Free Far To Go by Alison Pick

slip was visible. She twisted around, almost losing her balance. “Oh, Marta, for God’s sake. Don’t
do
that.”
    Anneliese laid her palm over her heart and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. You scared me. I thought I was alone in the house.”
    It was close and warm in the pantry. Marta undid the top two buttons of her cardigan. She looked around and saw several large crates of groceries and an oversized sack of potatoes. “Did
you
buy all of this?” she asked Mrs. Bauer.
    Yom Kippur, Mr. Goldstein had told her, was supposed to be a day of fasting, and here they were surrounded by food. There was a huge stack of tinned sardines, piled on top of each other like Pepik’s wooden building blocks. An enormous piece of lard that Marta knew would never keep. There were fifteen or twenty jars of preserves—lindenberry, it looked like, and plum. The deep bluish purple was the same colour as the sapphires in the watch from Paris, the one she’d imagined herself wearing as she waltzed across a glamorous dance floor. The one, she saw now, that Anneliese was wearing.
    Anneliese followed Marta’s gaze, then extended her arm to give Marta a better view. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” She nodded to show Marta could touch it. The diamonds were cool and neatly symmetrical, like a child’s milk teeth.
    Marta wished for a moment that she was the one who owned it, the one with the privilege to show it off. But she had to pretend she’d never even seen it before. “Beautiful,” she said, her jaw tight. And then she thought how odd it was for Anneliese to be wearing the watch in the middle of the day, when it was clearly meant for dinners or balls. She looked at Anneliese closely—her complexion seemed suddenly pale. And she kept craning her neck to look over Marta’s shoulder, as though she suspected they were being watched.
    “Is everything okay, Mrs. Bauer?” Marta asked.
    Anneliese bristled. “Of course it’s not okay. Look at what’s happening all around us! The Germans are now claiming places that are purely Czech. They use some technical or strategic reason, like the railway line. They’re swallowing up everything other than—”
    Marta cleared her throat. “What I’m asking is . . .” She cast around in her mind, trying to put it delicately. “Are
you
okay, Mrs. Bauer?”
    Anneliese got out her compact and rouged her cheeks, looking at Marta slantwise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She snapped the compact closed and reached for her cigarettes.
    Marta passed her the silver Zippo, flipping back the catch with her thumb. “I was worried you might . . . I was thinking of the time . . .”
    “What time?”
    There was reproach in Anneliese’s voice, a kind of warning, and Marta knew she should drop it. Instead she said, “I was remembering when you—”
    Anneliese flicked the lighter closed before Marta could finish the sentence. “I know what you’re thinking, Marta. And I’ve asked you not to bring up the subject.”
    Marta felt herself flush. “Certainly, Mrs. Bauer. It was only out of concern for your well-being.” As she said this, though, she knew it was only partially true. She didn’t want what had happened to ever be repeated, but also—if she was honest—part of her enjoyed the fact that she could either keep or tell Anneliese’s secret. The power she held in this one single arena. She was, she realized, still upset about the other day, when Anneliese had diminished her role as Pepik’s governess. She hadn’t forgotten about the jab after all; she hadn’t forgotten about any of the jabs, but rather had let them build up inside her like a big pile of
palacinky
. And now, to top it off, she found herself jealous of the watch. Which, she realized, was ridiculous. What had she ever done to deserve something so beautiful? Not to mention that she’d have nowhere to wear it . . .
    “As I’ve said to you before,” Anneliese said, “those were special circumstances.”