The temperature dropped further. I decided it was far too cold to collect life vests and floats. Instead, I marched through the passageways of the ship chanting my melody. I found that if I kept my pace at an urgent clip, no one would stop me to assign a task. So I walked and walked, oxygenating my lungs and mentally documenting all that was going on.
All furniture had been cleared from the main rooms. The floors of the dining halls, the ballroom, and the music room were lined with thin mattress pads for refugees. I ran my fingers across the smooth wood of the grand piano in the music room. I then marched down the long teak walkways of the promenade decks. They were enclosed by glass and wrapped around the ship. I made my way down to E deck, near the bottom of the ship. There was a lovely swimming area on E deck. The pool, now drained, was still beautiful. White columns surrounded the edges of the pool under an opaque glass ceiling. At the head of the swimming room was a large mosaic depicting Neptune and mermaids swimming with fish. I liked the look of those mermaids, held captive in the tile.
Hundreds of men from the U-boat service were on their way to the ship, preparing to man submarines once we reached Kiel on mainland Germany. They would be assigned to cabins on B and C decks. Party officials and important Germans would also share cabins.
I marched toward the galley to see what they might be cooking. We had been told that each passenger would receive one hot meal per day. My stomach felt full of empty gas. It appeared that pea soup was to be the menu staple.
“What do you need?” asked a sailor who was counting food supplies.
“Just observing. I am a documentarian,” I said, scribbling in the air.
“What’s wrong with your hands?” the sailor asked with disgust.
“Nothing really. Just a bit of an irritation.”
“Is it contagious?” he asked.
“Me, contagious? How dare you.”
“Watch the attitude and go to the infirmary. We don’t need to be infected.”
The infirmary for my hands. I could spy on the pretty nurse. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
emilia
Joana fell asleep quickly.
The pain began first in my lower back and then moved up through my core. It was similar to the cramping I had experienced for the past few days, but more severe. I lay on the cot for several hours. It came in intervals. Just as I would fall asleep, I’d wake again with the intense pressure and pain.
I pulled off my hat and wound my fingers through the pink crocheted holes in the yarn. I sang through All the little duckies in my head. A sharp pain came. I clenched my hat and teeth to keep from crying out. The pain spread, splitting through my abdomen. And then, amidst the agony, the locked door in my mind suddenly opened and I was no longer on a cot in the ship’s infirmary.
I sat on the cool wooden floor outside Mama’s bedroom, a bowl of black currants resting quietly in my lap. When it was over, I would sit on the edge of the bed and feed them to her. I would finally have a baby brother or sister. I had been waiting, asking for years.
Papa paced the floor of the hallway. At times, Mama would yell, trying desperately to bring my sibling into the world. It went on for hours. I became hungry. And then, just as I raised a fistful of berries to my lips, the sounds changed. Her screams of labor became screams of terror. Papa ran into the room. I sat frozen to the spot on the floor, paralyzed by the sound of Mama’s voice.
Then it was quiet. The midwife began crying.
A clatter on the roof announced the departure of the stork. And then the midwife came into the hall to announce the departure of my mama.
I didn’t believe it was happening. I thought it was a dream. I closed my eyes and opened them. Wake up, Mama. Wake up. Please don’t leave me! I screamed. The berries dropped down the front of my dress and rolled across the floor.
And now, from my cot, I spoke to my mother. “Am I going to die too, Mama?”
Joana stirred next to me. “Emilia?”
I looked above at my mother and asked again: “Umr?, prawda?” “I’m going to die now, aren’t I, Mama?”
Joana flew off her cot and stuffed pillows behind my head and back. Her reaction confirmed my fear.
Yes, I would die now.
But unlike Mama, I would not go to heaven. My secrets padlocked the gates. I’d be a torn kite stuck in the dead branches of a tree, unable to fly.
A searing pain ripped through me. Death hacked at me with its sickle, tearing, chopping, unbearable. Then the hurt subsided. “Joana.” I reached out for her, but she was hard at work below me.
She quickly looked up and put her hand on my knee. “I’m right here, Emilia.”
“Listen. Please. Listen to me,” I begged.
“Yes. Think of August, Emilia.”
Another pain came, torturing me for my lies. It grew sharper, deeper, lynching my breath. I bit down and felt my teeth puncture the skin of my lip. The sickle was inside me, twisting and stabbing.
You must tell, Emilia.
Clear your conscience. Free your soul.
The pain retreated.
Tears fell onto my cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” said Joana. “This will soon be over. Think of August, Emilia. Think of how happy you will all be.”
She was right. This would soon be over. A ripping slice burned through me. I screamed in agony.