Far to Go - By Alison Pick Page 0,29

back down.

Pavel said, “Here, give me that.” The Bauers were standing directly under the stove vent; Pavel’s voice was so clear that Marta thought for a moment he was speaking to her.

But Anneliese said, “The slivovitz?”

“The absinthe.” Pavel paused. “You won’t embarrass me like that again.”

“Wouldn’t you say that this whole situation is a little—what did you call it?—embarrassing? Not being allowed out after ten o’clock and having to come home for a curfew like children?”

Marta heard the delicate snap of Mrs. Bauer’s earrings coming off and then the louder snap of her purse opening and closing. “Mathilde says we can stay with her and Vaclav in Prague if need be.”

Pavel snorted. “Will we bunk in with Clara and baby Magda?”

“She was just trying to be helpful. What’s happened to you? You’ve become so . . . contrary.”

“We’re not leaving.”

“All the more reason to consider my idea,” Anneliese said.

There was the barely perceptible click of her lighter.

Marta blew her candle out. She pulled her quilt up over her shoulders and willed herself to fall back to sleep. It was late, and she was beyond exhausted. And Pepik had recently taken to waking with the sunrise. But the longer she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her desire to sleep, the more awake she became and the closer the Bauers’ voices seemed.

“That pork was undercooked,” Anneliese said, and Marta felt she personally was being accused.

“Listen to me, Liesel,” Pavel answered. “My grandfather was an elder of his synagogue. My earliest memory is of seeing him there on the High Holy Days, in his place of honour.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. To us. To you. When was the last time you set foot in a synagogue?”

“But this is my point. I am realizing it actually does.”

Anneliese scoffed. “You’ve chosen a perfect time to realize.”

“Do you know how long ago the Jews in Bohemia were granted equal rights?” The floorboards squeaked as Pavel started pacing.

Anneliese said, “I don’t know. And do you know something? I don’t care.”

“Which is odd, seeing as you are a Jew of Bohemia.”

“Hush, Pavel,” Anneliese said. But her voice was rising too. “I don’t feel Jewish,” she said forcibly. “No more than I feel . . . I don’t know . . .” Marta pictured her waving her hand through the cigarette smoke above her head. “. . . Catholic.”

“Yes, Liesel, I understand,” Pavel said. His voice revealed a sincere attempt at patience. “It’s not the religion I’m talking about. It’s the culture.”

“The culture?”

“The Jewish culture.”

“It’s not a culture, it’s a religion.”

Both of them were quiet then. Marta pulled her blankets higher, under her chin. She could tell from the silence that the Bauers were surprised to have stumbled on this difference of opinion about their faith. They had obviously never discussed it before, at least not from this particular angle; they had each assumed the other felt the way they themselves did. She had noticed this tendency in people who were married—the tendency to forget that the spouse was a separate person with a separate past, and secrets you would never guess at.

“My stomach hurts,” Anneliese said quietly.

Pavel cleared his throat. “It was 1848 when the Jews of Bohemia were granted equal rights. Less than a century ago.”

“That has nothing to do with our situation.”

“It has everything to do with our situation. My grandfather was the mayor of the Jewish City of Prague.”

“You said it didn’t mean anything. You said it was a charity that gave money to soup kitchens.”

“It meant something to him,” Pavel said fiercely. “All he wanted on his tombstone—the only thing he wanted—was Adolf Bauer, former Mayor of the Jewish City of Prague.”

“His poor wife,” Anneliese said. “And what about his children? I see you come from a long line of men unconcerned with the well-being of their children.”

Pavel now began to shout in earnest. “Don’t you dare speak to me about the well-being of my children!” There was a thump, as though he had thrown a heavy object to the floor, and the sound of the pacing resumed. “That’s exactly what this is about. I do not want Pepik to see his father shamed like a dog by a bunch of schoolyard bullies! He deserves a better example.”

“My sister had her girls baptized.”

“Alžběta? She has no more principles than you have!”

“It’s a good idea. It could save Pepik’s life.”

“Listen to me, Liesel. This is important. I want you to hear what I say now.” Pavel paused. “I would not convert to Christianity if