“How long have you been in the service, sailor?” I asked.
He stared at his feet, hesitating. “As we share confidences, I will be truthful. I was a late recruit. I had wanted to be part of the youth organizations, but the physical drills were quite rigorous and placed heavy emphasis on athletic competition. I can see you have gifts of strength and coordination. I do not. I cannot run very fast or jump very far. My gifts lie in other areas. My father was terribly disappointed but Mutter was relieved. Although Mutter of course loves the Führer, she wasn’t quite inclined to serve me up. I’m an only child.”
“Your mother loves the Führer, eh?”
He looked at me, his eyes sober and sharp. “Of course. We all love the Führer, sir. As the papers say, ‘The good German fights for the Führer.’ I certainly do. I will admit that I’m too tenderhearted and at times felt sorry for someone or other who could not be part of the master race, but now I banish such impure thoughts. Such is the nature of sacrifice, is it not?”
His impure thoughts were radically different from my own.
He stared at me. “You agree, of course? We are good Germans.”
His eyes lingered. His speech pattern carried an unsettling cadence. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to knock him off the ledge. But instead I just nodded.
“We are good Germans. So do you think you could find me some food?” I asked.
joana
The maternity ward was now full. Three of the women were quite close to their time. Emilia whispered to her baby, inspecting her tiny hands. When I was a little girl I had two baby dolls and carried them everywhere. Then I became competitive in school and had no time for dolls. I turned away from Emilia and her daughter, trying to swallow past the strange knotting in my throat.
A soldier in a green uniform and black jackboots walked in.
“Joana Vilkas.”
The soldier had yellow hair and fair, almost translucent skin. He looked like the men referred to as “purebloods,” portrayed on the German signs. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here about someone that you helped.” He stood completely still. “One of your patients—the one with a shrapnel wound and a damaged ear.”
Emilia’s posture tightened. She pulled the infant close and kept her eyes on the soldier.
“Can you confirm the name of the patient with the shrapnel wound and the bad ear, Miss Vilkas?”
I walked over to him and lowered my voice. “I’m not at liberty to give out the patients’ names. I’m sure you understand.”
He became annoyed. This man wasn’t used to being refused.
“If I am not mistaken, miss, you are Volksdeutsche, a Lithuanian who was allowed to repatriate into Germany. Your liberty belongs to Adolf Hitler. We can certainly hand you back over to Stalin.” He grinned, pleased by the bully within him. “But we wouldn’t want to do that. You’re too pretty. So can you confirm, then, the name of your patient with the shrapnel wound and damaged ear?”
“I’m not sure I remember,” I whispered. “Maybe Friedrich? Or Fritz?”
The soldier seemed to consider this. What did he already know?
His eyes narrowed. “Florian, perhaps? Surname Beck?”
He knew more than he was letting on.
“Yes, that might be it.”
“Where did you encounter him?”
“In transit. He was bleeding and suffering a fever. Is there a problem, sir?”
The soldier ran his finger along the edge of the metal table, as if checking for dust. “If you are telling the truth, then no, there is no problem. But if you are assisting or harboring a deserter, Miss Vilkas, then yes, there’s a big problem.”
“He has papers. Did Herr Beck show them to you?” I folded a piece of linen to busy my trembling hands.
“He showed me his papers. He also showed me his attitude. It was only after I pressed that he showed me all of his paperwork.”
I tried to deflect but dig. “Then you understand the nature of his situation?”
“Yes, he’s a courier for Gauleiter Koch. He was wounded and says Koch appointed you as his personal nurse.”
My breath stopped but my hands kept moving. Gauleiter Erich Koch appointed me? What was he talking about?
He shook his head. “But there was something,” he said, looking at Emilia and then at me. “I didn’t believe him. I’d like to take another look at his papers. I sent him to the infirmary but I can’t seem to find him there. Would you happen to have a duplicate of the medical testimony you signed for him?”
Medical testimony. That I had signed. What had he done? “I’m sorry, there have been so many,” I said.
“Yes, there are a lot of wounded. So I’ve sent a wire to Koch’s office for confirmation, but thought you might be able to solve the matter more quickly. Did you see him?”
“Yes. I removed his stitches.”
Emilia squirmed in protest, wanting to defend Florian.
“What did he say?” asked the soldier.
“Just that he was tired.” Emilia shot me a ferocious look. “And . . . that he had wanted to board the Hansa instead.”