The Other Half of Life (12 page)

The rabbi continued, “I will end with another statement of the sages of the Talmud, who said, 'Whoever destroys a soul is considered to have destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life is considered to have saved an entire world.' Our ship's captain and the Hamburg-America Line are to be blessed for all eternity for the nine hundred lives they are saving with this voyage.”

The rabbi sat down. A few moments later the other man began a rousing final song, after which everyone filed out of the dance hall.

Frau Affeldt excused herself, saying she had a head ache and needed to lie down.

“What happens now?” Thomas asked Priska.

“Whatever we like,” she said.

“You don't have to do more?”

“You really don't understand, do you?” she said. “Shabbos is supposed to be a day of rest, but also a day of pleasure. So after services we enjoy ourselves. What do you want to do today?”

“Should we find Ingrid and Günther and the others?” Thomas actually liked being alone with Priska, but most of the time they did things as a group.

“Günther's Conservative,” Priska said. “They'll be there until close to lunch. I still can't believe you thought we were Orthodox.” She shook her head. “You knew we didn't keep kosher.”

Thomas remembered Professor Affeldt commenting on serving caviar to a ship full of Jews. He also recalled people sending their plates back untouched. “Yes, but I didn't really know who keeps kosher and who doesn't and why not. If you're Orthodox, you can't eat things like caviar?”

Priska shook her head. “Only if it's from the right kind of fish. Fish have to have scales to be kosher. Keeping kosher also means you can't eat pork and you can't have meat and dairy together.”

“Why?”

“Because the Torah says so, but people also think some of it might have been for health reasons from a long time ago, before people had modern conveniences like
iceboxes—certain foods may not have been safe to eat because they didn't keep as well as others.”

“But not all Jews keep kosher?”

“Being Reform means we can be more lenient and do a little bit more of what makes sense in today's world.”

Thomas sighed. “I guess I don't know anything about being Jewish.” He made a face at how strange that sounded. He was certainly Jewish as far as the Nazis were concerned. “I'd actually like to learn more,” he said. “The service was really nice.”

While Priska told him some more of what she knew about being Jewish, they wandered around the ship, exploring every corner. They tramped up and down stairs, through passages and across all the decks—from the young children's playroom, with its rubber balls and rocking horse, to the swimming pool, where people calmly breast-stroked back and forth, to the sports deck, where two men played tennis. Priska told Thomas about eating matzo and telling the story of the Jews leaving Egypt during Passover. She explained how once a year they had a chance to reconcile with loved ones and God during the High Holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It was a whole other world to him. He didn't blame his father for not teaching him about this part of his heritage, but perhaps for the first time ever he thought about how his life might differ from his parents', in that maybe he would choose to become
more religious. Thomas liked listening to Priska. She walked with her head held high, arms swinging, as if the ship were her own private city.

When they came to the door of the lounge, they heard someone playing the piano and voices singing.

Priska's face lit up. “Listen, music!”

Without a moment's hesitation, she threw open the door. Thomas followed. A group of the crew was huddled around the piano, bellowing out lyrics. Manfred and Kurt stood in the middle of them. Thomas shuddered as he recognized the words to the popular Nazi song.
“When Jewish blood spurts from the knife, then it will be twice as good!”

Priska's face went white. The men noticed her and Thomas. A few stopped singing.

“Enough!” Manfred called.

But some of the men sang louder, even though the man at the piano had lifted his fingers from the keys.

“Don't want to hurt your girlfriend's feelings?” Kurt said to Manfred.

Next to Thomas, Priska stiffened. Manfred stepped away from the piano and moved toward Thomas and Priska, his hands held in front of him, as if about to apologize or explain.

“Don't you know she's just a dirty little Jew?” Kurt said.

Thomas glanced at Priska. Her face was pinched, as if she was about to cry. She looked too old for her frilly dress
all of a sudden, like she was wearing Marianne's clothes. Thomas ached for her. He wished the men had chosen to insult him instead. Thomas knew he should take Priska by the hand and leave the room. That was what Herr Kleist and Wilhelm and many of the others on board would have told him to do.

Manfred stood in front of them with Kurt behind him. Thomas's vision blurred with the anger that roiled inside of him. He couldn't see Manfred's features, only the outline of his shape and the splash of color of the gold buttons on his uniform. For that brief moment Thomas actually thought Manfred might stick up for Priska. After all, he did seem to like her. But Manfred said nothing to counter Kurt. And Thomas would not stand by and watch.

Thomas lunged at Manfred, ramming his head into his stomach and tackling him to the ground. He had the benefit of surprise on his side—Manfred hadn't been expecting him to go after him. If anything, he should have gone after Kurt—he was the one who had called Priska a dirty Jew. But he wanted Manfred. Manfred was the one who pretended to be nice and then sang Nazi songs behind their backs. Manfred was the one who liked Priska.

As Thomas fell on top of Manfred, he realized how much bigger and stronger Manfred was. Suddenly he understood how the few years between their ages divided boy from man. They tussled for only moments before the other men pulled them apart. He was surprised the men
hadn't let them fight, hadn't cheered Manfred on. But as Kurt held Thomas's arms behind his back, Thomas realized their intent.

“Go ahead, Manfred,” Kurt entreated. “Have at him.”

“Let him go!” Priska screamed. “I'll tell the captain. You may not like us, but we're your passengers!” Her voice sounded shrill and hysterical.

Thomas stared at Manfred and jutted out his chin. “Go ahead.”

Thomas knew he was completely outmanned, but he wanted once and for all to reveal Manfred to Priska for what he really was, no matter the cost of that revelation to himself.

