Salt to the Sea (20 page)

Florian Beck. The knight was Florian, like Saint Florian, the patron saint of Poland. The Nazi soldier had tried to cause problems. He was clearly full of hate. If he discovered I was Polish, he would throw me off the boat into the Baltic.

Joana paced the floor, sewing the ear of the rabbit back onto its body. She was mad or thinking. Maybe both. The wandering boy walked over to my cot and peeked at the baby.

“Hallo,” he said to her. “I'm Klaus.”

I looked at the boy. His cheeks were red, burned from the cold and wind. The large blue life vest dwarfed his body and hung down to his knees. He was alone, like me, but he was only six years old. Where were his parents? Mama said that a transplanted bud doesn't prosper. The shoemaker loved him, though. I could tell. He would take care of him, protect him, unlike Frau Kleist.

“Four years. We've kept you for over four years,” Frau Kleist used to complain. “Do you know what that's cost me?”

“My father will come for me,” I told her. “He will pay you.”

She whipped around, furious. “Your father's dead. Why do you think I'm so annoyed?”

Dead.

Her words had squeezed at my throat, run down through my windpipe and strangled the air from my lungs.

“It's not true,” I whispered.

Please. It couldn't be true.

August appeared at my side. “Of course it's not true.” He pulled me by the arm. “Come on, Emilia, let's snip the roses for the jam.” He shot his mother a fierce look.

• • •

The old feelings of fear began to churn within me. The baby stirred in my arms. I looked down. Her little head bobbed, almost nodding at me. And then our eyes fastened. Her sweet yet steady stare calmed me. My shoulders released and the fear dissipated.

The shoemaker arrived in the maternity ward, panting and out of breath. “You must wait for me, Klaus. These old sticks can't move as fast anymore.” He saw the baby and his hands flew to his face.

“Look, look. A miracle, indeed.”

“Isn't she beautiful?” said Joana.

“What's beautiful,” said the old man, “is that she has beaten this war. You saw it on the road. Ingrid through the ice, death and destruction all around. Look what's transpiring down on that pier. Frantic desperation. The Russians are just around the corner.”

He moved forward and gestured to the baby. “Yet amidst all that, life has spit in the eye of death. We must find her some shoes.”

Dear Hannelore,

Night falls in the harbor. I sit, reflecting on all that has happened. Do not be misguided by my poetic inclinations. I am not only a watchman. I am a thinker, Lore, and I have been thinking. I have been working in service to a man of great charge. We have a confident understanding of one another and share many attributes. This evening we discussed loyalty. I assured him of my allegiance to Germany's fight. I also confessed of once feeling sympathy for those who are inferior. Be assured that I pull at the roots of these sympathies. I know they are a weakness. They must be torn from the garden. We are good Germans. It is our birthright. As such, it is our duty to sift the sands, preserve the gold, and with it build a stronger national vertebrae.

I believe you're also familiar with moments of weakness? I recall your deep sighs of admiration as I swept your sidewalk. Oh yes, dear one, I noticed. I am much more observant than those pests of Hitler Youth.

I will admit, Lore, that I was surprised when Mutter held me back from Hitler Youth. My father was ashamed that I was not deemed ready to join the others. He feared consequences. But then I grew tired of those pushy boys and realized I was intended
for something much more important. Although it took nearly five years for me to join the war effort, I have finally found my calling here in Gotenhafen. My qualities are finally recognized by one of my own, a recruit of steadfast courage. Yes, it is calming in an indescribable way to find oneself. Few men have that opportunity. I am one of those men.

I now understand what it is to feel superior. And I quite like it.

Breath fogged from my mouth. My stomach rumbled. I thought of our warm kitchen at home in Tilsit, the soft ring of the lids trembling on their pots, and my sister's laughter echoing throughout the house.

When my mother died of tuberculosis, my father's greatest concern was Anni. “How will I raise a proper girl on my own?” he said.

Anni was thirteen when I last saw her. She would be nearly sixteen now. Would I recognize her if I passed her on the street? Where had she been and what had she experienced?

The door squealed. “Anyone hungry up there?” yelled the voice.

Such an idiot. “Shh,” I reminded him once again.

