Salt to the Sea (15 page)

On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland from the west.

On September 17, 1939, Russia invaded Poland from the east.

I remembered these dates.

Two warring nations gripped Poland like girls fighting over a doll. One held the leg, the other the arm. They pulled so hard that one day, the head popped off.

The Nazis sent our people to ghettos and concentration camps.

The Soviets sent our people to gulags and Siberia.

I was nine years old when it started. People changed. Faces shriveled and sunk, like baked apples. Neighbors spoke in whispers. I watched them play their games. I observed them when they weren't looking. I learned.

But how long could I play this game? A ploy of war both outside and inside. What would happen if I actually made it to the West? Would I be able to reveal myself as Emilia Stożek, a girl from Lwów? Would Germany be safe for me?

Once the war ended, which side would be the right side for a Pole?

Hours passed. The sailor didn't come to the movie house. My mind coursed through the possibilities: He was busy, assigned more tasks. He forgot. Maybe he wasn't as gullible as I thought.

And what about Joana? Would she look for me?

I debated whether to leave the movie house. With every minute that passed, more refugees poured into Gotenhafen. Fewer ships would be available. The Reich would grow more desperate. Joseph Goebbels, the composer of blustery Nazi propaganda, had been issuing nonsense statements for years. He tried to boost morale with lies. “Total victory will be ours. Hold strong!” But victory had slipped through their fingers. Their hands were sticky with blame. And now the Russians drew closer. I looked at the newly issued propaganda leaflet I had found outside the movie house. It was titled
Victory or Death
.

WE ARE GERMANS!

THERE ARE TWO POSSIBILITIES:

EITHER WE ARE GOOD GERMANS
OR WE ARE BAD ONES.

IF WE ARE GOOD GERMANS, ALL IS WELL.
IF WE ARE BAD GERMANS,

THEN THERE ARE TWO POSSIBILITIES:

Ridiculous. I couldn't read the rest. I folded the leaflet and put it in my pocket. Goebbels was right about one thing. There were good Germans and bad Germans. But in truth, the labels were currently applied in reverse.

Those perceived as deserters would be executed. The longer I waited, the greater the odds that Lange would discover my betrayal. Had he broken into my apartment or the secret room below the castle? Had he already searched the crates?

Or worse—perhaps Nazi leader Erich Koch was standing on the dock right now, waiting for me.

Life vests and floats. That was my new assignment. Collect as many life vests and floats as I could find. I was glad of the task outside as it would finally give me a chance to visit the movie house and the young recruit. This was becoming exciting, just like the Karl May adventure novels that Hannelore loved so well.

But where exactly was the movie house? It was bitterly cold outside; the hairs inside my nose gummed and froze. A long walk would not be tolerable. I spotted the old man and the young boy standing under a damaged building with a large clock.

My pulse raced as the crumbling theater came into view. Yes, yes, I would do this. I would be in best favor with leaders of the party when the recruit revealed that I had helped him.

I walked through the snow around back and realized I had forgotten the number of knocks. No matter. The door stood open and people moved in and out freely. The movie house overflowed with refugees. The smell was quite unpleasant. Baggage and personal articles towered on top of the seats. A shrill whistle sounded. It came from the pregnant Latvian woman. She pointed above, toward the ceiling. I supposed she was suffering the feminine hysteria common to pregnant women, but then I saw the recruit, standing in the small window of the projection booth.

It took me quite a while to find the stairs and I was belabored of breath once I climbed them. I approached the closed door at the top of the stairway. Was this where I was supposed to use the secret knock? The door flew open. The recruit pulled me inside.

The tiny dark room smelled of cigarettes. I waved my hand in front of my face, hoping to clear the air.

“You want a smoke?” asked the recruit, pacing the floor.

“I don't partake,” I told him.

“Do you have it?”

He spoke in code, but I knew what he meant. The pass. I tried to remember the terminology used in the spy magazines but could not recall any. So I just slowly whispered, “Yes.” His coat shifted and I saw a pistol in his waistband. I quickly produced the pass.

“You're a good man,” he told me. He then handed me a leaflet labeled
Victory or Death
.

“Have you read that one?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted.

“It speaks of good Germans and bad Germans. You are a good German.”

“Thank you.” I felt a glow of confidence within me. “Permission to ask a question?”

He smiled. “Permission granted.”

“How will you manage? The pass is blank. It will need to be filled out and also stamped officially for you to board. They will have a complete manifest.”

