“Come on, Frick, all of this furniture has to go,” instructed my superior. “Everything must be removed to create space. Carry the furniture out onto the dock. Take the tablecloths up to the arbor on the sundeck. They’re organizing a hospital ward up there.”
“What will this ballroom be used for?” I asked.
“For refugees. Once we remove the furniture, we’ll line this ballroom with mattresses.”
I looked at the dance floor, trying to imagine it covered with spongy mats.
Hannelore was a very good dancer. How I enjoyed the private recitals through the window.
My rash began to itch, chasing away my one weakness that was Hannelore J?ger. Somewhere inside, I reminded myself of the necessary truth.
Hannelore might be dancing for someone else now.
emilia
He was gone.
I tried to look for him but Joana demanded I stay in the cart.
“Let her go,” said Eva.
Big Eva was scared of me, more concerned with her own survival. But Joana had won. Her importance to the group was evident. She was trusted. She was wanted.
“We’ll approach the checkpoint and register,” instructed Joana. “We can’t cross now, the planes shot through the ice. It will refreeze overnight. We’ll wait here in the village and cross in the morning.”
The German Empire had renamed the cities. They called the village Frauenburg. The old name had been Frombork. Father told me it was once the home of the astronomer Copernicus, who proved that the earth rotated around the sun.
“Per aspera ad astra, Papa,” I whispered. Through hardship to the stars. It was a Latin phrase he used whenever I complained that something was difficult. Where was my father now? Could he ever have imagined things would be this difficult? I looked up at the sky, wondering if the stars would be pretty here.
Joana whispered with Eva. I heard her say something about refugees in the ice. She was trying to be stoic, a medical woman, but I could tell that she was upset because the soldier hadn’t allowed her to help the injured on the road.
Joana climbed up into the cart. “Here,” she whispered. “Take this.” She handed me an identity card. “It’s from a young Latvian woman who died on the road,” she explained. “I was going to give the papers to the Red Cross for their registry. This woman was slightly older, but she had blond hair. Take your braids out and keep your hat pulled down.”
I quickly began to unthread my braids.
“Open your coat so your pregnancy is revealed. They will assume you’re older. I’ll explain that you are Latvian and don’t speak German.”
So that was the plan. Would it really work? What would happen if they realized I wasn’t a dead Latvian woman, but a young Polish girl with no papers?
Birds squawked overhead, issuing a warning.
I knew the legends of the birds. Seagulls were the souls of dead soldiers. Owls were the souls of women. Doves were the recently departed souls of unmarried girls.
Was there a bird for the souls of people like me?
florian
I held the paper, waiting to approach the checkpoint. I stared at the type.
Sonderausweis.
Special pass. It looked real. Perhaps my best work ever. The soldier on the road didn’t question. He saluted me for the special mission that the pass defined. My attitude had to match the level of the forgery. If I appeared confident, they wouldn’t inspect. But if Dr. Lange had discovered the missing piece, he may have wired ahead. If so, they would be waiting for me. My confidence would hold no currency.
I looked at the ledger in front of the soldier. Did the book include an arrest order for treason? I had used my real name on the pass. There wasn’t time to forge new identity papers.
It had started as a dare. My friend Kurt wanted to attend a soccer match with the rest of our group, but all tickets had been sold. “Come on, Beck, use those skills to create some tickets,” chided Kurt. I accepted the challenge. Using a friend’s ticket and restoration supplies, I forged a couple.
“I guess we’ll need your special tickets for the finals,” Kurt joked on our way home. But we didn’t make it to the finals. Kurt was a few years older than I and was drafted. At Christmas, I went to visit his mother. She opened the door dressed in black, her eyes pillowed and heavy with grief. Kurt had died in service, an honorable death.
If I died, who would say the same of me?
? ? ?
The woman in front of me left the table. I was finally alone, no longer burdened by the young Pole and the pretty nurse. I approached the soldier with an air of superiority and thrust out my papers. “I need to cross now.”
“No one’s crossing now. Unless you want a cold bath,” said the soldier as he opened my papers. He read the special pass and looked up at me. He lowered his voice.
“My apologies, Herr Beck. I can get you across first thing tomorrow morning.” He logged my details in the registration ledger. “We can find lodging for you this evening here in Frauenberg,” he said.
“No, I have arrangements,” I told him. I didn’t need any eyes on me.