A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters (25 page)

The
St Louis
was not meant to leave Havana empty after dropping its 937 emigrants. Some 250 passengers were booked on the return trip to Hamburg via Lisbon. One suggestion was that 250 of the Jews could at least be disembarked to make room for those on shore. But how would you choose the 250 who were to be allowed off the Ark? Who would separate the clean from the unclean? Was it to be done by casting lots?

The predicament of the
St Louis
was not a disregarded, local issue. The voyage was being logged by the German, British and American press.
Der Stürmer
commented that if the Jews chose to take up their return passages to Germany, they should be accommodated at Dachau and Buchenwald. Meanwhile, in Havana harbour, American reporters managed to get on board what they nicknamed, perhaps too easily, ‘the ship that shamed the world’. Such publicity does not necessarily help refugees. If
the shame belongs to the whole world, then why should one particular country – which had already accepted many Jewish refugees – be so frequently expected to bear it? The world, apparently, did not feel its shame so strongly that it moved its hand to its wallet. The Cuban government accordingly voted to exclude the immigrants and ordered the
St Louis
to leave the island’s territorial waters. This did not mean, the President added, that he had closed the door on negotiations; merely that he would not consider further offers until the ship had left harbour.

How much are refugees? It depends how desperate they are, how rich their patrons, how greedy their hosts. In the world of entry permits and panic it is always a seller’s market. Prices are arbitrary, speculative, evanescent. The lawyer from the Joint Distribution Committee put forward an opening offer of $50,000 for the safe landing of the Jews, and was told that the sum might usefully be trebled. But if trebled, why not trebled again? The director of immigration – who had already received $150 a head for the landing permits which had not been honoured – suggested to the shipping line a fee of $250,000 to help get decree number 937 rescinded. A purported intermediary of the President seemed to think that the Jews could be landed for $1,000,000. In the end, the Cuban government was to fix on a bond of $500 for each Jew. This price had a certain logic, being the amount of surety which each official immigrant into the country had to post. So the 907 passengers on board, who had already paid their outward and return fares, who had bought their permits and then been reduced to an official ten Deutschmarks each, would cost $453,500.

As the liner started its engines, a group of women charged the accommodation ladder; they were repelled by Cuban police with pistols. During its six days in Havana harbour the
St Louis
had become a tourist attraction, and its departure was watched by an estimated crowd of 100,000. The captain had been given permission by his superiors in Hamburg to sail for any port which would accept his passengers. At first he steamed idly in ever-widening circles, waiting to be recalled to Havana; then
headed north for Miami. When the ship reached the American coast it was greeted by a U.S. Coast Guard cutter. But this apparent welcome was a rebuff: the cutter was there to see that the
St Louis
did not enter territorial waters. The State Department had already decided that if the Jews were turned down by Cuba, they would not be granted entry into the United States. Money was a less direct factor here: high unemployment and reliable xenophobia were sufficient justifications.

The Dominican Republic offered to accept the refugees for the standardized market price of $500 a head; but this merely duplicated the Cuban tariff. Venezuela, Ecuador, Chile, Colombia, Paraguay and Argentina were all approached; each declined to bear the world’s shame single-handed. In Miami the immigration inspector announced that the
St Louis
would not be allowed to dock in any U.S. port.

The liner, denied entry to the whole American continent, continued steaming northwards. Those on board were aware that they were approaching the point at which it would have to swing east and head inevitably back to Europe. Then, at 4.50 on the afternoon of Sunday, 4th June, a news flash was picked up. The President of Cuba had apparently given permission for the Jews to be landed on the Isle of Pines, a former penal colony. The captain turned the
St Louis
round and headed south again. Passengers brought their luggage up on deck. That evening, over dinner, the spirits of the gala evening returned.

The next morning, three hours’ sailing away from the Isle of Pines, the ship received a cable: permission to disembark had not yet been confirmed. The passenger committee, who throughout the crisis had been sending telegrams to prominent Americans asking them to intercede, could think of no one else to contact. Someone suggested the Mayor of St Louis, Missouri, thinking that the consonance of names might perhaps evoke sympathy. A cable was duly despatched.

