Page 42 of The Last Bookshop in Prague

42

Jana continued to go to the Masna coffee shop the first Monday of each month. Nela was always waiting for her, alone. Egon was involved in something big, she told Jana, but did not expand further. For several months, Jana was not required to act as a courier, but then one freezing December Monday, Nela’s pale, pretty face was graver than usual.

‘We need your help. The place we use for storage has been raided. We got a tip off and managed to move the goods to somewhere temporary, but we’re looking for an alternative location.’

Jana’s mouth went dry in anticipation of what was coming next. She took a sip of the coffee and glanced around her. There were no customers, just the owner behind the counter washing glasses. Outside was pitch black; dawn was at least two hours away.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘You have a bookshop that is closed. A perfect hiding place.’

Jana’s chest tightened. ‘You want me to hide radio parts?’

Nela paused, chewing her cheek, then leaned across the small table. ‘Ammunition. ’

Jana jolted and she stared at Nela, speechless.

‘Not weapons,’ Nela continued ‘Only bullets that are small and easy to hide. We need them here in the centre of Prague, ready for when the day comes…’ She tailed off, waiting for Jana to speak.

‘I don’t know, Nela. It endangers so many people I have connections with: my father, the women who come to my book club…’ Jana leaned her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands.

‘Then cancel your book club. Tell your father nothing. Now is the time to show your courage for our country.’

As Jana looked up at Nela’s flaming eyes and fierce expression, something inside her shifted. A surge of patriotism and defiance gripped her. ‘All right. Tell me how it will work.’

Jana’s first action was to cancel the book club until further notice, citing her longer work hours and feeling exhausted as a reason. Next, she rummaged around the bookshop searching for the ideal hiding place for ammunition. She had several cartons full of books: perhaps too obvious. Maybe under a floorboard. She tapped her foot along the firmly nailed boards, but found no suitable spot. Behind a bookcase? There were only stone walls. Under the kitchen sink where Michal had hidden, perhaps. Again, too obvious. Sinking into her armchair, her mind weary, she curled her legs beneath her. The seat was beginning to sag and needed new springs. She jumped up and removed the upholstered cushion before tipping the chair on its side and examining underneath. The base of the chair was stitched closed with coarse fabric.

Returning from the kitchen with a toolkit, she used a pen knife to cut open the stitches and peeled back the fabric to reveal a row of coiled springs fixed to a wooden frame. She pulled at the frame; it would be a struggle to get it out, but she was determined that her idea was a good one. The base of the heavy chair was deep and could certainly hide a stack of bullets. Using a pair of pliers, she released the nails of the frame holding the springs and slid the whole thing out. Then peering into the cavity, she smiled, satisfied with herself.

Nela had told her to expect the delivery on the following Friday evening at eight o’clock. It was arranged the courier would come through the back entrance. Jana opened the back door of the bookshop and walked across the yard. The wooden door fitted into the fence was closed with a small, single bolt which she slid open. She peered into the narrow alleyway that ran behind but could barely see anything in the frozen night.

She rubbed her hands together, nervous and cold. Light footsteps on frosted cobbles, and a slight figure appeared before her. Nela, a bulky bag under her arm. She had brought the delivery herself.

The girls hurried inside and Jana tipped over the chair and pointed to the space beneath. ‘Once we’ve packed everything inside, I’ll loosely stitch the base back in place.’

Nela nodded her approval and knelt down, shoving the bag into the base of the chair.

‘Perfect,’ said Nela, standing back up and holding out her hand. ‘I just need your spare key to the back door.’

This part of the plan made Jana uneasy. Nela was to have access to the bookshop so that the ammunition could be collected at short notice, for example if Jana was at the shoe factory and not contactable.

‘I’ll take care of the shop,’ Nela said, reading her mind. ‘I know how precious it is to you. The ammunition won’t be here long; we need to get it to our fighters.’

Jana took the key from her dress pocket and dropped it into Nela’s palm.

Nela walked out the back door and across the yard. As she walked through the door in the fence, she turned. ‘Keep this door unbolted.’

‘Yes. And Merry Christmas,’ Jana whispered.

But Nela was already gone.