Part IV of IV
Katya finally arrived home at the flat she shared with Magda, her sister.
“Is that you, Katya?” Magda asked.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Was Homolka of any help?”
“No, he said we shouldn’t ‘rock the boat.’”
Katya added: “I’m afraid soon there will be nowhere to turn and no ‘boat’ left to ‘rock!’”
Unfortunately, events soon proved Katya prescient. Several more months passed and the Gestapo began to increase its anti-Jewish activity. Random arrests of Jews became a more frequent occurrence in Prague. The SS promulgated regulations prohibiting Czech citizens from assisting their Jewish neighbors in any manner, penalizing violators with imprisonment or worse.
Homolka watched all these further events without being moved to act. “What could one man do to make a difference,” he asked himself. “Gestures. Empty gestures. Staying alive ’til things get better is the way to go,” he concluded. But then the day came that perhaps Homolka had rued or feared most of all. On a late winter morning mid-week, sirens blared in Wenceslas Square as a joint Gestapo/SS action was taking place several blocks away to the south of his store. Jews of all ages and genders were being rounded up from their homes and apartments, driven through the Square like so much cattle, and herded to the main train station where they were being placed in cars for transport out of Prague to the east. Homolka normally didn’t go outside during these actions, preferring to stay in the kitchen and supervise the baking.
On this particular morning, however, he exited the store and stood watching the sad trail of people who walked past toward the railway station. To his surprise, standing near a jeep parked on the square was none other than Von Kleist, clad in the uniform of the SS, surveying the marchers in silence. After a minute or so, Homolka noticed Katya and her sister walking haltingly along the square, dressed much more shabbily than he had ever seen them dressed, gray hair where blond and brunette had previously been. Homolka wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. A guard brutally shoved Katya with his rifle butt, shouting at her to move more quickly. She stumbled to the cobblestones and only with great difficulty got back on her feet and continued past the bakery without even a backward glance in Homolka’s direction. Tears now filled Homolka’s eyes and anger, his heart, as the two now frail sisters shuffled to their fate without anyone raising a hand in their defense. Homolka suddenly felt sick as he at last realized the depth of his cowardice in the face of the inhumanity he was permitting to take place in his beloved city. He re-entered the bakery, and with a new resolve, placed the “Closed” sign in the window.
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Spring 1940 brought an early thaw to Prague as the ice melted on the Vltava River by the end of March. For weeks Prague had been filled with news of a big celebration for the Fuehrer Adolf Hitler’s 51st birthday. The Nazi governors had requested the finest chefs in Prague to create their specialties to be presented at a spectacular dinner to be held at the Grand Hotel in mid-April. Top German officials were to attend and the hope was that it would be a most memorable event. Of course on such an occasion desserts must be served and they must be varied and of the finest quality. In Prague this meant only one thing: At the top of the dessert menu must sit an Homolka cheesecake. The officials in charge of the festivities called on Homolka personally to sample several of his more impressive offerings. They chose his cream cheesecake and his chocolate cheesecake as their favorites. As his piece de resistance, Homolka, however, suggested that his Royal Cherry cheesecake be presented to the table where the highest Nazi dignitaries were to be seated.
“Most appropriate,” the German dinner committee agreed.
“Perfect,” concurred Homolka. “I’ll see you in three weeks.”
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April 20th soon arrived. The birthday celebration went forward without a hitch. Dignitaries and high-ranking officials filled the large, ornate room. Homolka, himself an invitee, noticed several of his best clients among the prominent guests. There at the dais sat Heinrich Von Kleist with his clear blue eyes. Not far away from Von Kleist sat Dr. Fessel and his large wife. The doctor was beaming. As the evening wore down, four delicious courses, fine Bohemian wines and of course the best schnapps were consumed by close to 400 happy guests. Following the briefest of speeches by a high-ranking SS official, it was finally time for dessert. Homolka, who had attended the dinner until the soup course, was in the kitchen supervising the dessert service. At the appointed moment, the wait staff emerged onto the ballroom floor wheeling cheesecake in every direction. Of special importance was the Royal Cherry cheesecake, which Homolka had personally prepared and baked. It was large enough to feed 20 and arrived at the head table where it was actually greeted with applause. By now, however, Homolka was nowhere to be found. He was on his way back to Wenceslas Square where he locked himself into his office, sat down at his desk, opened the locked drawer and withdrew the WWI revolver his father had left him as an heirloom.
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The headline the next morning in the Prague Post shouted at the reader: “TEN DIE AT STATE DINNER: POLICE SUSPECT POISONING AS DOZENS TAKEN ILL: SEVEN CRITICAL”
As a result of losing several top SS and Gestapo officers, the German Occupation government has threatened severe reprisals unless the perpetrators are brought to justice.
The exact substance used has not yet been determined, but early speculation points to either arsenic or strychnine as the poison utilized, and cheesecake as the method of delivery.
By Joseph Rotenberg
