Your tender ear is probably full of news now, listening to reports of the Russians plundering this region. So vulgar, those Bolsheviks, interested in nothing but schnapps and wristwatches. “Urri, urri,” they say, demanding men surrender their timepieces. Do they report that in Heidelberg, Lore? Likely not. Many fine points of detail are overlooked by the average man. It is up to people like me—documentarians of the military—to report them. Yet I fear I will upset your fragile nerves by telling you these truths of atrocities, like the fact that six hundred Russian babies were born in Stolp alone last month, after the Russian barbarians invaded last year. Such an insult to our Führer. Yes, best to avoid mention of such things.
Instead I shall direct your attention to this marvel of a ship, the Wilhelm Gustloff. I know you enjoy the undisclosed details we share, so I shall risk including them. Of course secrets are safe with you, dear Hannelore. How you do love keeping secrets. But perhaps you had best throw this letter onto the fire after reading it.
The ship’s chimney, or funnel, as sailors call it, is thirteen meters high. But we both know appearances can deceive. The impressive-looking chimney is false. It is not a working chimney at all. How do I know, you ask? Well, a man of my status has access to these special details. I discovered the chimney just this week while on patrol. The inside has a nice iron ladder to a ledge where I can sit and peer out over the decks. While looking out, I have observed some of the soldiers doing things they should not. I note this information and keep it at hand in the event I need to use it to my advantage later. I quite enjoy the feeling of finally being the one who holds the cards.
We have removed all of the furniture from the ship’s common areas, every last chair and table, in order to accommodate refugees. I am told they will sit shoulder to shoulder on mattresses in every room and corridor. U-boat officers and Germans of priority will of course take lodging in the ship’s passenger cabins.
My Mutter always lamented my lack of friends in Heidelberg, but here each day I am introduced to someone new. Just today I met Eugen Jeissle, the ship’s head printer, responsible for creating the boarding passes, the coveted pieces of paper that will allow passage to freedom.
“These will be more valuable than bars of gold,” Jeissle told me.
When he left for the toilets I decided it would be best to take a stack of the passes for posterity. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.
So, dearest, that is the news of the day. Hopefully these details of consequence will soothe the strain of my absence.
? ? ?
I ended the mental letter but left out one detail.
The Gustloff only had twelve lifeboats. The other ten were missing.
florian
I crouched near the cathedral altar, carefully watching the Polish girl. She was looking for me. When she turned her head I made my move, quickly darting to the small entry. I crawled inside and pressed my back against the tiny door to keep anyone from entering. As a small boy in Tilsit, I once found my way inside the pipe organ of a local church. It was a perfect hiding spot. The organ was my target as soon as I saw the cathedral. Adults wouldn’t bother me, only bored children who might be exploring.
The cramped space left little room to move, but I didn’t care. I was alone, out of the cold, and one step closer to completing my mission. I watched the group from behind the pipes. The Polish girl’s pink hat bobbed like a candy egg amidst hundreds of gray faces all so tired and drawn, they looked like boiled meat. The nurse continually scanned the cathedral. Was she looking for those who might need help? Was she looking for food? Or maybe, was she looking for me? I tried not to care.
Protected by privacy, I was finally able to open my pack. I took out the art supplies and my notebook. The small box was undisturbed. Had Dr. Lange peeked in the crate yet? At times, to fuel his artistic euphoria, Dr. Lange would open a crate to admire a panel from the precious Amber Room, savoring the experience as others would enjoy a vintage bottle of brandy. Initially, I was so impressed by his emotional reaction. I thought it was passion for art. It wasn’t. It was greed and power that excited him in a perverse way.
Originally created in Prussia and gifted to Peter the Great, the Amber Room was a glittering chamber of amber, jewels, gold, and mirrors. In 1941, the Nazis stole it from the Catherine Palace in Pushkin, near Leningrad. Packed into twenty-seven crates, the Amber Room was the culmination of Hitler’s artistic dreams. He carefully strategized its safekeeping and after much deliberation the twenty-seven crates were secretly shipped to the castle museum in K?nigsberg.
Dr. Lange was responsible for its protection.
I worked for Dr. Lange.
Some in the art world claimed the Amber Room carried a curse. Dr. Lange wouldn’t hear of that. He said the Amber Room was the greatest of the world’s treasures. I was the only one he trusted to touch the treasure. He gave me special tailored gloves, fitted to my fingers.
“Can you even comprehend what we have here, Florian?” Lange’s breath fluttered while admiring the sparkling jewels amidst the golden stones.