Salt to the Sea (18 page)

We approached the embarkation officer, the wandering boy between us.

“Well, hello, there.”

The officer spoke directly to the boy. Smart. Children spill the truth.

“Hallo, I'm Klaus.”

“Give me your papers, please, Klaus.”

The shoemaker handed over the boy's papers along with his own. I thrust mine out as well.

The officer opened the old man's papers and looked at his pass. He leaned over and specifically addressed the boy. “And, Klaus, who is this?” he asked, pointing to the shoemaker.

“Opi,” replied the little boy.

Grandpa. Yes, he was like a grandpa. That was a good reply.

“And this gentleman?” He pointed to me.

My name. No one knew my name, except Joana. What if he called me what the others did—the Prussian? Or the spy?

“Onkel
.
” The boy smiled.

“And what is Uncle's name?” the officer asked.

The little boy turned to me and saluted, as he had on the road. “Herr Beck.”

The officer laughed.

The wandering boy thrust out his rabbit. “
Mein Freund.
”

“Looks like your friend lost an ear in battle. Might have to send him to the infirmary.” The officer turned to me and gestured to my shirt. “Looks like you lost some blood in the war yourself.”

I nodded. “Shrapnel.” I buttoned up my coat to escape the cold.

“Do you have a medical exemption?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He handed back our papers. “Proceed to the next embarkation point.”

He had looked at my papers, but only glanced at my boarding pass. We walked into the harbor.

Every inch of the dock was covered with soldiers, supply trucks, passengers, and luggage. There were entry lines for each ship and additional lines for each gangway.

The boy bounced on his toes.

“Yes, it's quite exciting,” said the shoe poet. “And I believe that ship, in basin number nine, the very big one, is ours.”

The
Gustloff
was the most imposing ship in the harbor. Her build was clearly that of a leisure cruise ship. Several decks, lots of places to hide. I spied anti-aircraft guns positioned on the deck. The ship was armed.

“Hey! Hey, you,” the giant woman yelled, and gestured to us through the crowd.

“Well, hello there, Eva!” The shoe poet waved.

“Boy, you're lucky ducks. I was just about to throw your bags off.”

The little boy ran and grabbed the shoemaker's carpetbag.

“Well done, Eva. Thank you,” said the old man.

“You have no idea how I suffered for this stuff, waiting in the cold. And why? None of you cared enough to wait for our wagon.”

“Enough about the luggage. Did you get registered for a ship, dear?” asked Poet.

“Yes, yes. I'm on that one.
Hansa
,” she said. “Which one are you on?”

The little boy pointed to the
Gustloff
.

Eva looked at me and laughed. “You too, huh? I wonder how you managed that. I'm going to board. I'm freezing and it stinks like rotten death. Here, take Joana her suitcase. I know she'll want it. Tell her I said good-bye. She was the only one of you that I liked. Sorry.” She set the case at my feet. “Well, nice knowing you.”

“Wait.” I grabbed her by the coat. “What are the next lines for?” I asked.

“Inspection,” she said. “They're examining everyone's luggage.”

Emilia pretended to sleep. I had to raise her spirits. The baby would need to nurse. She had to hold and feed her baby. If she didn't, the doctors might become suspicious. If they figured out she wasn't Latvian, Dr. Richter would report her. I would be held responsible for smuggling her on. My stomach turned.

A woman approached. “Excuse me, miss. There's someone in the hallway who would like to speak with you.”

The sailor Alfred paced through the corridor.

“Hello, Alfred.” I decided to ask: “Have you seen my patient today, the one from the movie house?”

“No, I haven't. But I'll keep an eye out for him,” he said.

“Please let me know if you see him.”

He shifted from one foot to another, rubbing the tangle of raw meat that was his hands.

“Oh, Alfred, your hands,” I said.

“Actually, I didn't come about my hands. I came—well, what I wanted to say . . . I have been informed that you have a suitor, but I'm well acquainted with the long-distance love affair. You would do well to take a stroll with me on the promenade deck later this evening. We can discuss our sweethearts back at home.” He grinned. “Tell me, do you like butterflies, Fräulein?”

What was he talking about? Was he asking me on a date? Oh, no. Kissing Alfred would be like chewing a mouthful of crackers. I shook off the thought.

“Well, Alfred, I think we'll all be extremely busy before we sail. I don't think I'll have time to take a walk. Honestly, I'd be surprised if you had time either.”

Dr. Richter approached. “Joana, could you assist me, please? The girls have just arrived from the sanatorium. We need to determine where to put them. Perhaps you could help them get settled?” The doctor looked at Alfred. “What are you doing here?”

“Documenting the medical procedures of the evacuation, sir,” said Alfred. “Someone must verify that work is actually being done.” He turned on his heel and strode off.

The temperature hovered near zero, but I was sweating.

Luggage inspection.

