The Other Half of Life (16 page)

The ship's Klaxon sounded at four o'clock the next morning. Thomas climbed down from his bunk, dressed quickly, and returned to the tourist-class dining salon. He sat at one of the rows of long wooden tables. Like many of the people around him, he only picked at his food. He knew that the others had little appetite from the excitement of arrival, whereas he was anxious both about seeing Priska and about whether they would be allowed to disembark.

At first the dining hall was unusually quiet, but soon people were leaning close and whispering. The whispers turned louder.

“Did you hear?” Oskar said to Thomas. “We've anchored outside the harbor. Apparently there's some problem.”

“Some people have false passes,” a woman sitting across from Thomas replied. “Those people are holding us up and putting those of us who paid good money for our passes in jeopardy.” She narrowed her eyes at Thomas, as if she knew him to be one of the offenders.

“No, I heard it's something about the ship's documents,” Herr Kleist bellowed at the woman. He ripped off a huge bite of sausage with his yellowing teeth. “Something about the crew.”

Thomas pushed his plate away.
Rumors have some truth to them
. What little appetite he'd had was gone. He remembered how his mother had pressed him to eat the morning he boarded the
St. Francis
. He hadn't been able to eat then either. If they weren't allowed in, she
would be devastated. All she wanted was to see him safe. And Priska—Thomas couldn't even imagine how upset she would be. It would turn her whole happy world upside down.

He left the gossip of the dining room to go on deck. It was still mostly dark out. He had hoped to find the ship inching along but it was anchored, and he could make out the lights of Havana in the distance.

Thomas walked across the deck, navigating around the deck boys with their mops and buckets. He went to the entrance to the first-class dining hall and looked in. There were the Affeldts. His heart stuttered as he saw Priska. Thomas had expected her to be wearing her frilly white dress. But she was wearing a navy dress he'd never seen before. It hung a little slack on her frame, and Thomas wondered if it was her mother's. Still, she looked grownup in it. It suited her far better than the child's dress. She was so pretty the way she brought her fork delicately to her mouth. To the lips he'd almost kissed. What if he had missed his chance? Looking at her, he had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to protect her, to make sure everything turned out all right.

Professor Affeldt spotted him and waved him over.

Thomas was aware of every step he took, and equally aware that Priska was not looking at him.

“Have you eaten?” Professor Affeldt asked him.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “I was up early with the Klaxon.”

“Have you heard we're not allowed any further into the harbor?” Marianne said.

“It's just a health check,” Priska said, finally looking at him but somehow still not acknowledging his presence. She spoke matter-of-factly, as if she were answering a question in school. “We saw the Cuban doctor come on board. He needs to make sure we're all healthy before we can be admitted.”

“Sit with us while we finish up,” Professor Affeldt said. “Then we're going to get in line so we can be one of the first on Cuban soil.”

“All right,” Thomas said, and sat down. He glanced over at Priska but she had turned away from him again.

Usually Thomas would have been annoyed at having a doctor shine a light in his eyes, jab a wooden stick nearly down his throat, and question him about diseases he might have had. But the doctor was Cuban, not German, and Thomas just wanted to finish the checkup. They were supposed to have their passes stamped immediately after, but they were told to wait. A launch pulled up and Priska and Marianne ran to look at it. Thomas followed and reached them as the launch nestled alongside the ship.

“We heard a launch could be taking us to shore instead of the ship's going all the way into the harbor,” Priska informed him, again with an air of indifference.

Three uniformed men climbed out and made their way
onto the ship. A steward met them and shepherded them in the direction of the first-class dining hall, which had emptied of the breakfast crowd.

Marianne said, “It doesn't look like it's going to take us in.”

“Be quiet,” Priska snapped at her. “What do you know? You're just a child.”

Priska turned with a huff. As they followed her back to Professor and Frau Affeldt, Thomas wished he could explain to Marianne why Priska was being so mean. But he actually wasn't sure if it was because of him or because of what was happening.

“Cuban officials just arrived,” Priska informed her parents.

Frau Affeldt draped her hand over her eyes. “What more could possibly need to be done before we get off this rotten ship?”

While most everyone else aboard seemed to have gained weight and improved in overall health and complexion, Thomas thought she looked thinner than when they had left Hamburg.

