The Other Half of Life (21 page)

Priska continued, “She didn't name her after the ship— so much for tradition.”

Thomas was looking at Priska but he could no longer see her face. Only moments before, the deck had been brightly illuminated almost as if it were day; now it was dark. The moonlight was gone. Thomas felt overcome with a sickening feeling.

Priska noticed the darkness too. She looked at the sky. “Where did the moon go?”

“Let's go inside,” Thomas said. “You're cold.”

“I'm fine,” she said. “But the moon—”

Thomas tried to take her hand and lead her inside. But she shook him off and headed down the deck. As he went
after her, he hoped the moon had just snuck off behind a cloud. But they emerged onto the port side to find it lit up as the starboard side had been moments before. And there was the moon above them, as if it were mocking them, playing games at their expense. When really Thomas knew that it was not the moon that had moved in the sky but the ship that had reversed course.

“We've turned around,” Priska said flatly. “We're going back to Germany.”

Thomas braced himself for her tears. He tried to think of what he could say to console her.

She stared out at the sea, not crying, her eyes wide.

“Priska,” he said gently.

“Go ahead. Tell me you knew it all along.” She turned to him and brushed her hair from her face. “This whole time you thought I was an idiot or a baby who couldn't see the truth. I knew as much as you. In Germany, my parents fought all the time. They were both having affairs. My father, I think, just because he was so sad and lonely, but my mother … she was in love with another man. If we go back … you see, this was our only hope. A new start, a new home. This was our chance to make it work somehow. If we go back, they'll divorce. I'm sure of it.”

Thomas felt as if he were seeing a whole new Priska. A Priska who was not innocent or carefree. Who knew everything but chose to see things the way she wanted to. Yet if she were as worldly as she claimed to be, she would see
that going back to Germany meant much worse things than her parents divorcing. Most people on board wouldn't have homes to return to. Many would be taken back to camps. War was surely imminent. Then again, perhaps she knew as much, and her family's happiness meant more to her than even her own life.

“I wanted us to make it too,” he said. “You have to believe that.”

She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. He moved to her and put his arm around her.

“What will we do, Thomas? What will we do if we're sent back? At least you have your mother waiting for you ….”

Thomas shook his head. “I'm not going home.”

“What do you mean?”

“She's better off without me.”

Priska's face was pinched tight. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

Thomas shrugged. “It doesn't matter.”

“You'll come with us,” she said, perking up.

Thomas smiled faintly at her. “No.”

“Why wouldn't you go home? I don't understand.”

He swallowed hard. He didn't expect her to understand what he was about to say. How could anyone understand who had not lived through what he had lived through? But still, he felt he needed to try to explain it to someone. “I should have done something. I just let them take him away. I didn't even tell him how much I loved him.” If Thomas
had had the choice, he would have gladly sold his soul to the devil, as Faust had, in exchange for his father being allowed to escape.

Thomas waited for her to call on all the arguments he had marched through his head many times before:
You would have only made it worse for him. You would have risked your life and your mother's life too. You had no choice. He knew you loved him. He was proud of you for what you did. For how you stayed strong
.

Instead of saying any of those things, which never helped when he told them to himself, she took his hand and squeezed so hard it hurt.

P
rofessor Affeldt stood under the portrait of Hitler. He waited patiently, looking out over the social hall until the packed room was quiet. He cleared his throat and began, “I am here to confirm that the United States, Canada, and the many other countries we contacted have denied our request for admittance. We are heading back to Europe.”

Next to Thomas, Elias called out, “Europe or Germany?” People turned to see who had spoken.

“Right now we don't know,” Professor Affeldt replied. “The plan and the hope is that we will not go to Germany. We are traveling slowly so the Joint can continue to negotiate on our behalf.”

“Is there a plan, or only a hope?” Oskar said from where he stood next to his brother.

“We are running out of hope,” Elias added.

“What did the United States say?” Frau Rosen asked.

Oskar jutted out his chin. “Yes, what reason did they give for not taking us?”

“They said it was a matter for the Cuban government, not the United States,” Professor Affeldt replied. “We need to be patient. We on the committee are doing the best we can.”

Elias shook his head. “I say we do what we should have done a long time ago—take matters into our own hands.”

A few passengers mumbled in agreement. “Hear, hear,” someone said.

Elias continued, “If we go back to Germany, many of us will go straight into camps. Perhaps they'll send us all.”

“He's right,” another passenger called out.

Professor Affeldt raised his hands to quiet the grumbling crowd. “Mutiny is not the answer.”

“Then what is?” Oskar demanded. “Tell me, tell
us
, what is?”

“We are composing radiograms to send to influential public figures. If anyone would like to contribute money to send the radiograms, it is greatly needed.”

Oskar raised his voice. “I say enough! We have no money left, and no patience. Anyone who feels as my brother and I do, meet out on the deck.”

Oskar and Elias stormed out of the room. A few of the younger passengers followed. Professor Affeldt waited
until the crowd had quieted again. “Friends,” he said, “rashness will get us nowhere.”

