“Hansa?”
The wandering boy ran in, chest heaving beneath his life vest, tears streaming down his face. He held up the stuffed rabbit. The remaining ear dangled from a strand.
“Oh no!” I exclaimed. He nodded, pouting.
“Don’t you worry, we’ll fix him right up.” I turned to the soldier. “Are we through, sir? As you can see, I’m about to go into surgery.”
emilia
Florian Beck. The knight was Florian, like Saint Florian, the patron saint of Poland. The Nazi soldier had tried to cause problems. He was clearly full of hate. If he discovered I was Polish, he would throw me off the boat into the Baltic.
Joana paced the floor, sewing the ear of the rabbit back onto its body. She was mad or thinking. Maybe both. The wandering boy walked over to my cot and peeked at the baby.
“Hallo,” he said to her. “I’m Klaus.”
I looked at the boy. His cheeks were red, burned from the cold and wind. The large blue life vest dwarfed his body and hung down to his knees. He was alone, like me, but he was only six years old. Where were his parents? Mama said that a transplanted bud doesn’t prosper. The shoemaker loved him, though. I could tell. He would take care of him, protect him, unlike Frau Kleist.
“Four years. We’ve kept you for over four years,” Frau Kleist used to complain. “Do you know what that’s cost me?”
“My father will come for me,” I told her. “He will pay you.”
She whipped around, furious. “Your father’s dead. Why do you think I’m so annoyed?”
Dead.
Her words had squeezed at my throat, run down through my windpipe and strangled the air from my lungs.
“It’s not true,” I whispered.
Please. It couldn’t be true.
August appeared at my side. “Of course it’s not true.” He pulled me by the arm. “Come on, Emilia, let’s snip the roses for the jam.” He shot his mother a fierce look.
? ? ?
The old feelings of fear began to churn within me. The baby stirred in my arms. I looked down. Her little head bobbed, almost nodding at me. And then our eyes fastened. Her sweet yet steady stare calmed me. My shoulders released and the fear dissipated.
The shoemaker arrived in the maternity ward, panting and out of breath. “You must wait for me, Klaus. These old sticks can’t move as fast anymore.” He saw the baby and his hands flew to his face.
“Look, look. A miracle, indeed.”
“Isn’t she beautiful?” said Joana.
“What’s beautiful,” said the old man, “is that she has beaten this war. You saw it on the road. Ingrid through the ice, death and destruction all around. Look what’s transpiring down on that pier. Frantic desperation. The Russians are just around the corner.”
He moved forward and gestured to the baby. “Yet amidst all that, life has spit in the eye of death. We must find her some shoes.”
alfred
Dear Hannelore,
Night falls in the harbor. I sit, reflecting on all that has happened. Do not be misguided by my poetic inclinations. I am not only a watchman. I am a thinker, Lore, and I have been thinking. I have been working in service to a man of great charge. We have a confident understanding of one another and share many attributes. This evening we discussed loyalty. I assured him of my allegiance to Germany’s fight. I also confessed of once feeling sympathy for those who are inferior. Be assured that I pull at the roots of these sympathies. I know they are a weakness. They must be torn from the garden. We are good Germans. It is our birthright. As such, it is our duty to sift the sands, preserve the gold, and with it build a stronger national vertebrae.
I believe you’re also familiar with moments of weakness? I recall your deep sighs of admiration as I swept your sidewalk. Oh yes, dear one, I noticed. I am much more observant than those pests of Hitler Youth.
I will admit, Lore, that I was surprised when Mutter held me back from Hitler Youth. My father was ashamed that I was not deemed ready to join the others. He feared consequences. But then I grew tired of those pushy boys and realized I was intended for something much more important. Although it took nearly five years for me to join the war effort, I have finally found my calling here in Gotenhafen. My qualities are finally recognized by one of my own, a recruit of steadfast courage. Yes, it is calming in an indescribable way to find oneself. Few men have that opportunity. I am one of those men.
I now understand what it is to feel superior. And I quite like it.
florian
Breath fogged from my mouth. My stomach rumbled. I thought of our warm kitchen at home in Tilsit, the soft ring of the lids trembling on their pots, and my sister’s laughter echoing throughout the house.
When my mother died of tuberculosis, my father’s greatest concern was Anni. “How will I raise a proper girl on my own?” he said.