Professor Affeldt waved a hand. He didn't look at any of them as he said, “Just logistics. Paperwork.”

Thomas glanced out toward Havana. Now that the sun had come up, he could see the palm trees with their fronds like giant umbrellas, and houses in such unlikely colors as pink and light blue. They were like nothing he'd ever seen
before. He tried to imagine walking the Cuban streets, taking in all the new sights, smells, and sounds. He tried to imagine where Walter lived and what kind of food he ate. But it looked so different from any home he knew that it was nearly impossible to do.

“If we need to wait a little longer, we'll wait,” Professor Affeldt said. “We are good at waiting.” He sighed deeply. “Perhaps too good.”

By midmorning, the Cuban officials who had come on board started processing papers.

Thomas and the Affeldts hurried to be at the front of the line that soon snaked all around the deck. Around them everyone waited in silence. Lisbeth shushed Margot, as if talking might somehow jeopardize their chances of getting off the ship. The only sounds were Spanish words, the rustling of papers as the officials looked over documents, and the thwump of the stamp. As they came closer to the table, Thomas noticed how Priska's eyes were drawn to the stamp itself. She held her pass firmly between her thumb and palm. When it was her turn, he saw that her hand was shaking as she held out the pass. Once it was stamped, she hurried away. Thomas reached the table and held out his passport and landing card. He looked at the big red “J” on his passport. If they did get off, perhaps soon he could get a new one, without the “J.” The official raised his stamp and pressed it down on the
landing card. Thomas felt a prickling sensation travel up his spine.

Next he went with the Affeldts to the top of the gangway. Another launch motored toward them. Priska held hands with her father and Marianne.

Marianne pointed to the launch and stood on her tiptoes to see it better. Everyone around them inched forward, waiting for instructions. But no instructions came. Instead another Cuban official boarded the ship and pushed his way through the crowd. “Move aside,” he barked.

“What's happening?” Priska asked, her face scrunched up.

“Excuse me, sir,” Professor Affeldt called out after the official, who kept going.

“Why aren't we getting off?” Priska said.

Thomas tried to console her by saying, “It must be more paperwork,” but she turned from him as if she hadn't even heard him.

No one wanted to give up their place in line, even though it became clear they weren't disembarking soon. A few minutes later the official came back, followed by the three other officials who had come aboard earlier, the ones who had stamped the passes. All four promptly climbed back into the launch and set off for shore. Only one official remained, a heavyset man who stood at the top of the ladder with his arms crossed.

“Wait!” Priska cried. “Where are they going? Come back!”

Herr Kleist elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. He was waving his passport and yelling, “Don't leave, don't leave!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor Affeldt asked the remaining official.

He answered in Spanish. Thomas couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, and the sickening feeling inside him was growing. People continued to push to the front and bombard the official with questions, but the answers became shorter. Finally it was just one word: “
ntild;ana
.”

“What do we do now, Vati?” Priska said.

“We wait,” he said again. This time his voice sounded tired.

“Here?”

“For a while, anyway. We don't want to lose our place in line.”

By midday the sun was beating down on the deck. Herr Kleist took off his jacket and loosened his tie. Lisbeth, her belly stretching the fabric of her dress, shielded Margot from the glare of the sun. Frau Rosen fanned herself with her hand. Another ship, half the size of the St. Francis, pulled up and anchored nearby. Thomas read the name on
it:
Arrieta
. Passengers lined its decks, craning their heads to get a glimpse of the city.

“What's that?” Herr Kleist said, pointing.

“Looks like another liner,” Frau Rosen replied.

Herr Kleist pulled at his collar. “Another liner? From where? They better not get off before we do.”

Thomas saw Priska's shoulders sink. Her cheeks looked sunburnt.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“I'm just hot.”

“You need to get out of the sun.”

“I'm not leaving this very spot.”

Thomas took off his hat and offered it to her. “At least put on my hat.”

Priska let him set it on her head. She closed her eyes.

He sat down next to her. “You can't be mad at me.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, you're the one”—he lowered his voice— “who kissed him. Second of all, you said if you could, you'd go through life without any arguments.”

“Well, I guess I was wrong,” she said.

Thomas opened his mouth to ask which part she had been wrong about—kissing Günther or going through life without arguments—when Herr Kleist yelled, “They're getting off!”