“Let him go,” Manfred said to Kurt.

Kurt pulled Thomas's arms tighter. It was easier not to grimace than Thomas thought it would be. His anger dulled the pain.

“I said let him go,” Manfred repeated.

Thomas's arms hurt more for a moment after Kurt released him. It must have been the blood circulating back into his limbs. He had been granted his escape but he didn't want it. Kurt stood before him, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe Manfred would pass up a chance to beat a Jew who didn't seem to understand his place in life.

Thomas rushed at Kurt this time, hoping to knock him to the ground. But Kurt withstood the force and came
back swinging at Thomas. He hit him squarely in the stomach, sending Thomas sprawling backward onto the floor, the breath knocked out of him. As he struggled to breathe, his stomach burned with pain. But strangely, Thomas didn't mind so much. He found he almost relished the pain. He scrambled to his feet, ready to go back at Kurt, but before he could, Priska grabbed his hand. With one last leer at Kurt, he let her pull him toward the door. On the way out, she bent to pick up Thomas's chess pawn. He hadn't even realized it had fallen from his pocket in the scuffle.

Once on deck with Priska, Thomas made a move toward the door to go back inside and face Kurt again.

“Are you crazy?” Priska yelled. “You're not going in there again.” She stepped toward him and said more gently, “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” he said. He looked down at his stomach, half expecting to see a giant hole in it because of how badly it hurt. He felt a surge of pride—he had acted, he had been courageous.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Priska said. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“I should have let them say that about you?”

“They were only words.”

“I know, and we'll be in Cuba in six days, so just be patient and relax and ignore them, right? Well, I can't ignore them. Sometimes I want to fight back.”

Thomas heard his father's voice in his head.
Live to fight. Don't fight to live
. He sighed, his sense of pride dulling. His father would have wanted him to walk away. Priska held out the pawn to him. “You lost this.” He nodded and took it from her. “It was my father's.” She asked, “Were you at home when he was taken away?” Thomas swallowed. He had never told anyone what had happened, but he knew that in a way he had been waiting for the right person to tell. He turned the pawn over in his hand as he spoke. “My parents decided a few nights after
Reichskristallnacht
that the safest thing to do was to temporarily split up. It was too dangerous for my father to stay with us. He knew that without him we would have a better chance of survival. They decided my father would go live with a cousin a few towns over, where he could hide. I hated that he had to go but I also understood why.”

Priska's eyes were focused on Thomas as he talked. Every time he felt himself faltering, he traced the pawn's edges.

“After he left, we got letters from him every so often and we wrote back. The letters had to go through a friend of a friend. Then one day—it had been three months since he left—my mother and I were in town doing the shopping. On the way home we walked by the train station, where three Nazis were beating a man. Usually we would have kept on walking. You don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong unless you want trouble. Perhaps it was because we hadn't gotten a letter from him in two weeks, perhaps my
mother just sensed something in the air. She walked closer and I followed. The man was on the ground. He struggled to sit up and blood spurted from his nose and mouth. He didn't try to stop it, and I saw that one of his arms was hanging by his side. It must have been badly broken. It was at a crooked angle; it looked like it didn't even belong to his body anymore. I finally looked closely at the man's face. Even through all the blood …”

Thomas stopped and looked away. His fist was clenched tight around the pawn, forcing its sharp edges into his skin.

Priska made a small sound. Before she could say anything, Thomas kept going. “The Nazis saw us. 'Do you wish to see a Jew die?' one of them asked. My mother shook her head. She took my hand and held it very tightly, as if she was telling me not to move, not to say a word. The Nazi must have seen something in her face, or in the way we were holding hands. We hadn't said anything or even looked at my father as if we knew him. I could tell from his eyes he recognized us, of course. But he was too smart to let on.

“ 'Do you know this man?' the Nazi asked us. His voice was softer. He wanted us to admit to knowing him; he wanted us to fall into his trap. If we admitted to knowing him, we might all die.”

Thomas took a deep breath. His throat felt scratchy. “My mother didn't say anything. She just shook her head,
turned, and, pulling me with her, walked away. That was the last time we saw him.” Thomas unclenched his fist. His skin had red grooves where he had gripped the pawn. He thought Priska would say something optimistic, as she always did. Always trying to look on the bright side so much that it could drive you crazy. It was what was charming about her, and also what was frustrating.

But this time she shook her head and said, “Oh, Thomas. I'm so sorry.”

“Now do you understand why you can't trust someone like Manfred?” Thomas asked her. He meant after what had happened before, with the song and the insults. But maybe he also meant after what he'd just told her.

“Yes, I do.”

Thomas closed his hand around the pawn again, this time more lightly.

“And the chess piece?” Priska said. “The pawn. Not a king or queen.”

“The pawn is the most misunderstood, underestimated piece in the game. It is the foot soldier, yes, but it has the most power. It creates the structure and the order of the game. The French chess player François-André Philidor once said that 'the pawn is the soul of chess.'”

When he had boarded the ship and met Priska for the first time, he never imagined that she would be the one he would tell his secrets to, but now that he had started, he wanted to confess everything. “My parents were part of
the resistance. That's why my father got taken away, I'm sure of it—that and, of course, because he was a Jew, and a Jew married to a non-Jew, no less. I always wondered why my parents and their friends didn't do more, like set bombs or fight back. But when I asked him, my father said you need to live to fight, not fight to live.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Priska asked.

“It means we have to bide our time, be careful, and then we will be able to make a difference in the fight.”

“And do you agree with him?”

“I don't know,” Thomas said, lowering his eyes. “What did it get him?”