“That was quick,” I said with a smile.
She looked at me, annoyed there was no emergency. “I have to get back to the ship. I’m taking Emilia. Poet and the boy will board tomorrow. Eva still hasn’t registered.”
I nodded.
She stared at me, evaluating, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not to be summoned whenever you please. I don’t know what you’re playing and I’m not sure I want to know. But I think I deserve to know your name. Is it really Florian Beck?”
“You don’t believe me?” I reached in my pocket and handed her my identity card.
“What sort of name is Florian?” she asked, looking at my identity photo.
“My mother named me after a sixteenth-century painter, Florian Abel.”
She shrugged, satisfied, and handed back my papers.
I lit the remainder of my cigarette and passed it to her.
“I’m on the Wilhelm Gustloff, ” she said, taking a drag and passing it back to me.
“Are you inviting me?” I grinned.
“I have a feeling you’d find your way on if you wanted to.”
I couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed. “Can I see your boarding pass?” I asked. She removed it from her papers and handed it to me. She walked to the little projection box and looked down at the theater.
I studied her pass, taking note of every detail. “Where’s the Gustloff going?”
“To Kiel,” she responded.
Kiel was nearly three hundred nautical miles away, at the northern tip of Germany. It was close to the border of Denmark, close to where my sister, Anni, might be. I stared at the pass.
“I think I understand now,” said Joana. “When you need something, you start talking to me. Is that right?”
I changed the subject. “You seem happy working with the doctor. I bet you were top of your class.”
She laughed. “Yes, top of my class, but what does that mean now? Can you believe I used to study instead of going to the beach?” She shook her head. “But I do like helping people. And I like being one step closer to my mother.” She stared down below. “All those children. There are so many.”
I moved in behind her and looked over her shoulder. The wandering boy clutched his rabbit and waved up at us. We waved back.
“I especially like the little boy,” I whispered.
Joana turned, her face suddenly close to mine.
“Why?” she asked.
“He takes care of one-eared bunnies.” I grinned and touched my ear.
She let out a small laugh. “I like that,” she said, pointing to my mouth.
“What?”
“You look completely different when you smile.”
We stood, staring at each other. The space between us narrowed. We were close, nearly touching. Her chin raised toward me. I looked down at her lips.
“I . . . should probably go,” she whispered.
I nodded slowly and handed back her pass. We waited, silent. She suddenly looked embarrassed.
“Well, good-bye then,” she said, slowly stepping away from me.
I said nothing, just watched her walk through the door and close it behind her.
I exhaled, unaware that I had been holding my breath.
alfred
Ahoy there, Hannelore!
Ahoy is a term we seasoned sailors use. I am standing at this moment on the top deck of the Gustloff. Evening and darkness have arrived. Tethered to the pier around us are many ships of all configurations. Sitting opposite is Hansa, a large vessel also aflurry with activity and preparation. Two lighthouses stand guard at the mouth of the harbor, yet they are not illuminated. No need to wave at the Russian planes above, you see.
Today I progressed from my traditional excellence to something altogether more interesting.
As you may remember, the Wilhelm Gustloff was built not for luxury cruising of the privileged. Hitler built the Gustloff for the everyman—the carpenter, the postman, the locksmith, and even the housewife. But now the everyman’s ship shall in fact carry very important people. The Gustloff will transport our wounded men, officers, and priority passengers whose identities I am helping to conceal. Yes, aren’t you curious to hear more about the young recruit? That is all I will say today. I mustn’t empty my net too quickly. I must keep you, my little fish, swimming to the top of the water for food.
You are of the fairer sex and for that I am glad. May your fingers never know a fist. May your ears never ring with the call of duty. Before this war is over, all men will have an opportunity to reveal their true selves. I welcome that opportunity. To be a hero requires difficult choices and sacrifice. Each man can respond only when the finger of bravery curls and beckons him forth. That finger, it beckons me, Hannelore. I feel it.
joana