I watched the flow of passengers approach the front of the line. Most of the discussions were about items too large to take on board: antiques, furniture, expensive carpets. And then I saw them. Wooden crates, similar to so many I had carefully belted and fastened, stood in stacked rows, surrounded by armed guards. Of course. The Nazis were not only boarding passengers, they were loading their looted art and treasure onto the ships. My curiosity burned. What was in the crates?

People cried when their large items were refused. I carried only Joana's small suitcase and my pack. The little boy had no luggage, the shoe poet only a carpetbag and his shoe-repair kit. I was about to give Joana's suitcase to Poet when an armed sentry corralled us into line.

“Step ahead. Make room, please.”

German efficiency worked against me. They were fast. Before I could finalize a plan we were at the front of the line with our papers. The guard behind the table was older, seasoned. He flipped through the identity papers, examining our photos against our faces. Another soldier walked around us, examining our belongings. The older guard behind the desk then
looked at our boarding passes. He pointed to the shoemaker and the boy.

“You two. Proceed to the gangway.” He then pointed at me. “You, proceed to the table behind me. Additional inspection.”

Additional inspection.
My heart punched in my chest. I had forgotten to open my coat, to display my wound. I acted like I was reaching for papers and released the buttons. Brittle cold rushed in around my torso. I hoped it would mask my perspiration, my desperation. I prayed the inspection officer would be a booby like the sailor I had duped.

He wasn't.

He was in his late twenties, blond, with fair, almost waxen, skin. He looked like one of Hitler's prized Aryans from the propaganda posters. He leaned back, teetering on his chair in a long oilskin coat, basking within his power and authority. Two other soldiers stood nearby, hanging on his every word, laughing when they were supposed to. I approached the table and set down the suitcase. My pack hung on my back behind me. In it were pistols, ammunition, forgery materials, my notebook, and the Führer's most beloved treasure, the amber swan.

The blond officer leaned forward. His chair fell to the dock with a thud.

“Papers.”

I handed him my identity card and the boarding pass.

“What's in your suitcase?” he asked.

“It's not mine. I'm delivering it to my nurse on board. It belongs to her.”

“Your nurse? My, my, you have your own private nurse?”
He looked to the soldier on his right. “This one has his own nurse.”

“I bet he does.” The soldier laughed.

“Looks like you need a nurse.” He pointed a pencil at my bloodstained shirt. “Show me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let's see this bad wound that requires a personal nurse. I think I may want one myself. I need to see what's required.”

I quickly lifted my shirt and revealed the massive gash.

The officer twisted his face. “Nasty. The skin's nearly grown over the stitch. Might be too late to take them out. What's the name of the nurse you say is on board?”

I hesitated. It wasn't fair. I didn't want to implicate her. “Joana Vilkas,” I said quietly.

The other soldiers whistled. “Litwinka.”

“What?” I didn't understand.

The inspection officer laughed. “It's the nickname for your pretty Lithuanian nurse. There aren't many female personnel on board, so we've named them all.”

He leaned back on his chair again. “I think there's something missing here.”

Sweat beaded beneath my hairline.

“You have civilian papers and you're trying to get on a ship. Yet you're an able-bodied young man who could be serving the Reich.”

I leaned forward and stared him down. “I am serving.” I pulled the additional paperwork from my coat pocket and threw it on the table.

He laughed and began narrating for his buddies. “Let's see, fellas. Here we have . . . an official medical testimony signed by Litwinka. Such a pretty signature she has. Shrapnel. Oh, and deaf in one ear, too. That's convenient. Let's see what other love notes he's got.” He opened the thick cream paper, saw the seal at the top, and stopped talking. He scanned through the letter and looked up at me, angry.

“When you are asked for papers, you are to provide all of your papers.”

I allowed all of the ferocity of the past years to rise up inside me. Like a boiler about to blow, I leaned over the table.

“I will be happy to tell Gauleiter Koch that you unnecessarily held his injured courier in the freezing cold, delaying his mission and wasting the services of a nurse he himself arranged. Koch's mood of late hasn't been very forgiving.”

He stared back at me, wanting desperately to jump the table for a fight. Part of me hoped it would come to fists. I wanted to batter this blond idiot senseless.

He pushed the stack of papers back at me and gave a nod toward the gangway.

Adrenaline charged through me. I wanted to knock his teeth out more than I wanted to board the ship. I stuffed my papers away and buttoned my coat.

“Say hi to Litwinka for us.” He whistled to the guard at the gangway and pointed to me. “That one's going to the infirmary.”

I felt his eyes on me, following my steps up the gangway and into the ship.

Fulfilling a woman's request swayed emotions, giving a man the upper hand. Hannelore's heart always seemed to soften when I brought her sweets or swept the sidewalk. Yes, if I wanted to bait the pretty nurse, I must fulfill her request. I would find the young recruit.

I walked through the halls, looking for the tall rogue. If he were on board, he would be easy to find. There weren't many men his age in civilian clothes.

“Frick,” someone called to me from a group. “We need you to issue life vests.”

I put my hand up in protest. “My apologies, gentlemen. I'm on an important assignment.”