“Yes, I know. Leave that to me. Now, friend, before boarding
begins and all hell breaks loose, I need you to bring me the nurse.”

“The pretty nurse from this morning?” I asked.

He stopped pacing. “You think she's pretty?”

I had heard other sailors talk often of girls, sometimes in graphic detail. And of course I had my Hannelore.

“Yes.” I grinned. “In my experience, the nurse would certainly rate as attractive.”

He stared at the pass. “Can you find her? Tell her that her patient needs her. Make sure you use the word
need
, sailor.”

“But where will I find her?”

“She promised the pregnant girl she would come for her. She's probably on her way here.”

“Ah, yes, she did seem most concerned for the Latvian.”

The recruit turned to me, lighting the stub of a cigarette. “The pretty nurse,” he said. “Her name is Joana. And when it comes to her, sailor”—he clapped me on the shoulder, exhaling a scarf of smoke—“I've heard she's already spoken for.”

Dr. Richter would be angry. Instead of following him to the ship, I had left him with hundreds of wounded men.

Blessed, reliable Poet. He stood under the clock in the cold, the wandering boy playing in a mound of snow near his feet.

“See,” he said to the boy. “I told you she would come.”

The wandering boy jumped up and hugged my leg.

“Hello, little one.” I looked to Poet. “Were you able to get passes?”

“Four hours in that line. But yes, we were given passes. I was nearly conscripted to repair military boots. To be truthful, I think little Klaus was the only reason I was granted a pass. Small children are a priority.”

“And what about Emilia?”

“It was a mess. That blathering sailor pushed her to the front of the line. It drew more attention.” Poet frowned. “The girl, she was terrified. I had to push her, but she finally caught on and feigned contractions, lying on the ground wailing. Then the soldiers wanted to put her on the boat immediately, but she said she wouldn't go without you, her nurse. They were only too happy to be rid of her. That silly sailor was so frightened by the threat of birthing that he lost all color and nearly keeled over.”

“But did she get a pass? Where is she now?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, the pregnant Latvian got herself a pass. She's in the movie theater. She insisted on waiting for you. Where is Sorry Eva?”

“Eva's in line for registration. We have to hurry. I need to get back. They're boarding the wounded tonight. I want to take Emilia with me. The rest of you may board tomorrow.”

The young sailor suddenly appeared.

“Aha! There you are, Fräulein.” He moved uncomfortably close and began to whisper. “Your patient says he needs you in the movie house. I stress, Fräulein, he
needs
you.”

I looked at him, confused. What did he mean?

“He used those very words himself.” The sailor stared at me, blinking rapidly.

We left the sailor and ran to the movie house.

Joana pushed through the door of the projection room, flushed and out of breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“That was quick,” I said with a smile.

She looked at me, annoyed there was no emergency. “I have to get back to the ship. I'm taking Emilia. Poet and the boy will board tomorrow. Eva still hasn't registered.”

I nodded.

She stared at me, evaluating, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm not to be summoned whenever you please. I don't know what you're playing and I'm not sure I want to know. But I think I deserve to know your name. Is it really Florian Beck?”

“You don't believe me?” I reached in my pocket and handed her my identity card.

“What sort of name is Florian?” she asked, looking at my identity photo.

“My mother named me after a sixteenth-century painter, Florian Abel.”

She shrugged, satisfied, and handed back my papers.

I lit the remainder of my cigarette and passed it to her.

“I'm on the
Wilhelm Gustloff
, ” she said, taking a drag and passing it back to me.

“Are you inviting me?” I grinned.

“I have a feeling you'd find your way on if you wanted to.”

I couldn't tell if she was amused or annoyed. “Can I see your boarding pass?” I asked. She removed it from her papers and handed it to me. She walked to the little projection box and looked down at the theater.

I studied her pass, taking note of every detail. “Where's the
Gustloff
going?”

“To Kiel,” she responded.

Kiel was nearly three hundred nautical miles away, at the northern tip of Germany. It was close to the border of Denmark, close to where my sister, Anni, might be. I stared at the pass.

“I think I understand now,” said Joana. “When you need something, you start talking to me. Is that right?”

I changed the subject. “You seem happy working with the doctor. I bet you were top of your class.”

She laughed. “Yes, top of my class, but what does that mean now? Can you believe I used to study instead of going to the beach?” She shook her head. “But I do like helping people. And I like being one step closer to my mother.” She stared down below. “All those children. There are so many.”