When Professor Affeldt finished his speech, he tried to move through the crowd to where Thomas stood with Priska. Thomas saw him studying Priska, searching her face to see how she was holding up. People swarmed around him, asking more questions, and he couldn't make it across the room. Priska slipped outside and Thomas followed her.

“Don't try to cheer me up,” she said. “That's all my father tries to do.”

“Me? Cheer you up?”

Priska smiled faintly.

“I actually need your help,” Thomas said.

She looked at him. “With what?”

“Holz. I'm going to get his cane.”

She let her gaze drop to the deck. “I'm all done with pranks. Plus, what does it matter anymore, Thomas?”

“This isn't a prank. This is a mission. We can stop him. If we do nothing else, we can stop him from taking that money back to the Reich.”

“Money we don't even know actually exists. Just because he stole an old lady's cigarette case …”

“I'm sure about this. And I wouldn't ask if I didn't need your help,” Thomas said. “I need the key to his stateroom so I can sneak in when he's asleep. I've thought about it over and over, and the only person who can get the key is you.”

“How?” She raised her eyebrows, as if she could hardly imagine herself as useful, let alone crucial.

“As captain's steward, Manfred must have a master key. You go to his room late, tell him you've managed to lock yourself out and your father will kill you if he finds you out so late at night. You ask to use his key.”

Thomas knew that what he was asking Priska to do was dangerous. What if Manfred tried to have his way with her? It would be late at night, with no one around. But he saw no other way to get the key.

“Will you do it?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” she said.

They decided to wait a few days, hoping things would settle down on the ship. For after the United States turned them away, people went further into despair, some even threatening suicide. Oskar and Elias pushed for mutiny. Rumors trickled down that the captain might try to run the ship aground off the coast of Britain. Due to a food shortage, the meals on board were reduced to a fixed menu. During this time, Thomas concentrated on Holz, keeping track of him and especially studying his nightly routine. He typically turned in at nine, and not once did he reemerge after going into the stateroom he had all to himself on A Deck, an apparent perk of being a delegate of the Nazi Party.

Finally, as they sailed closer and closer to Germany, it
seemed as if people resigned themselves to what lay ahead. Three days before they would be back in Germany, Thomas told Priska it was time.

That night at 11:45, Thomas waited for her at the
Orts-gruppenleiter's
door. He checked his watch. How long could it possibly take for Priska to get the keys from Manfred? Five minutes, ten minutes at most? They had gone over what she should say—how she would convince him that she needed the key herself, then arrange to leave it at the end of the hall for him. She'd say he shouldn't come with her because her father was a night owl and if he caught her with him, she didn't even want to imagine what would happen.

But it had been twelve minutes and there was no sign of her. Thomas silently cursed himself. He would give her five more minutes and then he would go check on her. In his head he saw Manfred pulling her into his room and closing the door behind him. Three minutes, no more. He couldn't wait five. He stared at the second hand on his watch—it went around twice. He couldn't wait any longer. He headed off down the hall, only to run into her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Are you all right?”

She held up the key. She pressed it into his hand and whispered, “Good luck.”

This time, he acknowledged, he would need luck.

As he walked to the door, he thought about the risk he
was about to take. But he was determined to get the cane, and he didn't care what happened if Holz woke and caught him. His father was likely dead. He would not be going back to live with his mother, no matter what Priska had said. He would get off the ship in Hamburg and stay there. He would live on the streets until he was picked up and taken away. The best he could hope for might be ending up at Dachau himself and finding his father. Yes, he had little to live for.

Still, his hand trembled as he slid the key into the lock. It clicked open. The room was much cooler than Thomas's own cabin, a benefit of the ventilation on A Deck, and it was quieter too. Thomas would have to be silent. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Soon he could make out the bed and the
Ortsgruppenleiter's
shape under the covers. A man with a true injury would likely have his cane by his bed, but Thomas did not see it there. He breathed a silent sigh when he noticed it against the divan. He walked toward the cane, keeping his eyes on it. He reached the divan and bent down for the cane. His hand was on it when Holz rolled over. Thomas froze. Should he grab it and run, or wait to make sure the man was asleep? Holz rolled once more, rustling the bedding. Thomas didn't dare move now. He waited until his heart had quieted ever so slightly in his chest. He could do this. He knew he could. But he couldn't wait much longer. The longer he waited, the more likely he was to reveal himself by coughing or even just by
breathing too loudly. Holding the cane close to his body, he crept out and eased the door shut behind him. It was tempting to take a moment to recover himself, but Thomas knew he couldn't waste time. Holz could wake at any moment and find the cane gone.

Thomas ran to the top deck. He could simply toss the cane overboard, but he yearned to know how to open it and find out what was inside. He checked the very bottom of the cane first—the one place he had not really examined the first time. There was a small groove. It looked as if it could be pried open with a tool. But Thomas had no such tool handy. A ventilation shaft nearby had sharp edges. Thomas positioned the cane against the edge of the shaft and tried to jimmy it open. He was near giving up when, on the fifth try, the bottom of the cane popped off. Just as he had guessed, it was hollow. He wiggled a finger inside. At first he felt only wood, but then his finger caught on something that rustled. Banknotes—he was sure he had been right. But as he slid the papers out, he saw they were nearly transparent.