“Ah, yes, we must be covert.” He climbed the ladder. “I feel my physique responding,” he announced. “I have made exercise a priority and am seeing benefits. In fact, I believe the benefit now expands to my hands, which seem to be improving.”

I didn't want to think about his clotted hands. “What have you brought to eat?” I asked.

He removed the shoulder strap and handed me my canteen. It hadn't felt that heavy for a long time.

“Thank you.” I drank immediately. He then produced a
large chunk of bread from inside his shirt along with a slice of meat wrapped in paper.

“Most are eating pea soup, you see, but that would be quite challenging to transport,” he explained.

“When are we leaving?” I asked.

“Word is that we could depart any minute.”

An artillery blast sounded in the distance. He twitched and plastered himself against the wall of the chimney.

“Still miles away,” I told him. “But they're advancing.” I pictured my father's maps. I could see swarms of Russians plowing into East Prussia toward the coast of the Baltic Sea, flattening Germany's Wehrmacht, and all of us, in the process.

He scratched his wrist. “May I ask, are you good with weaponry?”

I nodded. “You?”

“Better with my mind,” he said. “I'm what is commonly referred to in philosophical circles as ‘a thinker.' I prefer to capture all angles mentally. I observe. I am a watchman.”

“But sometimes there's no time to think,” I told him. “We just have to act.”

“I quite disagree, respectfully, of course. I see many who act on instinct, which I believe is wrong. Through instinct we succumb to weakness and emotion. Careful thought and planning, mental construction, is always best.”

The impulse to hit him returned. I swallowed the last of the bread.

“‘Obstacles do not exist to be surrendered to, but only to be broken,'” said the sailor. “I think of this wisdom often. Of
course you're familiar with these words. You've read Adolf Hitler's
Mein Kampf?
” he asked.

I didn't answer the question. “You know, you strike me as an intelligent guy. It might be better for you to think for yourself, rather than memorizing the words of others.”

“Why, thank you. Mutter always praises my sharp mind.” He turned to me, his top lip curled in a grin. “And I do think for myself. But the wisdom of the Führer, it fills me with an indescribable command.” His grin widened and he began to recite, “‘Only in the steady and constant application of force lies the very first prerequisite for success.'”

He stared at me, pupils dilated. “Isn't that beautiful?”

I didn't respond. Small hairs on the back of my neck lifted in warning. This guy wasn't a sailor. He was a sociopath in training.

“Have you seen the nurse?” I asked him.

“I'll go get her,” he said eagerly.

“No—”

But he had scrambled down the ladder and out the door before I could stop him.

I took a breath, trying to control my anger. How could he do this to me?

Tomorrow morning I could walk down to the pier and find the blond soldier. I could tell him that I realized I was mistaken. I didn't write any sort of medical testimony, that I knew nothing of it. The soldier had said I was
Volksdeutsche
—of German ancestry. It was true. Germany had saved me from Stalin. What now did I owe to Germany?

“Joana.”

The voice came soft from over my shoulder. I turned. Emilia stared at me, her eyes full of concern.

“No,” she whispered. “Please.”

Were my thoughts visible?

“Excuse me, Fräulein.” Alfred stood at the edge of the ward. “A certain gentleman has requested an audience with you,” he said.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“I will take you,” he said. “You might want to bring your coat.”

I tried to hurry Alfred, but it was no use. The ship was so overcrowded it was impossible to move quickly. How many thousands of people had they boarded?

“But when will I see them?” sobbed a young girl in the corridor.

“Don't cry, sweetheart,” said an old woman. “You were lucky to be the one chosen in your family. Your mother will come for you in a couple years. You'll see, the time will go quickly.”

The crying girl looked to be ten or eleven. How would she make it on her own? “Alfred, there are so many. They'll have to remove some passengers, won't they?” I asked.

“No. I've heard that we have over eight thousand already and we are still boarding.”

Eight thousand? The ship's capacity was not even fifteen hundred. We passed cabins intended for four people. A dozen were squeezed in, trying to sleep, suitcases and luggage stacked to the ceiling.

“This is quite civilized,” said Alfred. “This afternoon over three hundred girls from the naval auxiliary arrived. They are at the very bottom of the ship. In the drained swimming pool.”