I moved in behind her and looked over her shoulder. The wandering boy clutched his rabbit and waved up at us. We waved back.

“I especially like the little boy,” I whispered.

Joana turned, her face suddenly close to mine.

“Why?” she asked.

“He takes care of one-eared bunnies.” I grinned and touched my ear.

She let out a small laugh. “I like that,” she said, pointing to my mouth.

“What?”

“You look completely different when you smile.”

We stood, staring at each other. The space between us narrowed. We were close, nearly touching. Her chin raised toward me. I looked down at her lips.

“I . . . should probably go,” she whispered.

I nodded slowly and handed back her pass. We waited, silent. She suddenly looked embarrassed.

“Well, good-bye then,” she said, slowly stepping away from me.

I said nothing, just watched her walk through the door and close it behind her.

I exhaled, unaware that I had been holding my breath.

Ahoy there, Hannelore!

Ahoy is a term we seasoned sailors use. I am standing at this moment on the top deck of the Gustloff. Evening and darkness have arrived. Tethered to the pier around us are many ships of all configurations. Sitting opposite is
Hansa, a large vessel also aflurry with activity and preparation. Two lighthouses stand guard at the mouth of the harbor, yet they are not illuminated. No need to wave at the Russian planes above, you see.

Today I progressed from my traditional excellence to something altogether more interesting.

As you may remember, the Wilhelm Gustloff was built not for luxury cruising of the privileged. Hitler built the Gustloff for the everyman—the carpenter, the postman, the locksmith, and even the housewife. But now the everyman's ship shall in fact carry very important people. The Gustloff will transport our wounded men, officers, and priority passengers whose identities I am helping to conceal. Yes, aren't you curious to hear more about the young recruit? That is all I will say today. I mustn't empty my net too quickly. I must keep you, my little fish, swimming to the top of the water for food.

You are of the fairer sex and for that I am glad. May your
fingers never know a fist. May your ears never ring with the call of duty. Before this war is over, all men will have an opportunity to reveal their true selves. I welcome that opportunity. To be a hero requires difficult choices and sacrifice. Each man can respond only when the finger of bravery curls and beckons him forth. That finger, it beckons me, Hannelore. I feel it.

Emilia wanted to wait for Florian. I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of the cinema, assuring the others we'd see them tomorrow.

A thick procession of wagons and evacuees clogged the road to the port. The gray stone buildings lining the cobbled street were pockmarked, missing their doors and windows. Interior rooms were now visible, like a broken dollhouse. I saw a beautiful mahogany desk with a typewriter, the chandelier above swinging in the wind. A faded and torn banner of Hitler flapped from the splintered window of a perfume shop. It said,
Volk ans Gewehr
. People Get to Your Gun.

Did Lithuania and Poland look this bad too?

Our papers and passes were checked as we entered the harbor, as we approached the ship, and then again near the gangway. The soldiers instructed us to board and report to a desk on B deck. Emilia's hand trembled in mine as we walked up the gangway through the open cavity on the side of the
Gustloff
.

Inside, the ship was a floating city. A warm one. Enormous would be an understatement. It appeared that amidst the chaos outside, the Germans were preparing and insisting on a very orderly boarding process. Signs were in place to direct
passengers. Once we reached B deck we were told to proceed to the promenade deck where a makeshift maternity ward had been established.

Sailors and authorized personnel darted every which way as we progressed through the corridors. “Step aside, please.” Two sailors ran past us with a stack of blankets. Announcements squawked through the public address speaker. We arrived on the promenade deck. Emilia dropped my hand.

“I want to leave. Want to be outside,” she whispered.

“Let's get you settled. You'll feel better in a moment,” I assured her.

I found Dr. Richter. He directed us to what would be the maternity ward. Cots with crisp white linens sat in uniform rows.

“You are the very first mother to arrive,” Dr. Richter told Emilia. “We're hoping to have another doctor on board but we haven't received confirmation yet.”

Emilia said nothing.

“It's all quite overwhelming for her,” I explained. “Her condition, the trek, the language barrier, being separated from her . . . husband.”

“Of course,” said the doctor. “But I can solve one of the problems. Many of the passengers will be multilingual. Once boarding begins I'll find someone who speaks Latvian.” Dr. Richter patted Emilia's shoulder. “Don't you worry. Soon you can tell us absolutely everything.” He turned and walked out of the maternity ward.

Emilia's nails dug into my arm.