Page 27 of The Pianist's Wife
The next morning, Amira woke to a sound that she’d only ever heard before at one of the recitals she’d snuck into when Gisele had been in music school. She lingered in bed, listening to what felt like a private performance of an extremely melancholic piece, and wondered if Fred played the piano every morning. By the time she rose she was in absolute awe of his talent, and wished she’d had the chance to see him perform. From what Gisele had told her, he’dbeen a favourite of many high-ranking Nazi officials for some time, at their beck and call to play for them whenever they clicked their fingers, and she could see why.
When he saw her, he stopped, his eyes meeting hers. They were bloodshot, and he lifted a cigarette that had been burning in a small glass dish on top of the piano. She liked turning in early, but she had a feeling that he’d been up until the early hours, and possibly hadn’t gone to bed at all.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘Yes, you most definitely woke me, but I’m not complaining. It was a very pleasant way to bring in a new day,’ she said brightly.
‘I usually practise early, but these days I wonder why I bother. I’m only allowed to play German composers like Beethoven, Bach and Wagner if I’m to keep the mighty Führer happy, and I know them all so well now that I could play them in my sleep. I yearn to play something different,anythingother than what you just heard me rehearsing.’
‘You look tired. Did you not sleep well?’ She’d thought she heard the front door to the apartment click in the early hours, although she was certain she’d imagined it at the time.
‘I had a late night,’ he said, taking a final puff of his cigarette before putting it out. ‘I hope I didn’t disturb you when I got in.’
‘You went out? At night?’ she asked, horrified. ‘Where would you go at such an hour?’
‘To walk, sometimes to a bar where...’ His voice trailed off. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Amira’s cheeks grew hot. ‘It most certainly does matter! We said our vows yesterday and you promised we were in this together,’ she said. ‘And yet you risked everything only hours later. Please tell me it wasn’t the bar raided by the Gestapo, where your Christoph was found?’
Fred’s stare was cold. ‘Wouldn’t you do anything to find out where your Maxi was? Wouldn’t you take risks to ask questions, if you might find out anything about his whereabouts?’
He had her there, because of course she would. ‘I need to know that you won’t do anything foolish,’ she said instead. ‘I need to know that I can trust you, and that you won’t disappear in the night on me, otherwise I was better off taking my chances on my own.’
He turned back to the piano and began to practise again, his face like thunder at being reprimanded. She’d looked after children at the orphanage who’d behaved better after a telling-off.
Amira tried not to show how upset she was, clearing her throat as he began to play ever louder, as if to dismiss her. But she was left wondering if she would ever be able to trust him, whether she’d been a fool to think their marriage could actually keep her safe.
‘Is there anything in the kitchen for breakfast, or do I need to go out and get something for us?’ she asked, loud enough to be heard over his piano.
‘There is yesterday’s bread and some marmalade,’ he said, pausing. ‘I have a small jar of real coffee still as well, and I find that if I add just a little to that awful chicory blend, it makes it more palatable.’
‘And what about little Otto?’ Amira asked, smiling at the small dog who’d just appeared at her side and managed to make her feel slightly brighter. She bent to scratch him beneath the chin as Fred began to play again. ‘I may just give the bread and marmalade to you instead of him,’ she said to the dog.
She walked away from Fred and called the dog to her, putting on water to boil and looking around the kitchen. Amira had taken over the household chores, including cooking, after her mother had passed, so she was very much at home in the kitchen, and she looked for everything she would need. It was strange though, imagining this to be hers now, especially when in her mind theapartment she’d shared with her father since they’d left her childhood house still felt like home. But she supposed Fred was bearable, if not a little prickly, and Otto was downright delightful, so she just needed to get on with things and stop feeling sorry for herself.
Just as she was stirring the coffee, following Fred’s instructions and adding a little real coffee to each cup, he came in, running a hand through his dishevelled hair and looking awkward.
‘Perhaps I could play a song for you to make up for my thoughtlessness.’
‘Thank you. That would be nice,’ Amira replied, feeling awkward as she pushed one of the cups towards him. But her heart did soften at the idea of him playing something for her.
They sat in silence for a moment, both sipping their coffee, before Fred spoke again.
‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I suppose, well, I suppose that I felt guilty about the wedding. As if I’d somehow given up on Christoph.’
Fred hadn’t need to finish his sentence for her to understand, and she felt herself soften all over again for him. ‘I understand. I don’t think I’ve slept properly since Maxi left, and certainly not after he was declared missing. It became impossible to sleep without fretting about his whereabouts, and yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life.’
‘I keep wondering where Christoph is,’ Fred said. ‘Whether he made it to a camp, whether he’s still alive or not, if he has what he needs. I just want answers.’
They both sat silently, heads bent and sipping more coffee.
‘Do you think you’ll ever see him again?’ Amira finally asked.
‘No,’ Fred said, when he finally looked up, his voice rough. ‘I don’t see how he’ll ever come home, because no one ever comes back from those places, do they? The stories I’ve heard, the rumours about what they do there...’
Amira left her coffee to fix their breakfast, feeling the need to do something, to keep her hands busy. She knew what he was speaking of, because she’d heard, too. All those people crammed into cattle cars and sent away; Fred was right, no one ever came home. She wished she hadn’t asked him.
‘Come on, let’s eat,’ she said, putting two thick slices of bread covered in marmalade on to a plate and passing it to him. She did the same for herself, but with much thinner slices, and they took their plates to the table and sat in the morning sun.
