Page 8 of The Pianist's Wife
‘Thank you,’ he said, when she placed his in front of him.
She returned to get the bread, but when she placed it in the middle of the table and sat down, she saw that his head was bowed, almost as if it were too heavy for his neck to hold it up.
‘Papa?’ she said, reaching out to touch his hand.
‘What I’m doing, Amira, it’s taking a piece of my soul,’ he said, his hand trembling beneath hers. ‘Every day when I collate my list of names, of those who are to lose their jobs and be—’
‘Papa, it’s not your fault,’ she said, rising so she could stand behind him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and pressing her cheek to his. ‘If you weren’t doing it, someone else would be. You’re doing what you have to do.’
‘I’ve heard they’re sending them all away,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve seen them being rounded up into groups, being taken to the train station. But every time I think of hiding some of the doctored papers I find, every time I wonder if I could save the life of just one person by filing their papers with the others and not marking them, I wonder if it’s all a test. If someone will know what I’ve done, if they’ll discover that my work is not thorough.’
‘Where they’re going though, it can’t be so bad, can it?’ she asked. She’d heard some of the other volunteers at the orphanage say that the Jews were being relocated, and it hadn’t sounded terrible.
He sighed, heavily. ‘Amira, I believe it’s every bit as bad as we could imagine. I don’t...’
She waited for him to finish, before asking. ‘You don’t what?’
‘I don’t think those people, the ones who are being sent away, will ever come home to their families. They’re being lied to.’
Amira let go of him and stood taller. ‘Don’t say that. We have to believe that everything will get better.’
‘You sound just like her, you know,’ he said, taking his napkin and wiping at his eyes. Amira still held so many little things of her mother’s close to her heart, and she’d known as she’d spoken that they were her mother’s words; words she tried every day to believe in.
‘I know, Papa,’ she said. ‘I know how careful I have to be. You’ve taught me well.’
‘You must learn to be content with what you have, to keep your world small until this is all over.’
‘But would it be so bad for me to try to fit in more?’ she asked. ‘I always have to make up an excuse when the other volunteers make plans for the weekend, and one of the girls even mentioned a bookstore that—’
‘If you need books, tell me and I’ll buy them for you,’ he said, his eyes showing his fear. ‘Anything you need, Amira, you only have to ask.’
She nodded. He didn’t understand what she was trying to tell him. ‘I just want to do something other than cook, clean and volunteer,’ she finally said. ‘I just want to be a normal seventeen-year-old girl.’
‘You know I can’t allow that. We agreed that you would follow the rules, that you would do as little as possible outside of our home.’
She nodded, as she always did, and sat down and picked up her spoon to eat. Obeying her father was second nature to her, but as he looked up she felt her skin flush. The letter in her pocket felt as if it were burning a hole through her dress, and she half expected her father to know it was there and demand to see it.
‘You have to promise me, Amira, that you will never knowingly put yourself in danger. Your papers alone will never be detected, but if someone were to verify your heritage, to go through each part of your family tree to check for inconsistencies...’
‘Of course, Papa. I understand.’ They were the words he wanted to hear, and saying them seemed to relax him. ‘Please, let’s enjoy our meal.’
She should have known that her father would never relent and let her do anything social, and all these years she’d done exactly as he asked, except for when it came to her friendship with Gisele.
She’d taken a risk writing to her, but it had been worth it. Gisele was her only friend, and they’d secretly kept in touch since Amira and her father had moved.
And now, Gisele was coming to Berlin to study music, and they were going to see one another. Finally, after all this time, she was going to be reunited with her one true friend. She just had to make sure that her father never found out.
‘Amira!’
Amira had been sitting on the park bench, arriving early for her meeting with Gisele, and she stood when she heard her friend’s voice. It was deeper somehow, more mature than the last time she’d heard her speak, but the moment she turned and saw her running towards her, it felt as if no time had passed at all.
She had barely walked a few steps before Gisele reached her, throwing her arms around her, engulfing her in expensive-smelling perfume and crushing Amira to her soft blouse.
‘I can’t believe it!’ Gisele’s enthusiasm stifled any awkwardness, and Amira found herself laughing and hugging her back.
‘I can’t either,’ Amira said. ‘And you look so different. All this time, I’ve been imagining you from when I left.’
Gisele was very much a woman now. Her light-brown hair was swept up off her face, and she was wearing make-up, her cheeks blushed a soft pink that matched her lipstick. And her figure had filled out – not as much as Amira’s had, but she was not the skinny girl Amira had left behind, that was for sure.
