Lost and Found in Prague by Kelly Jones Page B

shaving due to the deep crevices in his lined face. His eyebrows, thick wisps of white hair sticking up here and there, had taken on a life of their own.
    “Ne, Ne,”
he said, annoyance lacing over his voice. His brows pinched together, wisps of hair from one mingling with the other.
    He rattled off a series of words as he unlatched the gate.
    She didn’t understand, though the word for
no
had pretty much the same tone and inflection in any language. When he jabbed his finger at the sign posted on the door, she raised her shoulders, arms extended, palms flat, in the international gesture of
I don’t understand.
    His eyes flashed, then softened. “English?” he asked.
    She nodded, realizing he was asking about her language, not nationality.
    “American English,” he said knowingly.
    “Yes,” she replied with what she hoped was a friendly tone.
    Again he jabbed at the sign.
“Ne, ne.”
He ran his finger under the dates—written in the European style: day first, month second.
“Ne, ne,”
he said again, hands flying, head jerking as if looking for help. “Maria,” he called out to a trio of girls passing on the opposite side of the square.
    The tallest skipped over, unlatched the gate, and greeted the old man. They carried on an animated conversation and then she turned to Dana.
    “You wish me read the . . .” She hesitated, searching for the words, and then, like the old man, she pointed to the sign on the door.
    “Prosím,”
Dana replied.
Please
. “The sign,” she said, offering the word in English. “Yes, please read the sign.”
    The child smiled. “Yes, I read the sign.” She was a beautiful girl—blond curls and bright blue eyes—made even sweeter by her friendly smile. Dana guessed her to be about ten.
    “The womans,” the girl said slowly, pausing to point at the convent door. “The good womans . . .” She pressed her hands together as if to indicate the nuns. “They is no here for you today. They is prayer for the good old woman. The very old woman.” She smiled an apologetic smile. “My English no good. I learn in school, but some words . . .”
    “You’re doing fine,” Dana said.
    “The good old, yes, very, very old, she . . . she . . .” The girl turned back to her friends across the square. Three more children had stopped alongside the two who had accompanied her. The girl—Maria, according to the old man—threw a quick succession of Czech words toward the youngsters, who exchanged glances before all eyes landed on the smallest boy.
    “Jan,” Maria called to him. He appeared to be about seven or eight, with the same blond curls. Perhaps they were brother and sister.
    He called back, “She dead.”
    The girl grinned now, pleased that he’d supplied the correct word, unaffected, it seemed, by this grim news. “Yes, she dead,” Maria announced proudly.
    “The old nun?” Dana asked.
    “Yes,
nun
.” The girl nodded, her smile still intact.
    The dates, Dana realized now—covering a full week from last Friday to this coming Saturday—indicated a period of mourning in which the nuns would not be available. She wondered why Caroline hadn’t left a message for her at the hotel.
    The girl said, “Very, very old nun.” Her smile faded slowly as if she realized it might be misinterpreted. “Very sad she dead.” The corners of her mouth turned down in an exaggerated, artificial way. “Very old. She go to . . .” She pointed up.
    “Thank you for your help,” Dana said.
“Dekuji.”
    “Yes, I very happy help you. The good womans, the nuns, they be here for you after this day.” Again she pointed to the sign.
    Sunday, the day before her scheduled departure, Dana thought.
    After thanking the children and the old man for their help, Dana returned to the hotel and called the convent, leaving a message for Caroline, expressing her condolences for the nuns’ loss and suggesting they get together Sunday for lunch. Again, she left the hotel, found a street