The Pianist’s Wife

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Amira stared at her reflection in the mirror, barely able to believe it was her own face looking back at her. She lifted a hand and traced across her cheek and down to her jaw, before running her fingers through her straggly hair. Fred was downstairs searching for food, and she’d come up to find something warmer to wear, as well as to wash the grime from her face and try to find a brush to run through her hair.

She could see from her reflection that she needed much more than a wash cloth and a brush to make her appear respectable though. No wonder the old woman had given her such a sad look.

But what took her most by surprise was her shape as she turned in front of the mirror, noticing how much her stomach had grown and how much lower it appeared now. Up until recently, it had seemed almost impossible to believe, but staring at herself now, in clothes that hugged a little too readily to her frame, it was clear that she was well along in her pregnancy.

‘Amira?’ Fred called out.

She sighed one last time at her appearance and went to the stairs, slowly making her way down.

‘I’ve found some bits and pieces, enough to stop us from starving, but—’

His voice stuttered and she turned to look past him, to see what had stopped him. A military vehicle was coming along the road.

Oh my God.

‘Oh Fred,’ she said, her voice catching in her throat. ‘They’re here.’

‘Quickly,’ he said, ‘take off your cardigan to make your pregnancy as obvious as possible, and I’ll go and change into whatever clothes I can find. I’ll slip out the back door and they can discover me working outside.’

‘You expect me to answer the door? To do this on my own?’

Fred stared into her eyes. ‘You can do this, Amira. There are only a handful of guards who even know what you look like, and they won’t be looking for a pregnant farm wife and her land-toiling husband.’

Amira focused on keeping her breath steady as she waved Fred away, going to the door and forcing herself to open it as the vehicle rolled up the driveway and two guards jumped out. They looked around before marching straight towards her.

‘Good morning,’ she called brightly, as if there were nothing unusual about having two SS men approaching the house.

‘We’re looking for a man and a woman. Are you the only person here?’

She placed her hand on her back and waddled forward, as if each step was difficult for her. ‘It is me and my husband. He’s working in the field.’

‘Husband?’ the man asked, as if to indicate that a woman of her age should have a husband off fighting.

‘He was badly injured and is home recuperating, but he cannot help himself, not with my parents away and so much work to be done.’

‘Do you mind if we take a look inside?’

Amira heard a noise behind her and knew that she needed to buy Fred more time. ‘I’d hate to think someone was using our farm to hide on,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘Would you check the outbuilding over there first, just to be sure? I’ll wait here and keep lookout.’

It seemed to work, and by the time they were on their way back from searching, Fred appeared from the side of the house, limping terribly and leaning against a pitchfork as they called out to him. To her great surprise, after a quick look inside they were gone before she knew it, dust billowing up behind their vehicle as she collapsed against the door frame and Fred came rushing over to her.

‘They’re not coming back,’ he said, and he sank to his haunches beside her and wrapped her in his arms. ‘We’re going to make it, Amira. I promise you we are.’

And for the first time since Hans had mentioned their escape, whispering the plan to her as they’d walked side by side, she actually believed it. They were leaving Buchenwald behind them for good. Forever.