Salt to the Sea (21 page)

The ship was full of unnatural sounds. Steel doors clanging, hollow footsteps, desperate echoes. Nature, the outdoors, even the farm, it all felt so far away.

I had worked so hard for the Kleists. Frau Kleist claimed everything I did was wrong but she was all too happy to let me clean, cook, and preserve for her. The cold store cellar on the edge of the property became my favorite place. On hot days I'd sit on an apple box outside with the cool stones against my back. August repaired the shelves for me when he was home. Else would linger nearby, begging for a spoonful of rose petal jam.

It wasn't Else's fault.

But I wondered.

Did she ever think of it? Did she remember the trail my heels carved in the dirt as they dragged me across the yard? Did my screams echo in her head as they did in mine?

Or perhaps, like me, she tried to forget it all and think instead about a spoonful of rose petal jam.

Was she telling the truth? Had the soldier really contacted Koch's office or did she say that because she was mad and wanted to scare me?

I waited until the middle of the night when I hoped everyone would be asleep. I had noted toilet facilities in the corridor as the sailor walked me to the chimney. I quietly slipped out of the small door with my pack, keeping my head down.

People occupied every possible space, yet my lavatory visit went undetected. I then went to the maternity ward to see Joana. If what she said was true, the ship would be swarming with soldiers hunting for me at first light.

I peeked in but didn't see her. The Polish girl slept, the baby cradled in her arms. I walked to the infirmary. It was a solemn sight, wounded men on wooden pallets lined within a foot of each other. Joana tended to a soldier nearby. Their words were easily heard in the quiet dark.

“Well, you're not wearing a wedding ring,” said the soldier.

“No, but I told you. I have a boyfriend. Now, you rest quietly and let me finish with this bandage.”

“Let me be your boyfriend, just for tonight,” pleaded the soldier.

My fingers curled into a fist.

“Please, just let me finish,” said Joana, her voice taut.

The soldier continued to pester. He grabbed her with his good arm. “C'mon, give me a little kiss.”

“Hey.” The word came out before I could stop it.

“There you are,” said Joana. “I was just telling Sergeant Mueller about you. I'm almost done here.”

I stepped back into the corridor to remain out of sight from the men.

Joana walked out of the infirmary. “What do you want?”

“Does that happen often?” I asked.

“They're delirious.” She sighed, fatigued, and tucked a curl behind her ear. “I'm busy. What do you want?”

What did I want? I wanted the war to be over so I could ask her out.

“I need to know. Did the soldier really say that he had wired Koch?” I asked.

She looked up at me. I couldn't read her expression. I told myself that her eyes weren't pretty and that I didn't want to kiss her. She just stared.

“Did he really say he had contacted Koch?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

Arguments began before the sun rose. Flotation rafts, life vests, weather. The commotion was unsettling to my mind. I decided it would be best to descend to E deck to check on the hundreds of ladies in the drained pool. It was quite warm at the bottom of the ship. I wondered if the women might shed their uniforms for comfort. They played cards, slept, combed their hair, huddled in groups, and preoccupied themselves in general feminine behavior. I found them fascinating to observe and decided to remain concealed for one, maybe two hours, to further my studies.

At ten o'clock my surveillance was disrupted by a group of soldiers who marched onto E deck, sending the girls into a flurry. They announced they were looking for a specific passenger. It was the perfect time to present my services. I stepped out of the shadows and approached the men. The leader was a fine specimen, hair as yellow as the sun and clear, unblemished skin.

“Good morning, sir. Might I be of service?”

The soldier seemed surprised by my presence.

“He's been spying on us all morning,” said one of the women. “He's harmless.”

The other girls laughed.

I did not appreciate their laughter at my expense, nor did I like the feeling it created inside of me. I suddenly detested these insipid women. They were disgusting and stupid.

“Who are you looking for? We've seen a few fellas wander down here,” said one of the girls from inside the drained pool. “Can you describe him for us?”

The soldier knelt down at the edge of the pool. “Tall guy, long brown hair, civilian clothes. Bloodstained shirt. Name is Florian Beck. He's probably trying to stay out of sight. Gauleiter Koch has a message for him.”