The Cuban President had asked for a $500 surety per refugee, plus a subsidiary guarantee to cover food and lodging during the period of transit on the Isle of Pines. The American lawyer had offered (according to the Cuban government) a total of
$443,000, but further stipulated that this sum was to cover not just the refugees on the
St Louis
but also 150 Jews on two other ships. The Cuban government found itself unable to accept this counter-proposal and withdrew its own offer. The lawyer for the Joint Committee responded by agreeing in full to the original Cuban demand. The government in return regretted that its offer had already been terminated and could not now be revived. The
St Louis
turned round and headed north for a second time.

As the ship began its return voyage to Europe, the British and French governments were informally sounded out to see if their countries might take the Jews. The British answer was that they would prefer to view the present difficulty in the wider context of the general European refugee situation, but that they might be prepared to consider possible subsequent entry of the Jews to Britain after their return to Germany.

There had been unconfirmed or impracticable offers from the President of Honduras, from an American philanthropist, even from a quarantine station in the Panama Canal Zone; the ship steamed on. The passenger committee addressed its appeals to political and religious leaders throughout Europe; though its messages now had to be shorter, since the shipping line had withdrawn free cabling facilities. One suggestion made at this time was that the strongest swimmers among the Jews should jump overboard at intervals, thus forcing the
St Louis
to stop and turn round. This would slow its progress towards Europe and allow more time for negotiations. The idea was not taken up.

German radio announced that since no country would agree to accept the boat-load of Jews, the Fatherland would be obliged to take them back and support them. It was not difficult to guess where they might be supported. What’s more, if the
St Louis
was forced to unload its cargo of degenerates and criminals back in Hamburg, this would prove that the world’s supposed concern was mere hypocrisy. Nobody wanted the shabby Jews, and nobody therefore had any right to criticize whatever welcome the Fatherland might extend to the filthy parasites on their return.

It was at this time that a group of younger Jews attempted to
hijack the ship. They invaded the bridge, but were dissuaded from further action by the captain. For his part, he conceived a plan of setting fire to the
St Louis
off Beachy Head, which would compel the rescuing nation to take his passengers in. This desperate scheme might even have been tried. Finally, when many had given up hope and the liner was nearing Europe, the Belgian government announced that it would admit 200 of the passengers. In the days that followed, Holland agreed to take 194, Britain 350, and France 250.

After a voyage of 10,000 miles, the
St Louis
docked at Antwerp, 300 miles from its port of departure. Relief workers from the four countries involved had already met to decide the distribution of the Jews. Most of those on board possessed the right of eventual entry into the United States, and had therefore been ascribed a number on the U.S. quota list. It was observed that the relief workers competed for passengers with low numbers, since these refugees would leave their countries of transit the soonest.

In Antwerp a pro-Nazi youth organization had distributed handbills bearing the slogan: ‘We too want to help the Jews. If they call at our offices each will receive gratis a length of rope and a long nail.’ The passengers were disembarked. Those admitted to Belgium were put on a train whose doors were locked and windows nailed shut; they were told that such measures were necessary for their own protection. Those admitted to Holland were immediately transferred to a camp surrounded by barbed wire and guard dogs.

On Wednesday, 21st June, the British contingent from the
St Louis
docked at Southampton. They were able to reflect that their wanderings at sea had lasted precisely forty days and forty nights.

On 1st September the Second World War began, and the passengers from the
St Louis
shared in the fate of European Jewry. Their chances rose or fell depending upon the country to which they had been allotted. Estimates of how many survived vary.

8
UPSTREAM!

Postcard
c/o The Jungle

Darling –

Just time for a card – we leave in half an hour – had our last night on the Johnny Walker now it’s local firewater or nothing – remember what I said on the phone and don’t have it cut too short. Love you – your Circus Strongman.

Letter 1

My own darling –

Just spent 24 hours on a bus with the dashboard covered in St Christophers or whatever the local version hereabouts is. Wouldn’t have minded if the driver had gone in for some stronger magic – the old Christianity didn’t seem to be having much effect on his driving. When not thinking about puking your guts up round every hairpin bend, scenery magnificent. Great big trees, mountains – that sort of thing – I’ve got some postcards. Crew all a bit over-excited at the moment – if I hear another joke about ‘I was going Caracas back there’ I think I’ll strangle someone. Still, that’s normal on a job like this. Not that I’ve ever done a job like this before, should be great fun. It’d better be after all those needles they stuck in me so I won’t get beri-beri and co.

