Page 87 of The Pianist's Wife
‘Friendships such as those, what Gisele and I shared, they are not the type of friendships one ever walks away from,’ she said. ‘I’ve loved Gisele most of my life, for what she did for me, for what she was prepared to sacrifice to keep me safe. For what we both endured.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t think anyone could describe a better friend than the one I had in Gisele, other than Fred of course.’
‘And what about Hans?’ Madison asked. ‘How did you feel about him once you left Buchenwald? Once you heard what he’d done?’
Amira sat with the question for a moment, considering her answer. It was one she’d thought about many times over, and every time, she came to the same conclusion. Perhaps she’d been too quick to forgive, or perhaps it was the fact that Hans was Gisele’s husband, but she couldn’t hate him. She couldn’t hate the man who’d helped her to stay alive, even if he had been partly to blame for Fred’s arrest.
‘I think it’s important to understand the man that Hans was raised to be,’ Amira said, having considered her words carefully first. ‘We cannot judge him based on a man in modern society today, we must look at the way boys were brought up in Nazi Germany, the ideology they were taught by everyone around them, the expectations placed upon them. Many Germans said they did not know what was truly happening, they claimed innocence about what was going on around them, but they knew. The gas chambers were too close for them not to know, the deportations happening in plain sight, so I will never accept ignorance as an excuse. And Hans never tried to plead ignorance, so I did respect him for that,’ she said. ‘My sympathies lie with those raised to hate, raised to believe in something that they had never known or seen an alternative to. And by that, I mean the children who had never known a different world to the one they were raised in.’
Madison nodded.
‘In the end, Hans believed he was a monster, but I will always remember what he did to help us stay alive, the risks he was prepared to take to save us,’ she said. ‘I think that, given the way he was raised, given the rank he held and the safety and privilege that rank afforded his family, it makes what he did for us all the more extraordinary. It makes his lack of ignorance quite remarkable, and the more years that pass, the more I can see just how extraordinary that was. He was not your average SS man, that was for sure.’
She was silent for a moment, so very tired from all that she’d shared, but knowing that she’d done the right thing.It was time, Fred. It was time for me to tell everyone the truth about our lives, to share our story with them so that our lives will never be forgotten.
‘My Fred was the brave one. Make sure you write that in the article. He was the one who was truly brave, and he was the genius. It’s him you should be writing an article about, not me.’
She had told the truth when she’d said they had a shared understanding. Almost like an untold secret that had clung to them, their losses hidden from the world, but also the thread that connected them.
We were like no one else, my love, but it worked. I wouldn’t trade our memories and the years we shared together for anything.
She sat up a little straighter as she closed her eyes, remembering the day Fred had told them they were moving to New York; holding her daughter in her arms, a newborn swaddled in a blanket; she remembered Fred excitedly pointing out the Statue of Liberty, his eyes wide as he looked back at her; the smell of New York City, so different to Berlin. And she remembered the very first time Fred had played at Carnegie Hall, the audience enraptured with the man behind the piano, silent until they erupted into applause as he stood before them on the stage, not realising what he’d sacrificed, what he’d endured, to even be there onstage performing. Theenergy and passion he’d channelled into his music, the trauma that he’d masked; it had made him a pianist like no other. New York wasn’t the city of their birth, but the city they’d chosen to love; and the city that had loved them back unconditionally. The city where she’d finally been able to fulfil her dream of being a teacher, and making a difference in the lives of children who’d lost their parents. The orphans she’d cared for in Berlin had always stayed in her heart, and that had fuelled her desire not only to volunteer, but to raise funds for them, too.
It all felt like a lifetime ago on the one hand, but only yesterday on the other, and Amira would have done anything to step back in time and be that young woman again, to listen to Fred play one last time, to bask in one more smile, to glance at him and know that he understood the pain she’d lived with ever since the war had begun, and long before it, too.
It had been a long time since Amira had cried, but tonight, her tears were for all she’d lost. For the things she would never forget.
And for Fred.
The love of her life, the man who’d shown her how to live after loss. The man she’d risked everything for, and never regretted doing it for even a moment.
Life just wouldn’t be the same without him.
Chapter Forty-One
The next day, Amira walked down a familiar corridor, tapping gently on the door of room 104, before walking in. She nodded to the day nurse, who knew her well now, and placed her bag and coat on the chair near the door. Amira made her way over to the bed and sat down, carefully, taking Fred’s frail, almost translucent hand and folding it in hers. It was almost impossible to believe that the two age-spotted hands intertwined belonged to her and the man who’d come to mean everything to her.
Fred had been there for weeks now, his body slowly failing him, his eyes barely fluttering open anymore. But every day without question, Amira had stayed with him, leaving only in the early morning to go home and shower, returning to read the paper to keep him updated on the news, playing his favourite songs, and opening the windows wide to fill the room with fresh air and the lingering scent of roses from the sprawling garden outside. She had no way of knowing if Fred even knew she was there, but it was the least she could do. It made her feel as if they were still connected, and that was what mattered. When Esther visited, which was often, Amira still didn’t leave, preferring to sit quietly with her daughter and enjoy every moment with her.
‘I had a letter from Gisele today,’ Amira told Fred. ‘Would you believe that she’s agreat-grandmother now? I can’t stop thinking ofher, surrounded by all those grandchildren.’ She sighed. ‘I wrote straight back and told her that I think she should be eligible for the Grandmother’s Cross award. I can just imagine how that will make her laugh.’
She smiled to herself, imagining what it would be like to have Gisele there with them. What a reunion it would be to have the three of them together again. There had been a time when they’d made sure to see each other every year, never letting more than twelve months go by without spending time together, but age had put an end to that.
‘I told her in my letter that I’d finally told our story,’ Amira said. ‘That someone in the world, other than us, finally knows the truth about what happened back then, what it was like for us. And as I was writing, I wondered if anyone today would be able to live with the kind of pain we endured. What we lived through.’ She sighed. ‘It’s almost impossible to believe now, isn’t it?’
Tears began to fall down Amira’s cheeks then, and she reached for Fred’s hand again, holding it tight.
‘Thank you, Fred, for always being there for me. You’re the best friend I could have ever wished for.’
And he was. Fred was the only person in her life who could possibly understand her irrational fear of German shepherds, or the way she became physically ill when she saw smoke belching from a concrete chimney. He was the only person who could soothe her with a single word or the touch of his hand on hers.
Amira sat there, regaining her composure. The nurse walked back into the room as a long beep sounded out, which suddenly told her that after so long trying to believe it wouldn’t happen, Fred had left her. With his hand in Amira’s, while she’d whispered to him, he’d finally let go, as if they were the words he’d been waitingto hear. As if he’d somehow been holding on until their story was told, and until she was at peace with it. She only wished that their daughter had been by his side as he passed, too, but Amira would stay sitting there until she arrived.
Goodbye, Fred. Until we meet again.
Epilogue
New York, 2007
Amira rose when she heard the knock at the door. No one called by her house anymore – all of her friends were long gone and she didn’t have any family in New York, so except for delivery drivers it was a very rare occurrence. She shuffled forward, resting on the window ledge beside the door so she could look out to see who it was. To her surprise, she saw a familiar face staring back at her.
