Andy stopped the bike in the middle of a busy street, gaping with awe at majestic baroque steeples lit by incendiary rays of a sinking sun. Only the loud horns of an impatient driver pulled his attention back to the road, but when he tried to shift gears and merge back into the slow traffic, the engine coughed twice and stalled. The fuel dial rested well below the red bar. I guess this is as far as you’re going to take me, he tapped on the fuel tank with his index knuckle, then dragged the motorcycle to an empty alley and bid it farewell.
As he headed east, the red sea of rooftops pierced by countless domes, towers, and medieval fortresses was set ablaze by the last few rays of the setting sun. Something about this view was strikingly familiar. “Looks just like…Prague,” he whispered. His shoulder collided with another pedestrian as he observed the scenery. The man turned to him with a grumpy look but immediately stepped back and pleaded for forgiveness at the sight of the uniform. Andy tried to find the Czech words for a courteous response, but the man disappeared in the busy crowd before he had a chance to speak.
He took a step back and gazed at the streets. A mix of exhaust fumes and sweet pastries filled his nostrils as random conversations in Czech and Slovakian dialects filled his ears. Slow down! He tried to pace the mass of unfiltered information and focus on one conversation; he chose one in a language most familiar—German. It didn’t take long before he realized he was the topic of discourse. He turned his eyes to the source, two Wehrmacht troops on the other side of the street. His swift agitated glance made them look away, but they were not the only ones. There were men in uniform at every corner, and some looked back at him. He straightened his overcoat, pulled the visor down, and continued to walk without looking back. He had to remind himself it was only a matter of time before words of his mischievous deeds would spread and every German soldier on the continent would be looking for an imposter in a SD Gruppenführer uniform.
He made a sharp turn onto a quiet street and kept walking until he lost sight of the crowd. The streets darkened as the sun faded behind him. He could not tell where the next turn would take him, but he kept going. The Gothic towers peering through the gaps in the curtain of red tiled rooftops served as his only guides, leading him through the dark maze of inner alleys, until he finally saw the light ahead. The sight of clear blue sky brought a sense of relief. He found himself exactly where he hoped to be, and the view was astounding. His towering guides stood as part of a majestic medieval fortress in a picturesque complex of steeples, bell towers, and domes.
“Hello Prague,” he whispered. It made perfect sense. The calm atmosphere in context of the fiercest war in history had a valid explanation. After the Nazis annexed Czechoslovakia in March 1939, they put major efforts into preserving the nation’s capital and its cultural legacy to show the rest of the world the “positive contribution” of their campaign. The official policy remained intact for the duration of the war, and Prague was one of the very few major European cities that survived the era with little harm.
Andy climbed up a long, steep stone stairwell that led to the plaza of the grand Prague Castle. He stopped to catch his breath and scanned the panoramic view. It felt like déjà vu, but it wasn’t. He had stood in that very spot, looking at the same scenery, ten years earlier. It wasn’t a dream, then, yet everything looked just as he remembered. The Eiffel-like Petrin Tower, the twin steeples of the Strahov Monastery, and the white bell tower of the Beautiful Loreta Church stood proud where they did the last time he saw them. The euphoria of the moment dispersed with a “Heil Hitler” holler. Andy raised a flimsy hand, dismissing the salute. The guard pulled back his stretched arm and carried on with his patrol. But there were others, many others in German uniform everywhere in sight. It reminded Andy that the Prague castle, home to many kings and heads of state through the ages, also served as Reinhard Heydrich’s own headquarters in the early years of the war. And the last thing he needed at that point was to run into the Butcher from Prague wearing his pet monster’s uniform. The petrifying thought pulled him out of his contemplative stance. He walked back to the stone stairway and down to the narrow street below.
As much as he hated to admit it, there was no place for him in Prague, or any other Nazi-controlled territory for that matter. Russia was probably his best option when he thought about it, or at least, the closest. The train station was on the other side of town from what he could recall, and he knew the decorated overcoat was his only ticket out. As long as his cover wasn’t blown, it was in his best interest to keep it on. He noticed the colorful well-preserved townhouses all around him. A three-fiddles emblem on one of the doors caught his attention. It looked familiar. That has to be…he caught a glimpse of the street’s sign that gave it away. “Nerudova Street,” he whispered. It should take me straight to Charles Bridge and the old town where the train station is.
Lanterns were being lit as he walked through the historic neighborhood. Up ahead he saw the turquoise tips of the bell tower and cupola of St. Nicholas Cathedral. When he got closer, he was tempted to walk inside, but the thick presence of German troops in and around the church drove him away and he headed straight to the two towers at the edge of the bank. By then, it was completely dark, and the lights of the old town on the other side of the river flickered like soft candles in the distance, bringing back sweet memories of his last weekend in Prague. It was probably his last romantic venture before choosing the path of a hermit. He had not seen the girl for nine years, but Prague remained forever in his heart. Now that he walked under the old stone arch that connected the two towers, and the marvels of the Charles Bridge stretched before his eyes, the long-lost feelings began to resurface.
Dimmed street lamps illuminated the broad path on the bridge, their reflections softly washed away by the great Vltava River underneath as the blue rooftops and towers from the old town square glimmered in full view on the eastern bank. Andy felt like he was back in the summer of 1991 and falling in love again. He slowed down his pace as he crossed the bridge, trying to feel and breathe the moment, but a voice inside kept reminding him that reminiscing was a luxury he could not afford. At the eastern end of the bridge, he turned back and took a last peek at the splendor of St. Nicholas Cathedral and the majestic Prague Castle that stood shining in the picturesque panorama.
As soon as he set foot on the eastern bank of the Vltava, he picked up his stride again. From what he remembered, the station was less than a mile across town. He figured it should take him only few minutes to get there, but the path he had followed led him straight to the old town square, another major attraction for ageless architecture and art enthusiasts. The streets seemed so familiar. He recognized the Jan Hus statue from his last visit. The station was right around the corner. The only obstacle was a building pressure in his bladder that compelled him to scan the scene for something that would pass as a public urinal. The first thing that caught his attention was a billboard sign with the words Die Zauberflöte on the wall of a spectacular white theatre. He walked over to the lit box office and cleared his throat. An irritated attendant turned to him and instantly switched on a phony smile at the sight of the uniform and ranks.
“Welcome to the Estates Theatre…officer,” there was a slight hint of an accent in his German. “I’m sorry, but the Opera has already begun. If you’d like, there are still seats available for tomorrow’s Haydn’s string quartets…”
“Can you just tell me where the restroom is?” Andy cut him short.
“Of course. It’s up the stairs to your right.”
“Danke,” Andy nodded and scurried up the stairway. The Estates Theatre…I’ll be dammed. He recalled walking by the place. They considered getting tickets for Don Giovanni but couldn’t fit it into their schedule. Andy found the bathroom on the second tier. He thought about the ironic turn of events leading to the moment while getting ready to pee, and just then, the place went completely dark. He thought someone walked in and shut off the lights. Even the free-fall sensation in the dark did not register as a “wake up call.”