It’s a relief to get away from people recognizing you as well. You know, even with the beard and glasses they still copped the face in Caracas. At the airport, of course, but that’s normal anyway. No, it was funny. Guess what they’d seen me in? Not your upmarket angst number with the Pinter script that got the
Palme d’Or, none of that. No, that filthy little American soap I did for Hal Screwyouupalotodos. It’s STILL playing here. Kids come up in the street and say, ‘Hey Mista Rick, how ya doin’?’ What about that? The poverty here is something else. Still, after India nothing will surprise me. Now what have you done about your hair? I hope you haven’t gone and done anything silly to it just to get your own back for me going away. I know what you girls are like, you say you’ll just have it short to see what it looks like, and then you say Pedro at the salon won’t let you grow it just for the moment, and then you say you’ve got to look your best for some wedding or other and you can’t go with it straggly and then you end up not growing it again and if I don’t mention it every week you think I’ve learned to like it and if I do mention it every week you think I’m nagging so I don’t mention it and I’m stuck with it. And it’s not fair to say it’s because of the beard because the beard’s not my fault, they just didn’t shave in the jungle in whatever century it’s going to be when we get there and I
know
I grew it early but that’s the way I am, I like to start thinking myself into the part as soon as possible. You know what Dirk says, how he starts with the shoes, once he gets the shoes right he knows what the rest of the character’s like, well with me it’s the face. Sorry if it’s the first thing you see in the morning, still it’s not everyone who can say they’ve been sleeping with a Jesuit. A very old Jesuit too. Weather very hot, laundry problems I expect. Still taking those tummy tablets. Had a word with Vic about the script and he says not to worry but they always say that at this stage, don’t they? I told him what I said to you on the phone about shouldn’t he be given a bit more obvious humanity because priests aren’t great box-office nowadays and Vic said we’d talk about it nearer the time. Getting on well with Matt – obviously there’s going to be some competition once we start work but he’s not half as paranoid as I thought he’d be, a bit back-slapping, still I guess that’s Yanks for you. I told him my Vanessa story and he told me his and we’d both heard them before! Got stinko paralytico together on our last night in town and ended up doing the Zorba dance in a restaurant! Matt tried plate-smashing but they said it
wasn’t the local custom and threw us out! Charged us for the plates, too.

You know what they call post offices out here? Our Lady of Communications. You probably have to get down on your knees for next-day delivery. Not that we’ve seen one of them for miles. God knows if I’ll be able to post this before the Jungle starts. Maybe we’ll come across a friendly native with a forked stick going in the right direction and I’ll give him the big-screen smile and hand it over. (Joke.) Don’t worry about me. Love you.

– Charlie

Letter 2

Darling –

If you look in your photo album for our flat-smouldering party you’ll see there’s something missing. Don’t worry – I’ve got it. It’s the one where you’ve got your chipmunk face on. You’ve got a bit wet out here – terrible downpour couple of days ago – but you still don’t mind being kissed last thing at night. You might get a bit crumpled from here on in as we’ve seen our last hotel for a bit. Now it’s all Boy Scout stuff and bivouacs and tents. Hope I get the sleep I need. It’s so hard to work on full glow when you’ve only had a couple of hours kip. Anyway we’re well into the Jungle now. Lots of delays. Usual stuff – you arrange that on such-and-such a day you’ll turn up with so many people and so much luggage and he’ll transport you to the next place and when you turn up he pretends things have changed and you didn’t say fifty but fifteen and anyway the price has gone up and so on and so bloody on until he gets the backhander he wants. God, when things like that happen I just feel like shouting I Want To Work in a very loud voice. I did that one day when things got hairier than usual, went down to where some bandit was trying to rip us off and practically rubbed beards with him and shouted into his face I Want To Work For Christ’s Sake Let Me Work, but Vic said that wasn’t being helpful.