Page 63 of The Pianist's Wife
‘Stand back!’ he ordered, as another guard came to open the gate.
She stood there, trying to be brave as she was pointed in the direction of a concrete building set to the side of the gates. There were trees in the distance and many similar buildings that looked to be barracks, but she turned her attention to the guard who was walking quickly and expecting her to keep up.
‘This is the Fichtenhain Special Camp,’ he said. ‘You are not to leave the building unless you are ordered. You are here as specialguests of the Führer, and as such you will have privileges that others in the camp do not receive.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Check her luggage!’ the guard yelled, as a much younger man in uniform ran forward, snatching her case from her.
Amira stood by, mortified as he rummaged through her clothes and underwear. Hans had told her only to bring clothes and toiletries, that anything else would likely be confiscated, and she’d followed his suggestion.
‘Do you have anything of value on your person?’
‘Only my wedding ring,’ she murmured, holding out her hand. ‘And my watch.’
It was a simple gold band, and one they didn’t seem interested in, and her watch was modest and not of high enough value to them, either.
When they had finished inspecting her things, and with dirt now staining the spare blouses she’d packed, Amira dropped to her haunches and quickly stuffed everything back in, closing the lid.
‘What’s she here for?’ the younger guard asked.
‘Stupid enough to want to join her husband,’ the other guard muttered. ‘You can take her from here.’
Amira shuffled forward and tried to ignore the knot in her stomach as the guard opened the door to the building. It was dim inside, and she squinted as he shoved her, his rifle pointing into her back.
And as soon as she was in, the door shut behind her with a bang.
I’m here. Now all I have to do is find Fred.
‘Fred?’ she called out, looking around for his familiar face. ‘Hello?’
Someone appeared from another room then, a man with wide eyes that looked too big for his skull.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Amira Schulz,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for my husband, Frederick Schulz.’
‘The pianist?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ she gasped. ‘The pianist. You know him?’
He nodded. ‘He’s not here, but he’ll be back soon.’
‘He’s not here? I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the building?’ Panic rose inside of her and she looked back at the solid door that had been shut behind her.
‘They’re making him play for them,’ the man said. ‘But he’ll be back soon enough. Come and sit with us.’
Amira’s fingers tightened around the handle of her suitcase. She had never been so uncomfortable, but there was nothing she could do other than go with the man.
‘There are others here, you’ll be perfectly fine,’ he said. ‘It’s not so bad as out there.’ He hooked a thumb at the metal-barred window.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind showing me to where Fred’s quarters are.’
A small smile touched the man’s lips. ‘I’m afraid we’re all piled in here together. There’s not many of us with privacy, but we’re the lucky ones. The story is that we’re the ones the SS want to keep alive, hostages rather than prisoners.’
She nodded politely and followed him, but she couldn’t help but place a hand to her stomach, the reality of her decision resting heavy inside of her.
What have I done?
