Page 44 of The Pianist's Wife
The man looked up and appeared to study her for a moment, before going back to what he was doing.
‘Sir, my name is Mrs Schulz, and myself and my husband are German citizens. I would like information on what is happening and why.’
The man cleared his throat. ‘He’s in this group?’
‘Yes, yes he is.’ Amira avoided looking at all the other pleading faces. She hadn’t even seen Fred yet, and she almost didn’t want to look.
‘He’s being deported.’
‘What do you mean, he’s being deported?’ Amira asked, staring back at the SS man in disbelief. ‘Check your records again. Idemand to know what’s happening to my husband. I don’t believe our Führer would want to have German newly-weds parted in such a way, over what is nothing more than a misunderstanding, and I’ll have you know that my husband is an acclaimed pianist, a favourite of Goebbels no less!’
The man gave her a long, quizzical stare, as if he wasn’t certain what to do with her.
‘Your husband is Frederick Schulz?’ he asked, looking down at his clipboard before raising his gaze again.
‘Yes, Frederick Schulz!’ She found herself holding her breath, waiting to be told it was all a mistake, that her husband wasn’t supposed to be on the list.
Instead, the man ran his finger down the page, not even bothering to look up at her when he replied.
‘Frederick Schulz is being deported to Auschwitz.’
Amira’s legs buckled beneath her. ‘The concentration camp?’ she gasped, as she turned her head and suddenly saw Fred standing there, huddled with the others, most of them not even wearing a jacket, hauled from their homes without warning. She noticed as she stared at him that he was only wearing one shoe, and as he walked away, it was all she could think about.
Her darling Fred, who always looked so immaculate, who would never leave the house without being dressed properly, had only a sock on his left foot, and it gave him an irregular gait that almost made her think it wasn’t him at all. That it was all part of some awful dream.
‘Please, he’s just there. I can call out to him and we can explain—’
‘Would you like to go with him?’
Amira turned, wiping at her tear-streaked face as another SS man in uniform stared at her through beady eyes.
‘No, sir,’ she said, taking a few steps backwards. ‘I was just trying to explain that he’s a married man. He’s done nothing wrong.’
‘You believe a mistake has been made?’
She took a moment to steady herself, standing straighter and raising her gaze. ‘My new husband is being deported. I cannot understand why, so yes, I thought a mistake had been made.’
His smile made her stomach turn. ‘We’ve already rid the place of Jews, now we’re making sure to get rid of all the deviants and gypsies too.’
Amira didn’t know what to say. ‘But . . .’
‘The Reich doesn’t make mistakes,’ he said, his hand moving to rest on his pistol.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, her voice fading, no longer knowing what to say.
‘Heil Hitler!’
She tilted her chin higher, even as her lower lip trembled. ‘Heil Hitler,’ Amira repeated.
But as she turned to walk away, it took all her willpower not to bend over and retch up what little lunch she’d consumed all over his shiny black boots.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amira held Otto in her arms as night turned into day. They’d spent a miserable four hours in the bomb shelter during the evening, crammed into the basement with other residents of the apartment block, and even when she’d returned to her apartment in the early hours, she still hadn’t been able to find sleep. She’d been planning on rushing to Gisele’s as soon as she got home from begging for Fred’s release, but then the sirens had gone off and she’d been forced to stay put until morning.
She’d tossed and turned, the sheets a web of cotton around her, trying to imagine where Fred might be. Would he be crammed into a train wagon, rattling along – or perhaps stationary, while the SS looked for more men and women to deport, to fill the wagons before making the journey to Poland?
Amira eventually rose and let the little dog go, putting together a small bowl of food for him and pouring herself a glass of water. She couldn’t stomach any food herself, so she went to wash while Otto finished his breakfast.
