Far to Go - By Alison Pick Page 0,68

willing herself to speak. She had lost her nerve on the day of Ernst’s visit but perhaps it wasn’t too late. Perhaps, if she at least revealed Ernst’s agenda now, further harm might be prevented. It was gnawing at her, knowing what she knew. It woke her in the middle of the night, her heart racing. The awful dreams of her father had returned. But now when her father turned to look at her, he wore Ernst’s face.

“Mr. Bauer,” she started, before she could second-guess herself, but Pavel interrupted.

“I’ve been suspended,” he said.

“Mr. Bauer?”

“Call me Pavel.”

Marta looked at him more closely then, and saw how he’d changed. It wasn’t just that he looked older—which he did—but also that he’d been worn down in some vague yet undeniable way. He was softer, more humble. He was afraid.

“One of von Neurath’s minions arrived at the factory,” he was saying, “to tell us that we must have a ninety-two percent Aryan workforce, and no Jews in management or upper-level ownership.” Pavel pulled a pencil from the sharpener’s blade and blew the graphite dust from the tip. “Of course there is no choice but to comply.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Quite frankly,” he said, “I don’t understand why the factory has not been taken away completely.”

Marta was still standing on the opposite side of the room. From outside came the sound of someone shouting: a single high-pitched shriek, then silence. There was a second chair on the opposite side of Max’s desk; Pavel motioned with his chin for her to sit down. Now was her chance. She didn’t let herself stop to reconsider. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” she said.

Pavel touched the tip of his finger to a newly sharpened pencil lead and brought it away—a small black dent remained in the flesh. “Ninety-two percent,” he said. “But he seemed to pull the number from thin air.” He ran the back of his hand over the stubble on his cheek and then realized she’d spoken. “Sorry?” he said, looking up.

She finally had his attention. She opened her mouth, prepared to tell Pavel everything.

“Marta?” he said.

She closed her mouth again. He was eyeing her curiously now, but all at once she had changed her mind. What had she been thinking? She could no more reveal herself than she could shoot herself in the head. Pavel had been going over and over their failed attempt at escape, worrying it like a loose tooth. Who had betrayed them? He suspected Kurt Hofstader, Max’s first manager, the one who had lost his job to Pavel. But how had he known? Someone from the floor, one of the German workers? He and Anneliese had been so careful. Pavel had never once suggested anyone in their old town, and Marta knew it hadn’t crossed his mind that Ernst might have betrayed him—any more than it had crossed his mind that she might have. His implicit trust in her sharpened her regret. To confess would mean the end of her life, or at least the end of the life she wanted to live, the one at the centre of the Bauer family.

Pavel cleared his throat and Marta realized she had to say something. “It’s Pepik,” she said. “He hasn’t been himself. He’s so withdrawn. I’m terribly concerned about him.”

It was odd. As Marta spoke she realized that what she was saying was true. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to address with Pavel—at least, it wasn’t what she had thought she’d wanted to address—but another part of her, she realized, had been waiting all along for the chance to ask for advice about Pepik. She couldn’t stand her own incompetence with the boy lately, her inability to protect him. She pictured him closed up in his room, staring at his train, his face slack. “The occupation hasn’t been good for Pepik,” she started, and then chastised herself; it wasn’t as if the occupation were something that could be corrected for the sake of the child’s well-being. But the truth of what she was saying came over her again, and she forged ahead.

“Do you remember when we arrived, in January?” she asked Pavel. “And you mentioned the man who is sending the Jewish children out of the country?”

Pavel gave a little laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“You and I. We think alike.”

“Perhaps we should try to get Pepik on one of those trains.” Marta looked at Pavel. He had inserted another pencil into the sharpener. She corrected herself: “Perhaps