The Other Half of Life (22 page)

He held them up to the deck light. Where he had expected to see numbers, he saw architectural drawings of planes. All the words were written in English. Thomas could make out only a few at the bottom: u.s. air force. It took him a few moments to realize what these documents were—blueprints of U.S. fighter planes. Holz wasn't a thief, he was a spy. Another Nazi spy in America must
have smuggled the papers into Cuba and handed them off to the
Ortsgruppenleiter
, who was taking them back to Hitler.

But they would not get their hands on them. The thin sheaves tore easily. Thomas ripped them into tiny pieces and threw them overboard. He watched as they fluttered off over the sea before disappearing into the dark. Thomas was about to let the last few pieces go when he heard loud footsteps.

He turned to see Holz running toward him, no longer feigning injury.

Thomas braced himself for the impact of his body, or a punch, but Holz grabbed Thomas around the throat and pushed him up against the railing. The wood bit into his back and Thomas heard the top rail groan under the pressure. He felt it give slightly behind him. Holz pushed harder.

Thomas gripped the
Ortsgruppenleiter's
hands with his own, clawing for air as the man shouted at him. Holz squeezed harder and Thomas was certain he would die. He tried kicking his shins, but he felt like a small dog trying to jump up on someone. The world around him started to go fuzzy.

When Kurt had punched him, Thomas had been almost grateful for the pain. He had wanted more and would have had his fair share of bruises if Priska hadn't pulled him away. All along on the voyage, Thomas had been inviting
danger with his smart remarks. Only now he didn't want any more of it. Before, he had wanted to suffer, perhaps as his father had, as he had let his father do. But now he wanted the pain to stop. He would do anything to live through this. A quote from Goethe ran through his head:
It is easier to die than to endure a harrowing life with fortitude
. He did not want to take the easy way out.

But no one else besides Priska knew what he was doing, and he had told her to stay in her room. He had involved her too much already. Thomas stopped struggling, hoping to conserve any strength he had left.

The lack of oxygen made him not trust the next image he saw—that of Manfred rushing upon them, tearing Holz from Thomas and throwing him to the ground. Thomas slumped down against the railing. He gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. His throat ached and his chest burned.

Manfred shouted at the
Ortsgruppenleiter
, “This man is one of our passengers.”

“He's a Jew,” Holz said. “His life will be over soon enough.”

He came at Thomas again. In the split second that Thomas had to process the fact that the attack was resuming, he realized his best chance was surprise. He gathered every last bit of energy inside him, and as the
Ortsgruppenleiter
reached for him, Thomas jumped up, slamming him in the stomach. The blow must have knocked the wind
out of him because Thomas now had
him
against the railing. Manfred rushed forward just as Holz was coming back to himself, gasping for air. Manfred landed a hard punch, and all of a sudden there was a loud cracking sound. It took Thomas a moment to understand that it wasn't bones breaking but the railing giving way. The
Ortsgruppenleiter
fell backward, and before Thomas or Manfred could even think of reaching out for him, he disappeared and they heard a splash below.

At first Thomas was certain that people would hear Holz's screams, but it was only moments later that the cries were fainter. Moments after that, they could no longer hear anything but the sea. Even if they had wanted to throw him a life ring, Thomas didn't know how they could have acted fast enough to reach him. Manfred and Thomas were left staring at the water.

The only noise besides the engine was Thomas's labored breathing. He fell to his knees, from pain and exhaustion, and from shock at what had just happened.

“Thomas?” Manfred said. “Are you all right?”

Thomas swallowed, his throat throbbing. He tested his voice. “Yes,” he managed. His voice was hoarse but usable.

Thomas tried to return to breathing normally, but it was impossible to take anything more than shallow breaths. Manfred waited with him, and after a while Thomas tried to stand. They both stared at the broken railing.

Manfred said, “I'll tell the captain the truth. That it was an accident.”

Manfred sounded calm but he paced the deck. Thomas moved to where the
Ortsgruppenleiter
had fallen over and looked down, but there was nothing to see but water.

“Why should I trust you?” he asked, although he knew he really had no choice. If Manfred wanted to pin Holz's death on him, he easily could. Keeping the
Ortsgruppenleiter
from killing Thomas was one thing, but killing the
Ortsgruppenleiter
was another entirely. Manfred certainly hadn't meant to kill him, and he could be in a lot of trouble from very high up in the Nazi Party if he were blamed for his death.

Manfred walked toward him. Thomas glanced back at the railing, realizing he had unknowingly put himself in a vulnerable position. Manfred was only a few steps away from him. All that separated Thomas from the sea below was the splintered rail. How hard would it be for Manfred to push him overboard?

“You and I are not so different,” Manfred said.

Thomas could feel the breeze off the water behind him. “How so?” He imagined Manfred would say that he too loved Priska, but instead he said, his voice scratchy, “No one here knows my mother is a Jew. I am a Jew.”

At first Thomas thought this must be some kind of trick. But when he met Manfred's gaze, he knew the man was sincere.

“I ran away from home when I was your age and got a job on this ship. The crew became my second family, a happier family than I had left behind. At first I thought I would someday tell them where I came from, but as things worsened and the hatred for the Jews grew, I knew I couldn't risk telling.”

“No one knows?” Thomas asked.