“
Bettnässer,
” the sailor replied. They all laughed.

Bed wetter.

I scraped at my hands. They would be sorry they had laughed. Very sorry.

The ship's speaker system buzzed with announcements, calls for lost and found children, and misplaced belongings. No smoking belowdecks. Life jackets must be worn at all times.

After several rounds of the ship, I felt energized both in body and in mind. Perhaps there was something to this physical fitness curriculum the military recommended. As I rounded the
corner on the upper promenade deck, I saw the old man and the little boy. The boy was hard at work, shining shoes for coins.

“Greetings. I'm looking for the young fellow from the movie house. Have you seen him?”

The old man's eyes narrowed to unbecoming slits. He looked down at my boots. “I saw you do it, you know.”

“Do what?” I responded. Had he seen me snatch the crystal butterfly?

“You took your boot to that poor dog.”

“Oh that.” I sighed. “Our Führer would remind you that it makes no sense to support the weak or crippled. In nature, the weaker species simply die.” I leaned in toward him, examining his face. “I believe some might classify you as weak? Now, have you seen the fellow from the movie house?”

“What do you need with him? He had to wait for additional inspection.”

“Inspection, right. Very careful we must be. Can't allow any riffraff or deserters,” I said. I left their footwear enterprise and went down a few decks to the gangway entry.

“I've been sent to find a young civilian man who just boarded. Tall, brown hair.”

“We just sent someone to the infirmary who matches that description. Maybe that was your man?”

I ran to the closest stairwell. I spotted the recruit and called out. He stopped and I made my way up. He looked genuinely happy to see me.

“Well, you're exactly who I was looking for.” He clapped me on the shoulder and we continued up the stairs.

I held the small bundle next to Emilia, hoping she would make eye contact with the child. The new physician, Dr. Wendt, appeared.

“Joana, a sailor is around the corner asking for you. He seems . . . eager.”

I walked out. Alfred again. He grinned and waved me forward. “Follow me.”

Didn't he have work to do? “Alfred, I can't. I'm very busy.”

“Come along. Come along.”

I felt sorry for Alfred. I had known boys like him in school—desperate to be a man, yet trapped in his own mind. Girls joked that boys like Alfred made a cow's milk dry up.

Alfred stopped at the infirmary and made a grand gesture with his arm. “Ask and you shall receive.”

My stomach gave a little hop. Sitting on a cot in the corner was Florian. Near his feet sat my suitcase. I tried to mask my excitement at seeing him. “My suitcase. Thank you, Florian.”

Alfred looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And thank you, Alfred,” I said.

Alfred paused, eyebrows arched, staring at me.

Florian nodded to him in quiet dismissal. “Thanks again.”

“Right, yes,” said Alfred. “Must get back to work. I'm very busy.” He walked off.

I made my way over to the corner, through the rows of wounded soldiers. “You made it,” I said. I could feel myself smiling.

“Almost didn't. There's a Nazi on the dock who doesn't like me much.”

“And you brought my suitcase. So you found Eva? What about Poet and the boy?”

“They're on board. Eva's on the
Hansa
. She said to tell you good-bye.” He shifted to look at my face, then reached out and touched my arm. “You okay?”

I nodded.

“Can you take these stitches out?”

I walked over to a table to retrieve the necessary instruments. I was sad to hear about Eva. We weren't given a chance to say good-bye properly.

I returned and Florian began unbuttoning his shirt. The dried blood on his skin now resembled powdered dirt. “Do you have any other clothes?” I asked.

“Are you saying my wardrobe is lacking?”

I smiled. “Very funny. Lie down.” I sighed.

“That was a big sigh. What's wrong?” he asked.

“Emilia had the baby.”

“The baby didn't make it?” He seemed genuinely upset.

“The baby's fine.” I shook my head. “But Emilia isn't.”

“What happened?” he asked.

I began removing the stitches. What could I tell him? How much would he even understand? He stared at me. Was he waiting for the story or just looking at me? I took a breath.

“There is no boyfriend,” I whispered. “The family she was staying with gave her to the Russians to save their daughter. The boyfriend was a story she made up to continue on. She won't really look at the baby yet.”

His face changed. Sincerity and sadness erased the bravado. “That kid. She's a warrior.”

“Yes, but fighting who?”

He looked at me, surprised. “Everyone. Everything. Fighting fate.”

“Now I understand. She clings to you because you saved her from the Russian in the forest. You're proof that there are still good men in the world.”

“Stop. Don't say those things.” He stared at the wall.

I pulled the last of the stitches from his muscular torso.

“How long until we sail?” he asked.

“They say we'll leave soon.”

“I need to find somewhere out of sight,” he whispered. “Do you know of a place?”

He had boarded, but now he wanted to hide?

I shook my head. “I don't know the ship well yet. I'm constantly getting lost.” I watched him button his shirt. “Florian, will you do something for me? Will you come say hello to Emilia? Please? It would really lift her spirits.”