The Choice

dresser drawer and take out the diamond ring Béla had made for me
when we married. It’s a beautiful ring—a perfect diamond, round, set
in gold—but it has always made me feel self-conscious and so I never
wear it. Today I put it on. I put the papers Béla retrieved from the
American consulate in Prague inside my dress, Ęat against my back,
held to my body by the belt on my dress. I can’t look like a person who
is on the run. I can’t use our bugged phone to call anyone for help. But
I can’t bear to leave the house without contacting my sisters. I don’t
expect them to be able to help us, but I want them to know we are in
distress, that I might not see them again. I call Klara. She picks up the
phone and I improvise. I try not to cry, I try not to let my voice
tremble or crack.
“I’m so happy that you’re coming to visit,” I say. ere is no visit
planned. I’m speaking in code. I hope she’ll understand. “Marianne
has been asking for her Auntie Klarie. Remind me, what time is your
train?”
I hear her begin to correct or question me, then I hear the brief
pause as she realizes that I’m trying to tell her something. Train, visit.
What will she make of these scant clues? “We arrive this evening,” she
says. “I’ll be at the station.” Somehow, tonight, will she meet us on a
train? Is this what we have just arranged? Or is our conversation too
coded even for us to understand?
I tuck our passports into my purse and wait for Marianne to wake.
She has been toilet-trained since she was nine months old, but when I
dress her aer her nap she allows me to put a diaper on her, and I fold
my gold bracelet into it. I don’t take anything else with me. I can’t look
like a person who is Ęeeing. Everything I say for the rest of the day, for
as long as it takes to get us to safety, I will say in that language I ĕnd
under duress, that way of being that is not authoritarian or
domineering but also is not cowering or weak. To be passive is to let
others decide for you. To be aggressive is to decide for others. To be