Page 73 of The Pianist's Wife
She remembered back to when they were girls, when Amira’s father had moved them away and she’d thought she was never going to see her best friend again. Sometimes when she looked back, it felt like only yesterday – the truth was, she’d been worrying about Amira for almost her entire life. She only hoped that Hans had a letter for her when he returned home. Writing notes had been the only way they’d been able to stay in touch as girls, and it was the only way they could stay in touch now. And Gisele missed her; she missed her so much that some days it felt as if she simply couldn’t breathe.
‘Amira?’ she called, as she knocked on the door, worried someone might see her and report back to her mother. ‘Amira!’ Gisele called again.
There was no noise inside the Schäfers’ house, but when she tried the door handle it took her by surprise and turned. Gisele looked around to make sure that there were no neighbours watching, before slipping inside. She was about to call out again, when she realised that the house felt empty.
She walked through the living room and into Amira’s bedroom, and her heart sank when she saw the bare mattress stripped of all her bedding. When she opened her wardrobe, all she found were empty hangers.
Gisele fell to the carpet and began to cry. Amira had gone. She’d gone without telling her, without even saying goodbye.
But then she remembered their hiding place, the one they’d used when Gisele was no longer allowed to visit. There was a tree at the very back of Amira’s garden, with a little hollow that they’d once pretended was the entrance to an owl’s home. She raced through the house and shut the door behind her, and sure enough, when she reached the tree, out of breath and giddy with hope, she found the folded piece of paper that had been left for her.
Gisele took the letter out, her eyes racing over the words.G, I wasn’t allowed to tell you before we left, but I’ll write as soon as I can. Papa says we can’t tell anyone where we’re going, but I promise I’ll tell you once I know. I miss you already! A.
Gisele sat down against the tree and read the letter over and over, before holding it to her heart and closing her eyes, as the sunshine finally found its way through the clouds above. She’d heard the whispers, knew there was no way Amira could stay hidden among the families in their neighbourhood for much longer, but if they moved someone else, she would have a chance. Somewherewhere no one knew about her mother and her heritage, somewhere they could pretend that she was someone she wasn’t.
Wherever Amira was, Gisele would go to her, just as soon as she was old enough to move away to study. She didn’t care what her mother said, Amira was her best friend and she had no intention of living her life without her.
‘I just want for this to be over,’ Giselle said, going to her husband and putting her arms around him later that night. ‘I know you’re already doing so much, but I can’t sleep for thinking about her. Even when I’m with the children, I’m not truly with them anymore.’
He didn’t need to tell her that he felt the same, because she could feel it in the way he held her back. Sometimes she forgot just how far he’d strayed from the party he’d dedicated himself to these past few weeks, the principles he’d promised to uphold when he joined the SS. How much he’d done because she’d asked him to.
‘I think the tide is turning against us,’ he murmured. ‘There are rumours that the Americans are closer than Hitler is letting on, that there may no longer be a chance for Germany to win the war. Hitler doesn’t want the people to know, but word is starting to spread and I feel that there is restlessness among many of the men.’
‘What will that mean for us?’ she asked, still cradling him, hearing the fear in his voice.
‘I fear that men like me will be punished for what we’ve done, that we may all be punished for what we’ve let happen. I don’t know what Germany will look like if we lose this war, not after everything.’
They stayed like that in silence for a long time, her running her fingers through his hair, and him leaning into her. She knew whathe was trying to tell her: if they lost the war, people like Amira and Fred would be liberated, but suddenly it could be citizens like her and Hans who were persecuted for what had happened in their country. Their lives could change for the worst, theirchildren’slives could change for the worst, which made choosing which side to be on that much harder. One was morally right, but the other... it could jeopardise everything they held dear.
‘Just promise me that if there is a way to help Amira and Fred get out of there—’
‘I understand,’ he said, pressing a kiss to the bare skin at her wrist. ‘If there is a way, if there is ever an opportunity, I will do my best.’ He leaned out of bed and took something from his nightstand, surprising her with an envelope. ‘This is from Amira.’
Gisele eagerly reached for it and slid her nail beneath the seal, running her eyes over the words before gasping and dropping it on to her lap.
‘Gisele?’ Hans said.
‘Did you know?’ she asked, tears springing into her eyes as she turned to him.
‘Know what? Gisele, what are you talking about?’
‘She’s pregnant!’ Gisele cried. ‘Hans, Amira is pregnant.’
Gisele picked up the letter and read it again, her heart pounding.She’s pregnant with Maxi’s child. She swallowed, brushing away her tears and wishing she could confide the truth about Fred to her husband, but knowing that would be a betrayal of her friend. ‘Hans, you have to get her out of there. This changes everything.’
Hans’ skin had turned a ghostly white, and he was focused on the letter she’d discarded.
‘Hans? Say something.’
When he looked at her, his eyes were shining with tears. ‘The things they do there to pregnant women, the experiments...’
‘But she’ll be safe, won’t she? You said yourself that they’re with the special prisoners, that—’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She should be, but...’
Gisele looked over at him, knowing how conflicted he must feel as he tried to do the right thing. She’d asked so much of him, and she had never truly thanked him.
‘Hans,’ she began.
