Half Life by Jillian Cantor (easy to read books for adults list txt) 📕

sofa and watched, remembering myself here as I had been so many years earlier, so much younger. When I was deeply and blindly in love with my husband, and when Klara was nothing but a dream, a wish, I did not believe would ever be real.

I felt a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach, the memory of the beetroot stew that came back up in the street and the sting of deception that followed. And then, that desire of a young girl who wanted nothing more than to eventually make it to Paris. To study at the Sorbonne.

“Marya.” Leokadia’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I shook my head, trying to push away the past.

I looked up and she stood before me. Lou and Klara both sat on the piano bench, together, and somehow they were already playing something that sounded pleasant, vaguely like the old Polish lullaby my mother used to sing us to sleep.

“Klara has perfect pitch,” Leokadia said matter-of-factly.

“Perfect pitch?” I raised my eyebrows not understanding. “What does that mean?”

“That means your daughter is a musician,” Leokadia said. I laughed. No one in our family was drawn to music, or even art. We were scientists, mathematicians, physicians. “I’m quite serious,” Leokadia said. “You must start her on regular lessons now.”

“But she’s not quite five,” I protested.

“Marya,” Leokadia said seriously, “your daughter has a gift.”

THERE WAS SOMETHING THAT RUBBED ME THE WRONG WAY about Leokadia telling me what I must do, insisting she understood something about my daughter that had been hidden and previously unknown to me for nearly five years. Lou hugged us goodbye to go off on her daily walking, then to class, and Klara and I walked alone back to Złota Street. I asked her, as we walked, how she felt about the piano.

“It is the best thing I have ever touched, Mama. Do you think we could go back to Pani Kadi’s house again and again?” Her voice was small and soft, but filled with an odd sort of desperation, a wanting I’d never heard from her before. Klara was so easygoing, content to simply go along with me to class and listen or play quietly in the back. Content to stay with her cousin any time I asked. Content to eat her supper and go to bed, then wake up and get dressed in the morning. She had never asked me for anything.

“Leokadia is only here for a short visit. She goes back to Berlin in a few days,” I reminded her.

“Oh.” Klara cast her eyes downward, her entire face sinking with disappointment

“But Pani Jankowska teaches piano at my school,” I said. “And perhaps I could talk to her about special lessons, just for you.”

She stopped walking, her eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. In the fall she would be old enough to attend the girl’s gymnasium, but she had never had lessons in anything before, other than informal ones from me, working on basic reading and maths. It felt odd that I should start her formally on piano first, something I knew nothing, and cared very little, about. But her smile was so wide, and she grabbed my hand in excitement and began to skip toward home.

I loved her with my entire being; I wanted to give her everything I could not have afforded as a child. Everything she ever wanted.

KAZ RETURNED HOME FOR A FEW DAYS AROUND EASTER, HIS bag filled with Austrian chocolates for Klara, and for me, he brought a new copy of Physikalische Zeitschrift, one of the most respected physics journals in Europe, published quarterly in German. It might have been the nicest thing he ever gave me, and when he handed it to me I forgave him again for all the negative feelings our recent visit with Leokadia had reawakened in me. I stood on my toes, kissed him gently on the mouth. He tasted different than I remembered, like bitter coffee and a German tobacco he’d grown fond of in Austria.

“Kochanie.” He held on to my shoulders. “These past few months have been too hard. I’ve missed you and Klara too much.”

“We’ve missed you too,” I said, and it was true. Kaz and I had reconnected at Bronia’s last summer, and then having him gone this year had ignited a feeling of emptiness inside of me. It felt too quiet at the dinner table, too empty in our bed sleeping in it all alone. I missed having someone to share Klara’s daily pursuits with, and it wasn’t the same to write them down and send them in a letter. And then there was Klara herself, who was constantly counting the number of days until she could see her father again. But it was not something we could change. Kaz needed to be in Vienna for his career, and his salary was so good, there was a relief now in not worrying about having money for food and clothing and coal.

“I have good news,” he said. “I’ve been offered a position for the fall in Krakow.”

Krakow was closer than Vienna, certainly, but it was not Loksow. Or even Warsaw, which would make it possible for him to come home every weekend. I sighed. “So you will be away, still.”

“No, kochanie, you will come with me!” There was a certainty in his voice. In his mind, this was already a foregone conclusion. So many years ago we had wished for Krakow together, for more freedom, more opportunity outside of the Russian Empire. But now Loksow was my home. My life was here. My work was here. My school was here.

“I can’t just leave my university,” I said.

Kaz frowned. “But you could teach in Krakow, or take classes there. Whatever you want.”

“I want to stay here,” I said, though even as the words came out, I realized I sounded petulant and stubborn, like a child.

“Think about Klara,” Kaz said. “She will get a better education in Krakow than in Loksow. So many more opportunities for her.”

I opened my