The bulb flashes over them, and Werner buries his face in the crook of his arm so his eyes will have a moment to adjust to the glare. He looks up when he is certain he can do so without squinting.
As Balla bends over the cabin boy in the dim light, Werner thinks he looks much like a stick figure that has been broken in half. “Max will need a shower,” Balla says. “You might have to drag him there, and it’s best that no one see or hear you. Coffee will make him alert and water will force the alcohol out of his system. Make sure he gets large quantities of both.” The steward sets large, pale, frog-like hands on Werner’s shoulders and gives him a small shake. “Can you do this?”
“Yes.”
Balla shoves something hard and cold into the palm of Werner’s hand. “Good. Take this. It’s a master cabin key and will get you into Max’s room. You will use it this one time only. And you will bring it back to me when your task is done. Understood?”
Again the boy says, “Yes.” It’s an easy, uncomplicated word, and he doesn’t have to summon any energy to find it at this early hour. Werner is certain he has missed something important, namely why this is his responsibility, but he can’t order his thoughts well enough to ask the proper questions. So he does the only thing he knows how to do in these kinds of situations. He begins to move. And once he has begun the well-established routine of getting ready for work, muscle memory takes over. He brushes his teeth and combs his hair without thinking, then pulls on his uniform and buttons the steward’s jacket. He tucks his flashlight into his belt and straightens his collar.
Wilhelm Balla is snoring in the lower berth before Werner turns off the light and slips out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. The keel corridor is lit by industrial yellow lights at even intervals along the walls and he rushes past them, then beyond the stairs that lead to A-deck. He slows at this point, quieting his footfalls so as not to wake any of the other crew members. He silently passes the radio room—he can hear voices and static within—and then into the short hallway beyond that houses the officers’ quarters. Once he has come to a stop in the middle of the corridor, Werner realizes that he does not know which room belongs to Max. Balla never told him. Werner stands in the middle of the hallway, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed, and looks at each door in turn. Being the younger brother is a boon in this particular situation. He has grown accustomed to observation. Max is a junior officer, one of four navigators aboard this ship, so he wouldn’t be at the end. Those cabins are reserved for Commander Pruss and Captain Lehmann. So Werner works his way backward, eliminating one cabin at a time as he does a head count of the officers in order of their rank. This leaves him with two cabins, one on either side, farthest from the nose of the ship. Right or left? he wonders. He can’t very well go knocking to find out. So Werner does what any inquisitive boy would do: he listens at the door. It takes less than a minute for him to decide on the door to the right. The snores coming from within sound like gravel rolling around a bucket. He turns the knob and finds it locked just as Balla suspected it would be. Werner fingers the key in his pocket but doesn’t pull it out until he’s certain that all the rooms are quiet and the officers are still asleep within. Because it occurs to him only now that he has been a tremendous fool. He has finally woken up enough to make sense of this situation and to understand the gravity. Getting caught sneaking into an officer’s cabin is enough to get him fired if not jailed. And Balla must have known this or he would have performed the task himself. Werner curses his own stupidity.