About us without us. That’s all Munich was. About us without us. He slapped the table again. Bastards.

Where is the spyglass?

Goddamn them all.

I’m sure it’s in his desk where it always is.

They’ve consigned us to a German hell. He looked at Trn. To make life gentler for them. And you know it too. He looked at Alena. You know it. A far away people of whom we know nothing. At least the bastard knows he’s ignorant. And look how that turned out.

And before the radio? Trn said.

The Asterovi had been in the country. They came back.

Did he finish all of it? Trn said.

What do you think? He stinks of slivovitz.

I mean was it just the one bottle.

The sons of bitches. The whole thing is so utterly stupid. Austria was one thing. A different thing entirely. If that was rape then the Austrians liked being raped. But we cried for justice and not a soul bothered to look us in the face.

Father. She shook his shoulder, and the old man smacked his lips. Father. If you don’t shut up they’ll call the police. They’ll bring the Gestapo.

Who will call? Let them. The Steinhardts? I pay their goddamn rent but they’re not my overlord and master, those traitorous bastards. Imagine Czechs flying that blood flag. On Hitler’s birthday. And ring every church bell for ten days after France pisses her pants and falls over. He put his wet eyes on Trn again. We were the eighth largest economy in the world. Not Europe. In the world.

I know, Trn whispered. The crown was a respected currency the whole continent over.

That’s it. You could spend the crown in Paris. His loose lips simpered. In the Rotonde in Paris you could buy a cup of coffee with the crown.

All we needed was fifty years of peaceful evolution.

That’s what Masaryk said. And we didn’t have it. Goddamnit we didn’t have half that. His hand was rising to slap the table again when Trn reached toward him like a handshake. Miroslav’s eyes leaked at all four corners and Trn offered the handkerchief from his trouser pocket. The old man took it, brushed it over his face and tossed it on the table.

Masaryk was so wise, Trn said. Did it come to him with age?

Oh no. He shook his bald head. Masaryk was always wise. He was born wise. He wasn’t just a president. He was a prince. A philosopher-prince like Plato dreamed of. Better than Plato dreamed. We don’t have those anymore. All we have are goosestepping charlatans and toffee-nosed appeasers.

Trn began to draw the old man toward the door of his room and said over his shoulder, Alena, would you please bring us a glass of water?

They sat later in the sitting room, snores rolling against the door. On the table Trn laid out the cards for solitaire, and Aleks beside him helped spot the combinations.

I guess he’ll grumble and storm like that all night, Alena said in her chair.

Without looking from the cards Trn said, Did Mrs. Asterova say how things were in the countryside when she brought the slivovitz?

How would I know? Alena said. I was out.

***