“The captain knows.” Manfred smiled, acknowledging that it was most unusual that the captain should know and not care. “He's taken me under his wing. He made me captain's steward to protect me. Now you know my secret too. And now I know why Priska wanted the key. I knew she didn't lock herself out. Some inane story she told me.”

“But you gave it to her anyway?” Thomas said.

“She needed it for some reason. That was good enough. I knew she wouldn't do any harm.” Manfred paused and then asked, “What was it that you threw overboard?”

Thomas looked at Manfred, gauging whether to tell him. He had just saved his life and admitted that he was a Jew. What more could Thomas want? But he was still keenly aware of the broken rail at his back. “Blueprints of U.S. planes. He must have picked them up in Havana.”

Manfred nodded.

“Did the captain know the
Ortsgruppenleiter
was a spy?”

“Yes. But not until he was already on board the ship; otherwise the captain would have quit. I imagine this is his last voyage—mine too.” Manfred stepped back and
Thomas was able to move away from the hole in the railing. He realized he was shaking all over.

“Will you be all right?” Manfred asked.

“Yes,” Thomas managed. “Thank you.” Those two words didn't seem like enough for what Manfred had done for him. But it was hard to be grateful to someone about whom Thomas was still unsure.

Manfred started to walk away, but he stopped and turned back. “I didn't think you would sacrifice that pawn.”

“I didn't sacrifice it,” Thomas said. “I lost it. Sometimes that's all you can do.”

W
hen he climbed out of bed the next morning, his throat still throbbed, which was the only way he knew he hadn't dreamed up everything that had happened. Thomas did a quick wash and comb, appraising the damage to his neck. It was bruised and swollen, and he wrapped a wool scarf around it before heading up.

On deck, the bright light of the sun stung his eyes. He felt woozy and off balance. He stood gripping the railing, hoping to come back to himself somehow. He was still not feeling much better when Priska ran up to him.

“What happened? There are all these stories going around … an accident … did Holz really go overboard?”

Thomas nodded. He preferred to talk as little as he could, given the pain in his throat.

Priska brought her hand to her mouth. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She seemed to know that there was more to the story and that he would tell her everything in time. That she needn't rush him.

“Just tell me one thing: Were you right about the money?”

He shook his head. “They were plans. Blueprints of U.S. planes. I threw them overboard. Priska, he was a Nazi spy.”

She smiled. “I can't believe it. And you got rid of the plans? You're a hero! And, Thomas, we're not going back to Germany! France, Belgium, Holland, and England have agreed to take us. Every last one of us on board. The Joint brokered a resolution. We've been saved!”

Thomas was still too dazed to really comprehend the news. He tried to understand it all—he would not be reunited with Walter, but if he was lucky, he would find a new life somewhere else. He thought about how Priska had said he could live with them. Maybe he would, after all.

For the remainder of the voyage, the ship came back to life. There was dancing, singing, joking. They played the usual deck games and even had a giant game of tug-of-war. Thirty-five days after they had left Hamburg, they docked in Antwerp. The representative from the Joint who had brokered the resolution came aboard to help decide which countries the passengers would go to.

Thomas and Priska went to the social hall and stood outside the closed doors, looking in through the window. Soon Paul and Claudia came out. “I did the best I could,” Paul was saying to her.

“How's it going in there?” Priska asked as she chewed on a fingernail.

“Nine hundred people is a lot to sort out,” Paul replied.

“Where do you hope to go?” Priska asked.

“I have relatives in France,” Claudia said.

Priska looked at Thomas. “We don't care where we go as long as Thomas is with us.”

Claudia assured her, “They said families would remain together.”

“Your father will try his best,” Thomas said.

“The countries are fighting over the people with the most favorable U.S. quota numbers,” Paul explained. “That way they won't be a burden on that country very long because they'll soon be going to America.”

Thomas and Priska walked back out to the deck. Günther, Ingrid, Marianne, Jakob, and Hannelore were huddled together.

“Any news yet?” Günther asked.

Thomas shook his head.

Ingrid suggested they play shuffleboard to pass the time, but no one wanted to. Finally, around five P.M., a voice came over the loudspeaker: “The passengers who
will disembark in Antwerp in preparation for transfer to elsewhere in Belgium and Holland have been decided. If your name is one of those called, please go to the dining rooms to have a light dinner. You will be disembarking in two hours' time.”

Thomas froze, listening intently to the names as they were called. He told himself not to get his hopes up. Most likely he would not be with her. But then he heard Priska's voice in his head, telling him to have faith.

“Blanka Rosen, Siegfried Adler, Pauline Einhorn … Emil Affeldt, Flora Affeldt, Priska Affeldt, Marianne Affeldt …”

Thomas glanced at Priska.

Marianne said, “What about Thomas?”

“Shh,” Priska warned, holding a hand up to silence both of them.

Thomas stood still, numb all over. With each name, his hope diminished. When the list was finished, his name had not been called.

“We're leaving,” Priska said, her face blank.

Marianne burst into tears and ran to Thomas. He wrapped his arms around her. “We'll see each other again soon. This is just for the time being. We'll meet in America.” Thomas couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth—promises he couldn't guarantee. He met Priska's eyes over Marianne's head. She mouthed his name.