I realized how fortunate I was to be in the maternity ward. There was space and relative calm. We waded through the sea of people toward the stairwell. Some were wearing life vests, which took up even more space.

We climbed the stairs. The air became cooler. I put on my coat. Alfred stopped me and put his finger to his lips. We let some people in the stairway pass. He then opened a small door in the stairway and pulled me by the sleeve of my coat.

We were inside a hollow chamber. “Where are we?” I asked.

“In the chimney,” he announced.

“Shh,” echoed from above. I looked up and saw Florian climbing down an interior ladder.

“Alfred,” I said. “Would you mind leaving us for a moment?”

She slapped me.

When I didn't react, she raised her hand again. This time I caught her arm.

“How dare you,” she breathed.

“What are you talking about?” I said. Her face was an inch from mine.

“You know what I'm talking about,” she whispered. “You forged a letter. You said I was appointed by Erich Koch. Do you know what they could do to me?”

I let her go. “What happened?”

She threw her arms in the air. “The blond Nazi, the one you mentioned, he came to the maternity ward looking for you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him nothing. That I knew nothing.” The speed of her words increased. “But he told me he had seen your papers, that you're a courier for Koch, and that Koch appointed
me
as your nurse!”

“Shh,” I repeated. “That sailor is probably listening to every word.”

“He should,” she whispered. “He thinks he's a hero, helping you with some spy mission for the Reich.”

“That guy is no hero. You need to stay away from him.”

“You're putting us in terrible danger. It's not fair. Eva said you were a spy. Ingrid said you were a thief. I should have believed them.”

What were my options? She could turn me in.

Would she?

We stood staring at each other.

“Tell me what you want to know,” said Florian.

“Are you really carrying something for Gauleiter Koch?”

“No. I'm carrying things for myself,” he said. “A piece of art.”

“You stole art?”

“No. The Nazis stole art.”

Was he telling me that he had taken art from the Nazis? “Stop being so cryptic.”

He sighed, then spoke in a whisper. “I'm a restoration artist, Joana. I repair and restore works of art. Initially, that's why I wasn't drafted. I worked at a museum in Königsberg. I preserved and packaged art for the museum director and his contacts. But then I learned that they were using me.”

“So you stole some art to get back at them?”

“Not just ‘some art.' A priceless piece.” He paused. “Let's just say that I've taken a piece that will leave a puzzle incomplete.”

None of it made sense. And either way, I didn't want to be implicated.

“Do you love your country? Do you love your family?” he asked.

“Of course,” I told him.

“So do I. I have a younger sister out there somewhere. I'm all she has left. I think of her every day. My father made maps. He worked for the men who tried to assassinate Hitler. So the Nazis killed my father and sent a bill to our house. Three hundred reichsmarks for his execution. Do you understand? The Nazis wanted me to pay them for murdering my father. How would you feel if Stalin demanded payment for killing someone you love?”

“Stop.”

“Well, you're acting so virtuous. You're harboring a Polish girl and her baby in the maternity ward.”

“Lower your voice. That's different and you know it. She's a victim. I need to help her,” I said.

“It doesn't matter. If they find out that you falsified the identity of a Pole and brought her on board, taking a space for a German, you're done. We're both up to our necks. But I won't turn you in. Poet's not going to turn us in. I'm not a spy, Joana. I'm not working for anyone. I'm working for myself, for my family, and others like mine. If anyone discovers the truth, I'll tell them that I forged the letter and that you knew nothing about it.”

“What if they don't believe you?” I asked.

“I'll show them. I'll take out your letter and my notebook. I'll show them how I practiced forging your signature.”

“What letter?”

He paused, then pulled in a breath. “The note you left in the kitchen at the manor house. I took it.”

“You took my note?”

I had worried so intensely about that piece of paper, that they would find my name in that house. Florian had it the whole time.

“I took the note because I was trying to protect you,” he whispered.

“Well, protect yourself. That soldier told me that he's wired Koch about you.”

The door opened and Alfred's pale face appeared. “Pardon the interruption. Would you mind if I left my post to use the facilities?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I'm leaving.”