Far to Go - By Alison Pick Page 0,40

own. Surely Pavel must know this? But he seemed to be waiting for a reply, so she bobbed her head quickly and said, “Of course, Mr. Bauer.”

Marta knew she should get Pepik ready to go first. But she was so relieved she couldn’t help herself: she hurried upstairs to pack her own belongings.

Two days later something woke Marta in the middle of the night. She lit the candle on her bedside table and lay still, straining to hear. There was the sound of someone putting a foot down at the top of the stair, then pausing, then slowly putting another foot down. An image of Ernst flashed in front of her eyes and she was overcome by the familiar feeling of being dirty, that compulsive need to wash and clean that she knew, in the back of her mind, was what made her such good hired help.

The footsteps continued on, ever so carefully, past her door.

Marta began to fear for Pepik. His room was at the end of the hall, in the direction the footsteps were headed. There had been looting reported again recently, in a Jewish home in Kyjov; a young girl had been taken by a hooded man and was still missing. Marta swung her legs over the edge of the bed and lowered herself to the floor. The wood was cold but she didn’t feel for her slippers; she took her robe from the back of the door and held it to her chest like a towel. Her movements made the floor creak loudly. Whoever was outside froze. Marta summoned her courage all at once and flung the door open.

She and the intruder stood there, gaping at each other. Sophie’s hair was loose and frizzy, the candlelight playing over her face.

“Soph!” Marta whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“Lovely to see you too.”

“Are you here for your things? I thought you already—”

“I forgot something. I came back for it.” Sophie held up her silver key to the house. It glinted like a pirate’s tooth.

“What time is it?”

“I’m finished with cooking.”

“But your room, it’s . . .” Marta pointed in the opposite direction, towards the other end of the hall.

Sophie looked uncertain. “It’s none of your business. What I’m doing is none of your business.”

Marta put a finger to her lips, then wondered why she was whispering. Shouldn’t she call out and wake the Bauers?

“I thought the Bauers had left,” Sophie confessed.

“Shhh! Did you hear something?”

“I thought they’d gone.”

“Not yet.”

“Mr. Bauer is still here?” Sophie touched her heart as she said Pavel’s name.

“Yes.”

“But he’s leaving?”

“We’re just . . .”

Marta pointed to the suitcases open in the hall. She saw Pavel’s boar-bristle shaving brush and the elastic of his underthings. White cotton peeked out; it looked like the strips of cloth Anneliese used during menstruation. Marta had a sudden urge to zip the suitcase shut, to shield the Bauers’ personal belongings from Sophie’s gaze.

“You’re going with them?” Sophie asked, eyes widening.

“You think they wouldn’t take me?” Marta clutched her robe to her chest.

Sophie scoffed. “I think you shouldn’t take them,” she said. “It’s very . . . you could get . . .” Her voice trailed off and she seemed at a loss for words. Then: “You shouldn’t go,” she said. “I heard there’s a man, a very important man, who is very angry because he was fired by Mr. Bauer’s brother-in-law, and because Mr. Bauer—Pavel—has been hired in his place.”

Sophie touched her lip unconsciously with her tongue.

Marta said, “I don’t see why that—”

But Sophie cut her off. “Sie sind dumm.” She raised her voice, and Marta brought her finger to her lips a second time, but Sophie continued to speak loudly, disgusted. “Do what you want, Marta,” she said, and turned on her heel. “I’ll be seeing you. Or maybe,” she added, looking back over her shoulder meaningfully, “I won’t be.”

Marta saw that Sophie had a large empty sack over her shoulder, like a collapsed lung. She descended the stairs the way she’d come, the sack hanging loosely down her back. Marta waited until she heard the back door close. She went back into her room and hung up her robe. She cupped the candle flame with her hand and extinguished it with a short huff. Her bedsheets were cool, and she rubbed her feet together to warm them. She turned on her side and pulled the pillow over her head.

Only after she had been lying there for several minutes, her breath becoming more shallow, did it occur to