A woman nearby fell to her knees, sobbing. “They say I can only choose one child for the ship. How can I choose? Please don’t make me choose.”
The feeling of desperation was so physically present I could have shoveled it off the dock. Germany needed any and all men for service. SS squads would be on patrol. I had forged courier papers, but an officer could easily ask me to abandon my mission and drive a tank instead.
The woman with the goat had said everything was disorganized. She was wrong. Things were chaotic, yes, but the Germans were always organized. Meticulous. They had systems for everything.
Nazi Party officials, local leaders, and their families would have priority passage on the departing ships. Officers and wounded soldiers would also be granted passage. After the priority travelers and military personnel were loaded, the Germans would choose refugees. Women with children would be allowed first. Young single men like myself would not be allowed. At all.
I might finally be forced to reveal that I was hiding a wound greater than a piece of shrapnel. If so, I would need the nurse’s help. The strategy was one I had hatched days ago. But it wouldn’t work if she was mad at me. By grabbing the nurse I had saved her life. Why was she angry? It bothered me that she was mad. It bothered me even more that I cared.
But I needed her help.
So I had to say I was sorry.
But I didn’t have to hold her hand.
alfred
Darling Lore,
The tension grows with each hour that passes. Tomorrow morning, ambulance trains will be arriving from the East, full of wounded soldiers. I was initially assigned to the hospital ward but I will find a replacement, of course, as they will surely discover my talents are better suited in other areas.
As a child my Mutter would shield my eyes from sickness and deformity. She was quite right to do so. There is so much ugliness and imperfection in the world. We know it exists but we create further trauma by being forced to look at it. Some things are better ignored.
? ? ?
“Frick, snap out of it!”
I turned toward the voice that addressed me.
“This area will be for limbless soldiers and amputees. But we can’t take all of them. Tomorrow, when the ambulance trains arrive, we will examine the wounded. Only soldiers with a strong chance of survival will be embarked.”
Examining wounds? No, that wouldn’t do at all.
“Excuse me, sir,” asked another sailor. “You said those with a chance of survival will be embarked. What about our men who are more gravely injured?”
“They will be left behind,” replied the officer.
“Quite wise.” I nodded. “Leave the browned cabbage in the basket. It makes no sense to save a head with only a few good leaves.”
“Shut up, Frick,” they said in unison.
joana
The town of Gotenhafen bloated with refugees and military. The shoe poet scavenged through abandoned luggage as we walked. He found two pairs of boots. The wandering boy quickly shined them. By the time we reached the movie house, Poet had traded the boots for a large bucket of hot porridge.
“Useful skills can always be bartered. You see, your expertise is valuable,” he told the wandering boy. The boy beamed.
We approached the small movie house. “We’ll sit down soon,” I assured Emilia. She looked as if she might collapse. We walked to the back door but found it locked.
The shoe poet turned to the German. “Perhaps you can find a way in, friend?”
“Perhaps.” He nodded. “Gather around me.” We did as he asked. He removed a small jackknife from his pocket and within seconds had opened the door. We slipped inside and he locked the door behind us.
“We should leave it open,” I told him. “Others will need a place to stay too.”
Others were already inside. Sitting in the chairs, lying on the floor.
“I see the goat mother made a few coins selling her information,” said Eva.
“Where shall we make our camp?” asked the shoe poet, looking around.
“We should take the projector room,” said the German. “Upstairs.”
“I don’t want to walk up the stairs,” said Eva. “I’m tired. Let’s just sit and eat this porridge before it gets cold.”
I agreed. The day had been so long. The boat ride, the ice, Ingrid.
Ingrid.
I felt a tremor in my throat.
“So,” said Eva, “who’s hiding the blackberries and carrots from the dead house?”
After a quiet meal I laid Emilia down and elevated her legs on a suitcase. The wandering boy was asleep in seconds. Eva also fell asleep quickly, her huge frame the length of two wandering boys. She snored, sputtering growls each time she exhaled.
I pulled my medical bag from my suitcase, preparing for those who might need help.
“Hey,” said the German quietly.
I looked over to him.
“There are several ships. Tomorrow we’ll all be split up at registration,” he said.
Emilia looked at me. I hadn’t thought of that. “But we should try to stay together,” I whispered to him.
“Well, what’s your story for her?” he said, pointing to Emilia.