HHhH: A Novel

Ata Moravec and his father; Kubiš’s fiancée, Anna Malinova; Gabčík’s fiancée, Libena Fafek (nineteen years old, probably pregnant), along with all her family; the Novaks, the Svatošes, the Zelenkas, Piskaceks, Khodls … I’m forgetting so many. The Orthodox priest of the church and all his colleagues; the people of Pardubice; all those who helped the parachutists in any way at all are arrested, deported, shot, or gassed. Professor Zelenka, however, has time to bite his cyanide pill when he’s arrested. It’s said that Mrs. Novak, the mother of the little girl with the bicycle, went mad before being sent to the gas chamber with her children. Very few slipped through the net, like the Moravecs’ concierge. Even Moula the dog, entrusted to the concierge by Valčík, died of grief at having lost his master—or so the story goes. Well, the animal did accompany Valčík on his scouting missions. But we must also add to this list everyone who had nothing to do with the assassination—hostages, Jews, political prisoners executed as part of the reprisals; whole villages; Anna Maruscakova and her lover, whose innocent letter led to the massacre at Lidice. There were also the parachutists’ families, whose only crime was to be related to them: handfuls of Kubišes and Valčíks were sent to Mauthausen and gassed. Only Gabčík’s family—his father and his sisters—would escape the massacre, thanks to their Slovak nationality. Because Slovakia was a satellite state rather than an occupied state, it kept up a semblance of independence by deciding not to execute its own countrymen, not even to please its threatening ally. In sum, thousands perished as a consequence of the assassination. But it’s said that all those who were tried for having helped the parachutists bravely declared to their Nazi judges that they regretted nothing and that they were proud to die for their country. The Moravecs did not betray their concierge. The Fafeks did not betray the Ogoun family, who also survived. I wish to pay my respects to these men and women: that’s what I’m trying to say, however clumsily. That’s what I didn’t want to forget to say, despite the inherent clumsiness of tributes and condolences.

Today, Gabčík, Kubiš, and Valčík are heroes in their country, and their memory is regularly celebrated. Each has a street named after him, close to the scene of the assassination, and in Slovakia there is a small village called Gabčíkovo. They even continue to rise posthumously through the ranks; I think they’re captains at the moment. The men and women and children who helped them, directly or indirectly, are not so well-known. Worn-out by my muddled efforts to salute these people, I tremble with guilt at the thought of all those hundreds, those thousands, whom I have allowed to die in anonymity. But I want to believe that people exist even if we don’t speak of them.

252

The most appropriate tribute paid by the Nazis to Heydrich’s memory was not Hitler’s speech at his zealous servant’s funeral, but probably this: in July 1942 the program to exterminate all Poland’s Jews began, with the opening of Belzec, Sobibor, and Treblinka. Between July 1942 and October 1943, more than two million Jews and almost fifty thousand Romany will die as part of this program. Its code name is Aktion Reinhard.

253

What is he thinking of, this Czech worker behind the wheel of a van one morning in October 1943? He drives through Prague’s winding streets, a cigarette in his mouth, and his head, I imagine, full of worries. Behind him, he can hear wooden crates or boxes sliding around and banging against the walls in rhythm with the curves through which he passes. Whether because he’s late or just because he’s impatient to get his chore over with so he can go and have a drink with his friends, he is driving fast over the snow-damaged tarmac. He doesn’t see the little blond figure running along the sidewalk. When this figure rushes into the road with that suddenness typical of children, he brakes—but it’s too late. The van hits the child, who rolls into the gutter. The driver does not know that he has killed little Klaus, eldest son of Reinhard and Lina Heydrich. Nor does he know that this moment of inattention will see him sent to a concentration camp.

254

Paul Thümmel (alias René, alias Karl, alias A54) has survived in Terezín until April ’45. But now that the Allies are at the gates of Prague, the Nazis are evacuating the country and they don’t want to leave any embarrassing witnesses behind. When they come to fetch him so he can be shot, Paul Thümmel asks his cell mate to send his regards to Colonel Moravec, if he ever gets the chance. He adds this message: “It was a real pleasure to work with the Czechoslovak information services. I am sorry it has to end like this, but I am comforted to think that all we accomplished was not in vain.” The message will get through.

255

“How could you have betrayed your comrades?”