My father insisted on placing all other families before his own; the sun was blaring in the west by the time he beckoned Mama and Matthias, Hermine sleeping in my brother’s arms. The ship’s arrivals were a dark mass on the sandhills in the distance. I imagined they were waiting for instruction as to where to go.
When Matthias and Mama were seated in the small boat, belongings at their feet, I left my place on the gunwale and approached the ladder hanging over the side. I peered over the edge and saw my father step carefully from the ladder into the boat, gripping the arm offered by one of the sailors.
‘That’s all then?’ the oarsman asked.
‘We are the last,’ my father replied. He turned to my mother, face beaming. ‘This is it, Johanne. Our life begins anew.’
Go, I thought. Hanne, you must go now. Quickly!
I felt the rope strain against the arches of my feet. Down, down, until the suck and slap of the sea was just below my heels. As I lifted my foot off the rung, shifting my weight for the drop into the boat, the sailor used his oar to push off from the side of the ship. I fell, scrambling at the rope as water rose up about me. Panic set in, hard and flailing, all thrashing fear, until I remembered that I had no need of air, that I could not drown.
The sea pulled me down and I let it. I opened my eyes, saw the silt stirring through the water, felt my feet sink into the softness of the sand and dirt and sediment. I opened my mouth and the water flowed in, warm and full of grit.
I know your taste, it said. I know the flavour of your bones.
I struggled to move. I did not know how to swim.
All things come to shore eventually, the water said, mouth accented with marsh. The shore is made of the dead. And it filled my throat and darkness took me.
I woke smelling swamp and mud and mangrove, hands filled with reeds. It was night. A strong wind was blowing and sand was stinging my skin. I was on the shoreline. Squinting through the darkness, I stumbled up over the rise of sandhills and saw a cluster of lights in the distance. I headed towards them, leaving the ocean pushing in hungry against the mudflats.
I had thought the lights might indicate a town, but as I grew closer I found only three houses abutting a lane of cracked earth, light escaping under doorways and through gaps in the walls. There were no windows. The snap of canvas behind me made me turn, and I saw a long row of tents on the other side of the track, sand hissing against them. There were no lamps – I wondered whether any could be lit in such a gale – but the moon was full and the wind high enough that any cloud was quickly blown over its surface. I counted thirty tents and crept past each until I heard familiar voices. I dropped to my knees and crawled inside, and found Friedrich, Thea and Anna Maria sitting together in the darkness. There was another family with them too, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw the sleeping forms of Augusta, the wet nurse from Klemzig, her husband Karl and baby Wilhelm. I crept into the farthest corner of the tent.
‘Mama, you’re scaring me,’ Thea was saying.
‘Anna Maria, we do not have that option. Our livelihood is tied with our congregation. It is the only means we might be assured of land. Of credit.’
‘Shh,’ whispered Anna Maria. She jerked her head around, eyes searching the darkness.
‘If they go to the pastor –’
‘What was that?’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘Augusta, is that you?’
‘Mama, Augusta is asleep.’ Thea sounded tired.
‘Someone has come in.’
‘It’s the wind. This place is a desert.’ Friedrich’s voice, low and soft.
‘No . . .’ Anna Maria lifted herself up onto her knees and peered in my direction. ‘I saw something come in.’
‘Liebling, it’s late. We’re all exhausted.’
‘Maybe it was an animal.’
I could see the whites of Friedrich’s eyes as he rummaged tentatively amongst the canvas bags, the opened trunk. ‘There’s nothing, Anna Maria.’
Anna Maria did not say anything, but I could hear her breathing, feel her eyes searching the dark. ‘Lord protect us,’ she whispered. ‘I saw something.’
‘It’s me, Hanne.’ My voice sounded strange. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’
‘You have it safe, don’t you, Thea? You packed it.’
Thea’s voice was tense. ‘It’s swaddled in a sheet. In the bag.’
Friedrich placed a steadying hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Come now, get some sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’
Thea and her father settled themselves, their breathing deepening into sleep within minutes, but for hours into the night the Wend lay awake, eyes searching the corner of the tent where I sat.
While on the Kristi I had heard one of the sailors refer to the harbour as Port Misery, and when I left the Eichenwalds sleeping the next morning and stepped out into bald daylight, I understood why. Stagnant waters lurked around mudflats that varied from mire to grey banks scorched and cracked from a hard sun. The tide had deserted the place, and I could see the Kristi stranded in low water some distance away, the trickle creeping in from the river at the harbour mouth doing little to alleviate the reek of its stagnancy.
It was already very warm. At the sound of a cough I looked across the lane to see Elder Fr?hlich relieving himself against the trunk of a small, harassed tree. He was sweating hard, rivulets running down his neck and his shirt damp at his back. Passengers were emerging from the squalid little canvas tents, looking about for a place to wash or fuel to cook with. I saw Mama duck out a few tents down, holding Hermine on her hip, her ship’s mug in hand. Papa followed her.
‘The remainder of the surplus provisions ought to be here by afternoon,’ Papa was saying to Matthias, who stepped out behind him. ‘We must see to it that they are equally distributed. Remember, the doctor gave some families more rations than others. We must see all is made equal and right.’
‘Did he keep a list?’
‘Who knows? We shall speak to everyone. Learn who received their full allocations of fish and bacon.’
‘People may lie.’
‘Then the sin is on them.’
I followed as Matthias and Papa walked down the dunes, feet sinking into the sand. ‘Captain Olsen said we might expect Pastor Flügel today. He sent for him at Holdfast Bay. Praise God! He will be able to tell us more.’ Papa paused at the edge of the marsh, wrinkling his nose at the stink of the flats, then bent down, scooped a handful of water to rinse his mouth, and spat. ‘Has anyone found fresh water here?’
‘There is none,’ Matthias said. ‘Apparently it is all brought by bullock from the river in the town.’
‘Adelheid.’ Papa scooped another handful of water and washed his face with both hands. He stood a moment, beard dripping. ‘Go see if the water barrels were brought ashore yesterday, Matthias. People will be thirsty. They will want to wash the journey from them. Especially once they learn that we may be reunited with our pastor.’