Far to Go - By Alison Pick Page 0,31

footbridge over the river. Pavel’s factory loomed in the distance, like something from an earlier life. Marta thought perhaps they were taking Pepik to feed the ducks, but Anneliese stopped in front of the Catholic church. It dawned on Marta all at once what was happening: Anneliese was taking action despite Pavel’s wishes to the contrary.

The church was the largest structure in town, grey stone with a cone-shaped spire that reminded her of the tip of Mr. Goldstein’s beard. Anneliese led them up the side staircase and into the dimly lit nave. It was cold inside, and they squinted around, trying to get a feel for the layout of the room. The priest who stepped out of the darkness must have been waiting for them; he appeared before them like a ghost.

“I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” He was a thin man with a long face and drooping eyelids. “Father Wilhelm.”

He extended his hand, but it was a small town: everyone knew who everyone else was.

When the priest turned around Marta saw that he had a bald patch on the back of his head the exact size and shape of a yarmulke.

Marta had been in this church only once before, but she remembered the heavy oak pews, the stained glass windows showing the Stations of the Cross. The priest ushered the three of them through a side door into a much smaller and more functional room. There was a leather-covered desk with an ink-pot on top of it. In the corner a statue of the Virgin Mary with her eyes rolled up towards heaven.

Marta crossed herself instinctively, like someone flinching before a raised fist.

Now that they could all see each other clearly, Father Wilhelm addressed Pepik directly. “Hallo, mein Kind.” Pepik’s face was buried in Marta’s pinafore. Anneliese moved forward. “Pepik, come here,” she said, firmly. “Say hello to Father Wilhelm.”

Pepik stepped forward and extended his hand. “I didn’t touch the horses,” he said.

The priest smiled and took Pepik’s hand in his own. He was wearing a gold ring, Marta saw, with a cross on it. “Let’s begin.”

The priest’s Czech was rusty as an old knife—he kept switching tenses—but when Anneliese said, in German, “Denken Sie dass das sonderbar ist?” Father Wilhelm only shrugged and answered, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

The priest busied himself with a folder on top of the desk, removing several sheets of carbon paper and spreading them out one next to the other. He dug in the desk drawer and came out with a quill. Then he turned to Anneliese and said, matter of factly, “If you’d like I can just sign the papers.”

There was a moment of confusion, and Anneliese and Marta looked at each other. They understood at the same time: he would baptize Pepik out of kindness. It was his small act of defiance against the Nazis. The priest knew this was not a religious decision.

Anneliese clarified, “You mean without the water?” She nodded at the font in the corner of the room.

Father Wilhelm nodded back and said, “I am happy to be of assistance in whatever way I can.” For the first time, though, he looked over his shoulder nervously, as though making sure nobody had slipped in the side door and was watching from the shadows. It was clear that he would prefer to get this over as quickly as possible. The whole thing had the feel of a shady transaction, Marta thought. Like a body being disposed of.

She thought of Anneliese in the tub, the water crimson red.

“Water or papers?” the priest asked, looking at the watch he wore on a gold chain around his neck. Anneliese was eyeing the font warily. Marta could tell she was worried that without the water the ceremony wouldn’t take. Not the actual baptism, but whatever protection it was supposed to eventually summon.

“Let’s do it properly.” Anneliese’s tone implied that she knew she was being superstitious but was willing to take the risk.

“Ganz richtig,” the priest said. “Come here, Pepik.”

Pepik stepped forward gravely, a young Isaac about to be forsaken.

Marta was half expecting something elaborate: a choir of angels emerging from on high, complete with white robes and tarnished halos. Or maybe Father Wilhelm would pull back a velvet curtain to reveal a galvanized tub in which the naked Pepik would be entirely submerged—even held down for a minute or two, just until he began to struggle. But Father Wilhelm only took Pepik by his shoulders and said, “Close your eyes,” as though