Page 81 of The Pianist's Wife
Fred turned to her then, suddenly smiling. He almost laughed, his face turning up at the corners and his eyes crinkling.
‘You are a terrible excuse for a guard,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Your hair is curling out of the hat, and your face is far too pretty to be mistaken for a man’s.’
‘That’s not funny, Fred! If I’m such a terrible-looking guard—’
‘Then you cannot stay disguised as one. I will stay disguised as a guard, and you will be my wife. It’s the only plausible idea.’
She went to open her mouth, but shut it when he turned to her, his eyes searching hers.
‘Do you trust me?’
Amira nodded. ‘I do.’
‘Then stay here while I knock on the door,’ he said. ‘I’m going to tell whoever answers that I’m searching for an escaped prisoner, and go room to room, making them think that I suspect them of hiding someone.’
‘And you’re going to steal clothes for me to wear?’ she asked, her eyes widening.
‘Yes, Amira, that’s precisely what I’m going to do. And then I’m going to ask to borrow that there bicycle, and we’re going to get as far away from Buchenwald and Weimar as we can, before anyone catches up with us.’
She stood back as Fred pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and touched her stomach, before taking a deep breath and striding towards the house, leaving her to fret about how close they were to the camp, imagining trucks rolling up the road at any moment. But to her relief, the air was silent, the only noise the early sound of birds calling as day began to break.
Amira had been huddled against the hay for probably fifteen minutes, maybe longer, when Fred reappeared, his face telling her that he’d been successful. But it wasn’t until he produced a dress and cardigan from beneath his too-big jacket that she knew just how successful.
‘I was right about it just being the farmer’s wife in the house,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want you to change yet, just in case she’s looking out the window. If anyone from Buchenwald comes looking for a man and a woman, that will be what gives us away. I want her to say that she saw two guards searching, which won’t alert them to anything.’
‘What shall we do then?’ Amira asked. ‘What are you proposing?’
‘We walk out together, as two guards, and I will take the bicycle,’ he said. ‘We shall keep going until we find another house.’
‘But what if they figure out that we’re not real guards?’
‘They won’t, Amira. All they will see are the guards’ uniforms, and all you have to do is keep your back turned so they can’t see your face.’
Amira nodded. It was no more risky than the plan to escape the camp. ‘It’s a long way to Berlin on footorbicycle from here, Fred.’
‘Exactly, which means we’re going to have to come up with a cover story. We’re going to have to stop somewhere.’
They stepped out of the barn and Amira walked as confidently as she could away from the property, while Fred took the bicycle and eventually caught up to her. It wasn’t until they were side by side again that he told her his plan. He helped her on, holding the handlebars steady.
‘After we find the next house, we’ll get you changed, hide the uniform and the bike, and I will start walking with a terrible limp, so I can pass as a wounded soldier.’
‘You truly think that will work?’ she asked, already breathless even though Fred was helping to push the bike along.
‘It has to,’ he said, and she saw then how terrified he was. ‘Because if it doesn’t, I don’t know what else we can do.’
‘I wish Hans had thought this through more, that he’d had a plan for what we were supposed to do once we were out in the open.’
‘So do I,’ Fred said, his voice breaking as he looked away from her, clearly not wanting her to see his face. ‘Trust me, Amira, so do I.’
Amira was grateful for Fred pushing her, her legs weak and barely able to turn the pedals, and she was so hungry that all she could think about was food. At one point she started to look around at the fields they were passing, trying to find something,anything, that might be edible. But all she could see was grass and more grass, and trees dotted throughout the fields.
Sweat began to trickle down her neck as the sun rose higher in the sky, and she started to wonder if she might actually topple off the bike. Despite doubting her ability to balance, once she’d started riding it she’d quickly found her rhythm and had managed to keep going, but she was beginning to falter, so hot from having to keep moving. She tried not to think about her baby, and what effect this type of exertion might have on her child, knowing she’d never forgive herself if something happened.
‘Just a little longer,’ Fred said, as he walked alongside her. ‘There’s a farm up ahead, I’m certain of it.’
It turned out that his words of encouragement were all she needed, and sure enough, when they rounded the corner he was right about there being a farm. She stopped and carefully dismounted, and he took the bicycle from her and guided it towards a cluster of trees.
‘You want me to get changed here?’ she asked.
