The Pianist’s Wife

Chapter One New York, 2006

Chapter One

New York, 2006

Amira lifted her gaze and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room. She barely recognised the white-haired reflection looking back at her; the lines around her eyes, the narrowness of her shoulders, they seemed to belong to another. She still expected to see the thick dark hair and plump skin of her youth, but instead there was an elderly lady blinking back at her.

She turned away when the young woman beside her spoke.

‘Amira, are you ready?’ Madison asked.

Amira cleared her throat, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand and taking a small sip. ‘I am.’

‘Is it okay if I record our interview? So I can listen to it later?’

She looked at the little machine Madison was gesturing at, her finger hovering over the button, imagining her words being played back at a later date. She hoped her voice wouldn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

‘Yes, I give permission for you to record me.’

Madison nodded and pressed down. ‘Well then, let’s begin,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘Amira, tonight you’ve been honoured for your work raising money for underprivileged and orphaned children in New York. I know you and your husband have both been very private about your joint philanthropic endeavours until now, so I very much appreciate the opportunity to speak with you.’

Amira nodded and instinctively reached out a hand to her husband’s. It was warm, his skin almost feathery it was so thin, and she kept hold as she replied to Madison. When she’d agreed to the interview, her only condition was that it had to be conducted at his bedside – she didn’t want to do it alone.

‘Is there a reason you decided to open up about your work now, after all this time?’

‘My greatest concern,’ Amira said, ‘is that if we don’t speak now, if I don’t speak now, then we may miss the opportunity to encourage others to step forward and follow in our footsteps. I believe that everyone is capable of making a difference in the lives of others, be it with donations or the giving of time, and I hope that in sharing my story with you, I may be able to influence others.’

Madison nodded, her pen poised above a little leather-bound notebook, taking notes even though she was recording their interview. Amira had thought about her answer to that question all day, preparing herself for what she intended on saying, but as she spoke she realised she sounded over-rehearsed.

‘From what I understand, you grew up in a village in Germany and lived in Berlin during the war,’ Madison said, ‘which is where your passion for helping children began.’

Amira sighed. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected to be asked, but hearing someone say those words after all these years... it made her feel as if she were somehow back there, as if she were still the little girl holding her father’s hand, believing that somehow, everything would be alright.

‘Can you explain to me what it was like to live in Germany, during those tumultuous years? And how that shaped the woman you are today?’

‘That time in my life, it’s almost indescribable,’ Amira replied. ‘Berlin during the war and even before, it was a place full of hate and terror, but now I look back, I suppose it was also a place just like any other. Not everyone experienced such hardship as I did.’

She reached out and took another sip of water, reluctantly letting go of her husband’s hand, and when she looked up, she saw that Madison was waiting, leaning forward in anticipation of her continuing.

‘In many ways, life in Berlin went on as normal, particularly for those families with what the Nazis considered pure German bloodlines, and most especially those who exemplified what the party stood for, but for others, it was a reign of terror that felt as if it would never end. For the marginalised...’

‘But what was it like for you personally, Amira?’ Madison asked. ‘Could you share your own experience with me?’

‘Well,’ Amira said, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke, ‘if I did, it would be a very long story.’

Madison’s smile was kind as she leaned back in her seat, appearing to make herself comfortable. ‘It just so happens that I have all day, if you’re willing to share it with me, of course. I would very much like to hear as much of your story as you’re willing to tell. It’s why I’m here, after all.’

Amira’s gaze found its way to her husband’s face, as it so often did when she sat beside him, and she wished he would simply open his eyes, that he could be part of telling their story with her. But she knew that likely wouldn’t happen, not now.

I think it’s time, my love. After all these years, I think it’s finally time that I told our story. Because if not now, then when? I only wish you could open your eyes and tell me that you give me your blessing.

‘For me,’ Amira finally said, looking up as a wave of nostalgia passed through her body, ‘life in Germany changed in 1935, when I realised that the country I loved had a reason not to love me anymore.’