His speech became slow and slurred from the cold. He was delirious. He threw his hands in the air, repeating the word Jewish. It made me think of my sweet friends Rachel and Helen from Lwów. How we used to sing as we collected mushrooms in the forest when they visited me. How we’d be covered in flour and sugar after rolling plum dumplings. How I missed them.
The sailor began talking about a medal. His medal. He then insisted that the medal was in the knight’s pack.
“Did you take my medal? Are you a thief?” he asked, deranged from the cold. He crawled over to me and started grabbing at the pack. I swatted his hands away. He became more insistent.
I shouted at him. His face pinched at my words.
I hadn’t realized: I was speaking Polish. I was so tired of the game. What did it matter now? “Nicht Deutsche,” I yelled. “Polin.”
He stopped and wobbled in front of me, confused. “What? You are Polish?”
“I am Polish!” I yelled.
He wagged a delirious finger at me. “Filthy Pole. You liar! Finally, I will serve my country. I am a hero, Hannelore. Einer weniger!” he bellowed.
Einer weniger. One less.
He leaned over and tried to shove me into the water. I kicked him with all of my remaining strength. He fell backward on the raft, chanting and repeating, “Hero, hero.” He pulled himself to a crouch, then leaned in, eyes narrowed. He began reciting. Or was he singing?
“Poles, Prostitutes, Russians, Serbs, Socialists.”
He took a breath, tightened his lips, and spit on me, then resumed singing.
“Stop, please,” I begged.
He did not stop. He grabbed at me. I fought and clawed as he sang.
“Spanish Republicans, Trade Unionists, Ukrainians . . .”
He paused and then jumped to his feet.
“YU-GO-SLAV!”
His shoeless foot slipped on the icy surface and he dropped, his forehead smashing against the steel corner of the raft. He lay still, motionless. Then slowly he began to move. He pulled himself up, his face covered in blood, eyes wide with momentary inquisition. He parted his lips to speak. His mouth formed a small smile as he whispered.
“But-ter-fly.”
His torso swayed. He was gravely injured. I reached to steady him but he jerked away, violently recoiling from my touch.
He lost his balance and fell backward into the water.
There was brief splashing. The freezing water quickly strangled his screams.
And then it fell quiet. I waited, listening for a long while. The sailor, the self-professed hero, he was dead.
I was alone.
Again.
I hugged the pack and sang songs to Halinka in the darkness. Once in a while I saw something float by. After a time, the waves calmed slightly and cradled me up and back in their arms. I dozed a bit and wondered how many hours were left until sunrise. I imagined the sun warming me and showing me where I was.
Just a little longer now.
It was very dark. My body felt relaxed but heavy.
I was so tired.
My breathing slowed, quiet. Never had I felt so drowsy.
Then I saw something. I blinked softly. It was still there. Yes. It was coming closer, cutting through the water toward me, gradually becoming brighter.
Light.
joana
Florian was right. The light was a ship. The passengers in the boat with remaining strength waved their arms to be seen by the searchlight scanning the water. Florian moved to row us toward the rescue ship.
The baby stirred. The wandering boy looked up at me. “A boat has come to pick us up,” I told him.
“Is Opi on the boat?” he asked.
Sailors unfurled a large knotted net down the side of the ship. I didn’t know if I had the strength to climb up. My hands were numb with cold.
“Are you a good climber, Klaus?” Florian asked the wandering boy.
The boy nodded.
The lifeboat swung up next to the ship, bobbing frantically. Florian kept his feet in the boat and held on to the nets. Two sailors scrambled down to help people up.
“We’ve got a newborn baby,” Florian told them. The sailors took the baby from me and carried her up. The children were brought up next, and then all of the adults. I tried to check the pulse of those who remained in the boat. Five, wet and without coats, were dead of hypothermia.
Soon Florian and I were the only two left.
“You first,” he said. “I’ll be behind you.”
My fingers were too frozen. I couldn’t move them. I had to climb by putting my elbows in the ropes of the net and pushing up with my legs. I was nearing the top. My foot suddenly slipped on the slick rope and kicked back, hitting something.
I heard Florian yell. I screamed and felt a heavy jerk on the net.
The sailor on deck reached over and grabbed me. “Keep climbing,” he commanded. “Don’t look down.”
“Florian!” I screamed. There was no reply. “Florian!”
The sailor leaned over the edge, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me onto the swaying deck of the ship. I turned to look down.
Florian was gone.
florian
I was falling, the black, frothy water coming at me. I grabbed for the net. My body wrenched. My shoulder popped and separated from the socket.
I felt my grip slipping.
Slipping.
My fingers released and I plunged into the sea. The freezing water carved into me like knives puncturing my skin. Pain surged in my chest and traveled across my arm. My body pulled down and down.