Page 7 of The Pianist's Wife
Her father’s arm went around her and she held on to him, crying with him as his shoulders sagged and his body shuddered. He loved her mama, she knew that, but if he told her that they had to keep a secret, then keep a secret she would.
But she’d also made a promise to Gisele, and she couldn’t just leave without telling her.
‘Papa, my friend, Gisele,’ she said, wiping at her eyes. ‘I—’
‘She’s not your true friend, Amira,’ he said, cutting her off, as if she’d said something truly alarming. ‘No one who knows who you are is your friend anymore. You have to forget about everyone you knew before, because they cannot be trusted. Do I make myself clear? The only way we can be sure to keep you safe, for this all to work, is if we leave everything and everyone behind.’
‘But Papa, Gisele is different, she—’
‘She isn’t different, Amira,’ he snapped, his tone making her recoil. ‘They’re all the same. You need to understand that.’
But you’re not like that, Papa. Is it so hard to believe that Gisele is as kind-hearted as you are?
‘Amira, if you want to stay alive, you will do as I say. Do you understand? We are leaving this life behind, and you are to forget all about your friends. You will make new friends in Berlin.’ He sighed. ‘It will be a fresh start, for both of us.’
Amira swallowed and looked her father in the eye. ‘Yes, Papa. I understand.’
But for the very first time in her life, she had lied to her father. Because she had no intention of ever forgetting about Gisele. She was her best friend and she always would be, no matter what.
Chapter Four
Berlin, 1939
Three Years Later
Amira greeted her father at the door, taking his coat for him and pressing a kiss to his cold cheek.
‘You were home before dark?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Papa,’ she replied. ‘Dinner is ready and waiting, I’ve been home for an hour or more.’As always, she thought. She’d never once come home after curfew or not been waiting for her father when he returned from work, yet every day he asked her the same question when he arrived back at their modest apartment.
‘How was your work today?’
‘It was good,’ she replied. ‘Although I have read the same children’s stories so many times now, I think I could recite them with my eyes closed.’
‘And you’re warm enough there? You don’t need a new coat or—’
‘No, Papa. I don’t need anything.’ She smiled, knowing his worrying was his way of caring. Some days he enquired about how well she had slept or was concerned about whether she needed new shoes, and she’d learned that it was just his way these days. He waseither worrying about the state of the world or fretting that his daughter didn’t have what she needed.
‘Some of the other volunteers did mention going to the cinema though,’ she said, regretting the words the moment she’d said them.That is what I need, Papa, to do things with people my own age.
‘Amira,’ he began, his eyes creasing with concern.
‘I know, I have to be careful,’ she said, before he could lecture her on her safety, although sometimes she wondered why they had to be quite so careful, when he’d done such a great job of hiding her true identity. ‘I love my volunteer work, but sometimes I feel like I’m missing out.’On exploring the city, meeting friends, going to dances and finding out what it’s like to kiss a boy.
‘I know it’s hard for you here,’ he said, his eyes watery as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. ‘But if anything were to happen to you—’
‘It won’t,’ she assured him. ‘Because I have you, and you’ve made certain that I’m safe. Now, come and have dinner.’ She knew the conversation was over then, and it only made her miss her mother more. She would have understood. Even if she’d had to keep Amira hidden away at home, she’d have been able to talk to her mother about all the things she wished she were doing, all her dreams.
He nodded, but his face was still lined with concern, making her wish she hadn’t said anything. Even as he walked to the table, she couldn’t help but notice the roundness of his shoulders, the way he seemed so aged compared to the man he’d been only a few years earlier. It didn’t matter how many times he pored over her papers at night, trying to find the tiniest of mistakes that someone might detect, or lectured her about the dangers of ever revealing her true self, he still worried.
She stood by their coat rack for a moment and closed her eyes, her back to the hard timber of their front door. Every night shehoped her father might come home and flash her a smile and show her that the man who’d once danced in their living room with her mother was still in there, and yet not once since they’d moved to Berlin had it happened.
In his determination to protect her, he’d done precisely what he’d set out to do and made himself indispensable to the party since they’d arrived, working for the Reich Press Chamber to scour documents each and every day for inconsistencies. He was skilled at detecting forgeries and unoriginal papers, and he’d spent more than a year making his way through the identity papers of editors and journalists all over Germany to ensure they were racially pure. He was looking for Jews and those married to Jews, and his work had taken a heavy toll on his mind, and heart – because he knew that he was sealing the fate of those he found. And it wasn’t that she didn’t understand the toll it took, she just longed to be a teenage girl arguing about regular things with her father, rather than feeling like such a burden to him.
Amira heard her father shuffling about in the kitchen and took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders and fixing a smile. ‘I went to the butcher and managed to get a nice cut of meat for tonight,’ she called out brightly. ‘So we have a casserole and fresh bread for our meal.’
She found him sitting at the kitchen table with a drink in hand, and she quickly took out bowls and ladled the casserole into them, giving him a generous portion.
