Page 59 of The Pianist's Wife
‘I do,’ Amira replied.There is no other way. If I don’t do something, then Fred will just be another name, another person in my lifeto die at the hands of the Nazis. Another person to disappear from my life.‘Hans, tell me you wouldn’t be prepared to do this for Gisele?’
Hans looked away, but Amira knew the answer. He loved his wife, and he’d stop at nothing to save her.
‘If I were to help you, and I’m not saying I am, but if I were...’ Hans groaned. ‘I would only do this if we had confirmation that Fred had been moved. I’m not letting you go there to enter the main camp, because I would be sending you to a near-certain death. I want to make it perfectly clear that I would not even consider it under those circumstances, because if I sent you there, we’d never see you again.’
Amira nodded, knowing that her unborn baby would die otherwise, although Hans would never agree to place her there if he knew she was pregnant. ‘That seems entirely reasonable.’
Hans looked relieved. ‘If I were to do this, I’d have to put in a special call to someone close to SS Oberführer Hermann Pister,’ he said. ‘He’s the camp commandant, and the only way to enter that camp voluntarily would be with his permission. He would have to make all the arrangements, but there’s no guarantee he will even consider your request.’
Amira’s body trembled at the thought of what she was proposing to do.I’ve spent all this time hiding, praying that I wouldn’t end up in one of those places,butFred saved me when I didn’t think I could keep going. He doesn’t deserve to die in that camp if there is anything I can do to help him.
She looked down at her little dog, who was staring back up at her with a worried expression. ‘Can I leave Otto with you?’
Hans closed his eyes for a moment, but she saw his nod. ‘Of course, but I only wish there was somewhere I could send you, to keep you safe from all this.’
Nowhere is safe, not for someone like me, not anymore. It’s taken me all this time, but I can see it now.It was why she wanted tohelp protect Fred, to show him that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t deserve such hatred and cruelty for being himself, to repay him for the way he’d nursed her through her grief.
‘Thank you.’
Hans stood, staring down at her for a long moment before buttoning his coat and walking to the door.
‘We’re going to get Fred back,’ she whispered to Otto, pressing a kiss into his fur as she hurried down the hall to the front door. ‘I’m not giving up without a fight, I promise.’
She’d been powerless to save her mother, and her father, and then Maxi, but so long as Fred was still alive, she could still try to save him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fred
The train ride to Buchenwald was different from the one to Auschwitz-Birkenau. With fewer of them in the wagons than last time, they shuddered and swayed even more violently, which increased how nauseous they all felt inside, but with barely anything in their stomachs for so many days, there was little to throw up. There were stops along the way, and by the following day, the cart was soon crammed with more people.
He tried to keep to himself, closing his eyes and imagining that he was back at home, playing his piano as Amira placed a steaming mug of coffee on the table beside him. He wasn’t certain when it had happened, but his mind and memories were full of her now; of her kind smile, the warm way she embraced him, the smell of her perfume wafting down the hallway. He’d lived without any family for so long, and yet in the time they’d been married, she’d managed to make him feel as if he had a home to return to at the end of each day. She was the companion he’d never known he needed.
When the train eventually began to slow, Fred pushed thoughts of Amira from his mind and straightened his shoulders. His stomach was empty, the pain of not eating like knives being stabbed into his insides, and his throat was so dry that he could barely swallow.If someone had talked to him, he wasn’t certain he’d even be able to utter a sound in reply. But when the side door was hauled open with an ear-piercing squeak, light filtering in as it had last time, he forced himself to stretch his weak legs and encourage them to move. He was under no illusion what would happen if anyone deemed him too weak to move of his own accord.
This time, he kept his eyes almost shut as the light streamed in around them, opening them slowly as the crowd began to move. The boots that hadn’t felt too uncomfortable while he was standing still began to bite at his skin as soon as he started to walk, but he told himself that it was better than having nothing in the cold.
When he was outside, everyone began to form a line in front of the gates, and Fred tipped his head back to read the inscription as they marched, but it was only legible now that he was on the other side. Jedem das Seine.To each his own.He shuddered as he ran the words through his mind. He knew what it meant to the Nazis –to each what he deserves– and he couldn’t help but wonder what horrors they were all to find within those gates.
They were split into groups, and Fred soon found himself shoulder to shoulder with the man he’d given the socks to. He glanced down and saw that those socks were now sodden, and he quickly looked back up. He’d done what he could to help him, and there was nothing more he could do – giving up his boots could mean death when the weather turned ever colder.
‘You,’ a guard said, coming to stand by them. There were a handful of other men too. ‘You are the skilled labourers?’
They all nodded, which received a cold smile from the guard. He took out a whip and cracked it hard against the man closest to him.
‘I will ask you again,’ he said, walking up and down in front of them as they all began to tremble from the cold wind cutting against their skin. ‘Are you the skilled labourers?’
‘Yes sir!’ they all replied. Individually they might have failed the task, but united they seemed loud enough to keep the sadistic guard happy.
Fred looked around as they stood, their guard distracted by a list that had been passed to him, and he took in the barbed wire fence and the tall watchtowers dotted around the perimeter. It was similar to the last camp in many ways, and he didn’t know what the change meant, but he did know that he wasn’t about to go into a room like the one he’d been ushered into last time.I’d rather be shot in the back of the head for refusing, than killed with all the others gathered here.
‘Move!’ the guard suddenly yelled, and they were forced to shuffle forward, all of them men.
Many of the others were grouped together and told to stay standing, and Fred hoped and prayed they weren’t going to be taken straight to their deaths. But soon he was following orders just like before, huddled behind the others in the group, as they were ushered into a large room and told to remove their clothes. He did as he was told, undressing, as did all the others, tying their shoes together by the laces and folding their clothes. He didn’t bother telling the men who still had their own clothes that they might never see them again. They would either be dead or wearing the striped pyjamas. Just like at Auschwitz, he’d seen the men behind the wire walking slowly in their stripes, their gait forced, as if they could barely lift one foot in front of the other. The camps were so much worse than he had imagined.
‘Come with me!’ another guard ordered, and Fred heard the bark of a dog and hurried along.
Somehow he ended up near the front of the line, with only a handful of men ahead of him. The first was told to walk up and get in a tub to wash himself. Fred was revolted by the idea they would all have to bathe in the same water, especially after the journeythey’d had, and that it was in front of the fully clothed guards. He watched anxiously as they picked up planks of wood that had been leaning against the wall, threatening the man when he did not do as they ordered.
