MANY people had given me letters to friends who might be able to use me in some kind of a job related to my experience in Europe. Now I began to present the letters. The men who were friends of friends all smiled and made promises that warmed me, until I discovered that New York is bursting with promises that never were intended to mean a thing. The trouble, it seemed, was that I was not an American and I didn’t understand the rules of the game. A promise in New York is like a shake of the hand or a pat on the back. It indicates good will, but its contents are otherwise meaningless. A promise is used chiefly as a means of making the promiser feel better about himself.

One of the heads of one of America’s largest department stores received me with his feet on his desk. During our interview the feet remained where they were and I remained standing because I was not invited to sit down. “What do you want?” he said, and I replied “Nothing.” I went on to explain that I had come to him because a mutual friend had asked me to see him.

We discussed my qualifications and the owner of the feet became interested. He shifted me to another man through his secretary. The other man said of course they could use me; had just the place for a man like me; let me know in a couple of days. But after a couple of weeks I was still waiting to hear. I went back and a secretary told me that somebody had made a mistake, she guessed. The man I had seen originally assured me I’d find something else. Lots of opportunity here for a man like me.

At a meeting with the director of a large glassworks I was all but shown my desk. A couple of weeks later it turned out that a change of mind had occurred on the part of someone in the firm. The same thing happened when I was interviewed by another large glass manufacturer. My name was put up for country clubs and town clubs by their board; they assured me that was the way things were done in their line. Once again something happened. I was told there had been some changes made; they would have to let me know later.

After that I stopped presenting letters of introduction. I know what to expect now, but in those months after Munich I was raw and sore and I felt betrayed on every side.

The Woods were going to fix everything up, they said. Their cables came regularly with instructions and advice. Could I believe anyone any more? I walked the winter streets of New York, and all the time I tried to imagine myself back in Prague. They needed me there. No one in the whole United States knew or cared what it meant to be abandoned in a strange land. The words of our mournful national anthem clung to my mind.

Where is my home? Where is my home? Brooks are running through the meadows, Pines are whispering on the hills, Orchards dressed in spring’s array, An earthly paradise portray, And this land of wondrous beauty Is the Czech land, home of mine.

Without Milada I should probably have lost my reason, but whenever I paced the floor and began to rave, her voice remained cool and her words were filled with good sense. It was certainly no better for her than it was for me, except that I carried the added burden of knowing I had brought her into this strange, rich, happy, heedless country.

And then one morning it was all over. On the fifteenth of March we brought the paper in from the door and read that Hitler had marched into Prague during the night, in triumph down our own Václavské náměstí. The choice of going back or staying had been taken from us irrevocably. This time there was no need to cry.

Before our breakfast was finished another cable came from the Woods. Regret agreement canceled. That was all it said. And from their point of view, they were right. Everything we had left behind was gone for good. The total of our worldly goods was on our backs and within the walls of these two rooms.

Confusion was disappearing like humidity before a driving wind. Once more I was on my own, faced with the necessity of starting all over again. I understood now what I must do. Here was our future, whether we were welcome or not. From now on, this would be our home.