As he stared at the card, slowly his grimace reshaped itself into a broad grin. “Can you ride a bicycle?” he asked.
Puzzled, she nodded.
Poor kid probably thinks I've flipped,
thought Fenimore. With the help of the dictionary and a few awkward sketches, he outlined his plan.
 
Milo, the pizza delivery boy, was more than happy to help out. Their pizza had been the last delivery of his shift. For ten dollars, all he had to do was lend his white cap, his jacket, and his bicycle to Marie, and stay in the apartment playing video games for two hours—about the time it would take them to go to the passport office, do their business, and return. The jacket was too big for Marie, but with a sweatshirt underneath it didn't look too bad. Her jeans and sneakers were much the same as the boy's. But she had to do something with her hair. It was shoulder-length. Marie solved the problem by pulling it back into a ponytail and tucking it up under the cap. Fenimore inspected her closely. A bit young to be delivering pizza, but she would ride by in a flash, and since the spy would not be looking for a pizza delivery boy, they probably wouldn't give her a second glance.
The plan was for Fenimore to leave first, by the front door. Go to the pay phone at the corner and call a taxi. When the taxi arrived, Fenimore would call the apartment, let the phone ring twice and hang up. That was the signal for Marie to leave by the back door, ride the bike down the alley and around the corner to where he would be waiting. Fenimore would store the pizza uniform in a shopping bag and they would take the cab to the passport office. But, what about the bike? They couldn't leave it on the curb. Prague, like any big city, had petty thieves. Fenimore decided that ten minutes after Marie left, Milo should leave by the back door, stroll around the corner, and pick up his bike. Then he would ride it back to the apartment and park it in the alley. Fenimore found the key to the back door on the ring of keys, detached it, and gave it to Milo. Fenimore checked to make sure he had everything: passport application, birth certificate, photos, and shopping bag. Before leaving, he looked down the alley one last time. It was empty, except for a line of dark-green trash cans.
 
 
Everything went according to plan. There was no trouble at the passport office, either. By the time Fenimore and Marie returned home, it was dark, and Fenimore thought it was safe to let the cab drop them at the entrance to the alley. When they knocked at the back door, Milo, immersed in his video game, took a while to answer. After the third knock, the boy came to the door. Fenimore was a nervous wreck. But he gave the boy his ten dollars in korunas, thanked him for his help, and ordered a
sýr
pizza to be delivered at noon the next day.
Exhausted, Fenimore fell asleep on the couch early, but Marie—excited after her first day out in over two weeks—stayed up, playing solitaire late into the night.
F
enimore woke early, feeling refreshed. Marie slept on. This gave him some time to work out the breakfast problem. He had not gone to the store yesterday for several reasons. First, his time had been taken up with passport drivel; second, he was afraid to leave Marie home alone and he was also afraid to take her with him. Either one was risky. And he couldn't ask Milo to come to their rescue again. And the thought of pizza for breakfast made his stomach lurch. He opened the kitchen cabinets one by one, scanning their meager contents. A giggle interrupted him. Marie stood in the doorway, staring at his legs. He looked down. All he had on was his long johns. He had removed his trousers the night before to avoid wrinkling them. After all, they were brand new.
“In America, this is what everyone wears to bed,” he told her with a straight face. “Here.” He took out the flour and sugar and made stirring motions with his hand, indicating she should find him a bowl and spoon.
Marie quickly produced both, and a measuring cup as well. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. A night's sleep in her own bed had done wonders for her. She had told Fenimore that she had slept
in the oven on a pile of towels every night, because she had been afraid the man with the gun would come back.
He carefully measured two cups of flour, one cup of sugar, and one and a half cups of water into the bowl. While Marie stirred this concoction, he searched for a skillet. He found one, but nothing to grease it with. How would he keep the pancakes from sticking? He solved this by making one giant pancake and sliding the spatula under it every few seconds. When it was done on one side—to Marie's delight—he flipped it in the air. When it was brown on both sides, Fenimore cut the pancake, serving each of them half. Marie took a bite and made a face. Fenimore also grimaced. He grabbed the jar of crystallized honey from the cabinet and spread a gob on each half. A far cry from maple syrup, but “beggars can't be choosers,” as his grandmother used to say. Fenimore could only manage to eat two-thirds of his. Marie ate all of hers. She still must have been starving.
Once the dishes were done (all two of them), it was only nine o'clock. Three long days stretched before him until it was time to take Marie to the airport. How would he get through them, knowing that he should be searching for his cousins? Perhaps he could use the time to get more information from Marie. Maybe she knew more than she
knew
she knew. If that made sense. There were so many questions: What did the men look like? What were they wearing? How did they come? Why hadn't she asked the super for help? Why did she think the walls had ears? And, most important, why would anyone want to kidnap her parents?
He decided to find out. But, because of the language barrier, it would not be easy. He would have to be inventive; turn it into a game. Armed with a pad, pen, and the thick Czech-English dictionary, he began his gentle interrogation. Laboriously, Fenimore looked up words and wrote them down, trying to compose his questions. After watching him struggle for a few minutes, Marie ran into her room and came back with a big, brightly colored picture book.
Oh, no,
thought Fenimore,
she's bored already and wants me to read to her.
He recognized the style of the pictures right away. They were
by a famous American illustrator—Richard Scarry. He had often read Scarry's books to his niece and nephew in Philadelphia. But this book was different. It wasn't just a picture book—it was a
pictionary.
The book was divided into sections with subtitles such as “Food,” “Clothing,” “Transportation,” “Body Parts,” et cetera. Under each heading were pictures of the appropriate objects. But, most importantly, under each object was listed its name—not in one, but in four languages: German, French, English, and Czech! Fenimore grabbed the book and let out a whoop. If Mr. Scarry had walked in at that moment, Fenimore would have hugged him.
Pointing to a picture of a loaf of bread, he read the foreign names under it to Marie, careful to use the proper accent for each: “
Das Brot
…
le pain
… bread …
chleb
.”
Marie disappeared into her room again. This time she came back carrying Jiri. She didn't want the bear to miss all the fun. During his questioning, Fenimore included the bear. After asking Marie a question, he would turn to Jiri and whisper in his ear. Then he would lift Jiri up to his own ear, so the bear could whisper something into it. After listening for a minute, Fenimore would raise his eyebrows, gasp, and look horrified. Marie would double over with laughter.
Slowly the game wore on, interrupted only for meals, when Fenimore gritted his teeth and ordered another pizza. One benefit of eating pizza was that they came to know Milo. If their pizza was his last delivery of the day, he stayed awhile and joined in their game. His English was more advanced than Marie's and he served as their interpreter. “But,” he informed them, “I like video games better.”
On the second day, when Milo delivered their lunch, Fenimore struck a deal with him. He could play video games if he would stay with Marie, while Fenimore made a quick trip to the store. For the first time since Fenimore had arrived, they had a decent dinner. Unfortunately, it included no Czech delicacies. Fenimore only knew how to cook American style. The meal consisted of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, and chocolate pudding. For the beverage, he insisted that Marie drink milk instead of soda. Fenimore drank milk, too—to set a good example.
By the end of the second day, Fenimore had learned the following.
1. The two kidnappers were young men and had come on
motocykly
(motorcycles). Marie had heard them pull up outside.
2. They wore
kožená bunda
(leather jackets).
3. They were
Å¡pinavy
(dirty).
“Like me?” Fenimore suddenly realized he hadn't taken a shower since he had arrived.
“Ne,”
she giggled.
4. They spoke Czech with a funny accent.
“Russian?”
She shrugged.
“German?”
She shrugged again.
5. The super was
spatny
(bad).
Marie screwed up her face.
Fenimore knew what
spatny
meant. His mother had used it to refer to him often, when he was a boy. But he wasn't satisfied. He wanted to know
how
the super was bad. Was he
(a)
disagreeable?
(b)
dishonest?
(c)
violent? Some things could not be described with pictures. He found himself acting out each of these categories in the manner of charades. For “disagreeable,” he frowned and stuck out his tongue at Jiri. Marie laughed, but shook her head. For “dishonest,” Fenimore put his wallet in Jiri's lap, snuck up behind him, snatched it, and slipped it inside his own jacket pocket.
“Ne, ne, ne!”
Marie laughed again. But when, in an attempt to illustrate violence, Fenimore took Jiri across his knee and playfully spanked him, Marie did not laugh. She grabbed the teddy bear from him and clutched
him to her chest. The look of fear in her eyes was the same as on the day Fenimore had found her. Remembering the super's thick, freckled hand, he wondered if he had ever touched her. Fenimore decided that he had learned all he could from Marie. He let her return to the computer and her games of solitaire.
That night, before Marie fell asleep, Fenimore came into her room and sat on her bed. Instead of reading her a bedtime story, he told her about his friends in Philadelphia. Again, he resorted to drawings. (If the medical profession ever became intolerable, he could always switch to art, he thought.) There they were, all in a row … .
Marie was especially taken with Sal.
“Ko
ka”
she asked. (
“Cat?”
) Fenimore's artistic attempt was somewhat ambiguous.
He nodded.
“I like
ko
ky
,” she said, with a wicked grin.
Fenimore sent a silent prayer across the Atlantic, begging Sal's forgiveness.
 