They would quickly realize their error in their laughter toward me. I was, after all, soon to receive a medal. I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, sir, but I may be able to deliver that message to your desired party.”

The soldier threw a glance at me over his shoulder. “I wasn't talking to you. Get lost.” The girls giggled.

They were dismissing me. Laughing at me. The familiar anger began to rise.

I did not serve this soldier.

I did not serve my father.

I served only one.

The one.

“Heil Hitler!” I yelled, slicing my right arm through the air in salute. I turned on my heel and walked out.

I placed the baby in Emilia's arms and leaned down to whisper, “I told Dr. Richter I found a Latvian to translate. I think he believed me.” Emilia didn't look convinced. I righted my posture and my voice. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

She nodded, smiling. “Halinka.”

“Halinka. That's a beautiful name,” I said.

“My mother's name was Halina. My father always called her Halinka.”

I thought of my own father. How long would the Soviets occupy our country? Eva had said the occupation could last as long as ten years. That couldn't be true.

I heard the stiff step of boots. The blond Nazi entered the room.

“Good morning, Litwinka. Ready to sail?”

“Can't be soon enough,” I replied. “What do you need?”

“Are you always so serious?” he asked, sauntering toward me. “I was just down on E deck. The girls in the pool are much friendlier.”

“Perhaps they're not as busy as I am.”

“I'm busy too,” he said. He removed his brimmed hat and placed it under his arm. “I'm still looking for your patient,
Florian Beck. The office received a return wire from Gauleiter Koch.” He stared at me.

He was alone. Relaxed. If Florian was to be arrested, there would be rushing, searching, more soldiers. “What's the message?” I asked.

“Ah, you're interested?” he said.

My curiosity burned. I reluctantly gave him my best smile, trying to coax details from him. “A nurse is always interested in her patients.”

“Can I be a patient?” he asked. His smugness was annoying. This was the type of man who looked at a picture on the wall and instead of admiring the photo, looked at his own reflection in the glass.

I forced myself to flirt with him and stepped in close. “Let's see how well you communicate with the nursing staff. Read me the message.”

He removed a piece of paper from his pocket and read:

“
Have Beck contact me directly. Tell DRL dead. Keys needed. Urgent.
”

I repeated the message in my mind, memorizing it. I stepped away from him and back toward Emilia. Gauleiter Koch had sent a direct message. Florian wasn't lying.

“Well?” said the soldier.

“Sounds like you'd better deliver that message to Herr Beck.”

“Yes, but he seems to have disappeared,” he said.

“I told you, he wanted to board the
Hansa
.”

“
Hansa
is pulling out now.”

“Well, then I guess you've missed your chance, haven't you?”

The Prussian. That's what Joana called me.

I thought of the Prussian flag, a black eagle on a white background. What would happen to the kingdom of Prussia and its forty million inhabitants? Its legacy reached back to the thirteenth century, but now lay crushed underfoot. Can history disappear if it's written in blood?

A noise roared. I nearly fell off the ledge in the chimney. My heart hammered.

Was it an alarm? An air raid?

And then I realized. It was the air horn.

The ship was finally departing.

I peeked through the seam in the steel and immediately wished I hadn't. The scene below was horrifying. I had never seen such desperation. Those left behind on the dock were frantic to come on board. Faces contorted as they screamed and begged.

Mothers tried hurling their infants to passengers up on deck, but they couldn't throw high enough. Their babies smashed against the side of the ship and plunged into the sea. Women screamed and dove into the water after the children. A man dressed as a woman was beaten by a sentry when he tried to rush the gangway. I watched it all from above, sick with
sympathy as they cried and screamed that they would die if they were not allowed to board. The
Gustloff
was their only hope.

I clutched my pack, shaking my head in disbelief.

The
Gustloff
was my only hope, as well.

And I had made it.

Good afternoon, my little Lore!

I am elated to report that we have finally departed this infernal port. The gangways were lifted around 12:20 p.m. amidst the wails of the unworthy on the dock. We have exited the mouth of the harbor and are on our way to Kiel, cutting through the sea like Neptune with his trident. The weather, however, is proving a challenge. The winds blow fierce. We are battling quite a vicious snowstorm.