They had showered, dressed, and checked the contents of Marie's suitcase for the last time. The plan was the same as three days ago when they had gone to the passport office.
At ten-thirty sharp, Milo knocked on the door. Fenimore let him in and looked down the alley to make sure the coast was clear.
A truck was parked in the alley and some unloading was going on. Marie peered out, too, and turned pale.
“What's wrong?”
She shook her head.
“There's plenty of room. You can slip past—”
“Ne!”
She ran into her room and shut the door.
As Fenimore stared down the alley, he caught sight of the super reaching up from the basement entrance to receive a box.
Fenimore looked at his watch. Ten forty-five. The plane left at two. And they had to pick up her passport. He knocked on her door. “Marie … .”
“Ne!”
she shouted.
He went and stood behind Milo. Immersed in his game, the boy was unaware of his predicament. Fenimore watched the green-and-yellow gnomes zigzagging across the screen for a while. Then he went back to the kitchen and looked down the alley. The truck was gone. There was no sign of the super. He called to Marie. Cautiously, she came out of her room. He helped her into Milo's uniform and repeated the instructions of two days ago. Pocketing the ring of keys, he left by the front door.
 
Because of the time lost, Fenimore ordered the cabbie to drive
rychlý
(fast). Although Marie's spirits had been high while they were preparing to leave, the truck incident had put a damper on them. In the taxi, she was subdued. Now that she was actually on her way, Fenimore felt her anxiety building. After all, she had probably never traveled alone before. She huddled in the corner of the taxi, clutching Jiri. Fenimore directed his conversation mainly to the bear. In halting Czech he told him about all the wonderful things he would see in Philadelphia. Besides his relatives at the zoo, there was the Franklin Institute and Independence Hall. The “Rocky” statue and lobsters at Bookbinders. From time to time, Fenimore glanced out the back window to see if they were being tailed. But there was no sign of any car sticking to them. The passport was ready when they arrived and the rest of the trip was uneventful.

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