Unfortunately, our departure was not without incident. We are nearly ten times over capacity. My superior estimated that fifty thousand refugees still remained in the port when we pulled up anchor. The refugees screamed and cried, begging for passage. I tried to comfort them with the wisdom of Don Quixote and called out, “Until death, it is all life!” but that did not seem to bring them peace.

I feel quite exceptional to be taking part in Operation Hannibal's evacuation. Although I refuse to think of him, I daresay that man who is called my father would be proud if he should see me now. People speak of the Allies and their famous evacuations. But now Hannibal will soon reign in the history books. Speaking of history books, just think, Lore, your beloved will soon
be receiving a medal. I will be officially recognized in the annals of German history . . . oh my . . . quite a lot of movement. The swaying. I'm sure this is temporary. They will steady the vessel. Yes, they must. Although I am of steely constitution, the other passengers cannot endure over forty hours of this. Certainly not.

• • •

I leaned over and threw up on my shoes.

As the hours passed, I felt increasingly nauseated. Joana said it was too cold and windy to take air on the top deck. Instead, she wrapped cold towels around my feet. It helped. Others were more seasick than I was. The baby slept, unbothered. After bouncing for months on the run, the sway of the sea soothed like a lullaby.

I hadn't planned for this. I was certain the birthing would kill both of us, just as it had Mama. Yet somehow, after five cruel winters of war, I was still alive. I adjusted the baby in my arms. What was happening? Could I have been wrong about the sign?

I had received the sign six years ago. It was Saint John's Night, the longest day of the year. Mama loved Saint John's celebration—a night of bonfires, singing, and dancing. The tradition called for girls to make wreaths of flowers and candles. At dark, they would light the candles and send their wreaths floating down the river. Legend said that the boy who retrieved your wreath downstream was the boy you would marry. The year Mama died, the older girls let me make a wreath of flowers and candles with them. I chose all of Mama's favorites—hibiscus, roses, poppies, and dried herbs.

After setting the wreaths to water, the girls danced around
the bonfire. I decided to follow my pretty wreath. I padded barefoot in the grass along the river, watching the flowers and candles turning slowly in the water. I walked quite far. My wreath suddenly bounced, catching on something beneath the surface. It stopped in the center of the river. One of the candles tipped onto the flowers. The herbs caught on fire.

I sat in the grass and watched my wreath burn and sink, quietly sealing my fate.

I had expected everything to end. But now, I began to think that maybe the sign had been wrong. I had fought so hard and overcome so much. Something changed when the knight arrived. Maybe he truly saved me, had pulled my burning wreath from the water. After all, in Poland, Saint Florian was fighter of fire.

For the first time in years, people cared for me. Protected me. I looked down at Halinka. I could actually feel her. She was mine. I was hers. Her perfect cheeks and fingers were pink, just like my hat. What the knight said was true. She was part of me, my family, and Poland.

I had to consider the possibility.

Maybe the storm was finally behind me.

I waited in the chimney, shivering, still tormented by the departure scene on the dock. The ship swayed as it cut through the stormy swells. My stomach lifted up and then dangled back down. I had to think of what lay ahead.

When I left, the Amber Room was packed in crates in a secret underground room in Königsberg Castle. The map to the underground vault, along with the key, was still in my boot heel. Only three people knew of the location:

Me. Dr. Lange. Gauleiter Koch.

I thought of my father's maps and pictured Kiel, tucked within a crease of northern Germany. Kiel was approximately a hundred kilometers from Denmark and only eighty kilometers from where my sister was sent to live with our old great-aunt. If I could get there, I would stash the swan in her barn until the war was over.

If.

That meant I would have to disembark in Kiel without incident. Without suspicion. If the blond soldier had told Koch that I was on the
Gustloff
, would someone be waiting for me in Kiel? The boat's motion was too severe to forge new papers. And then I remembered.

I dug through my pack and found it. The identity card of
the German soldier that the Polish girl had killed in the forest. When we reached Kiel, maybe I could leave the ship as a wounded soldier.

But once again, I would need Joana's help.