Salt to the Sea

  “So you want to help the Polish girl. Are you like that English nurse, the one who carried her lamp through the dark to save all of those sick people?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I’m no Florence Nightingale. It’s just—Emilia reminds me of someone.”

  I realized that telling the truth might be the ammunition I needed. “She reminds me of someone too,” I said. “I have a younger sister.”

  It worked. Her head snapped to me.

  “You do?”

  I nodded. “She’s nearly sixteen now, like the Polish girl. My father sent her up north near the Danish border for safety. I haven’t heard from her in over three years. I’m going to find her.”

  Her expression softened.

  “Are your parents still alive?” I asked.

  Her hands stopped. Her fingers rested lightly on my chest. She stared off into the corner. “I hope so.” She sighed.

  Family. I had hit the nerve. I was exactly where I needed to be to convince her, but suddenly I felt bad. She was genuinely a nice girl. And why did she have to be so pretty? Why couldn’t she have a mustache like that giant, Eva?

  “I try so hard not to think negatively,” she said. “My mother is in a refugee camp in Germany, but my father and brother are still in Lithuania. Mother thinks they’re fighting in the forests. I’ve heard that Stalin has done unspeakable things to Lithuanians. And then I think of the family upstairs at that estate.” She paused. “Are you absolutely sure they were all dead? I keep thinking that maybe one of the children was alive, that I could have helped.”

  I didn’t want to describe it for her. “They were dead.”

  She looked straight at me. “I did something stupid.”

  I stared back at her, waiting. The curtain to her guard was sliding down. Her truths were there for the taking. A soft curl slipped from beneath her ear onto her cheek. That curl. It was killing me.

  “I wrote the family a note, saying that I borrowed their sewing kit. It didn’t feel right taking something of theirs. That was before I knew they were all upstairs, of course. I signed my name on the note and left it in the kitchen. Now my full name is in that house. What if the relatives return to find the dead family and my name?”

  “Sure, you slaughtered the family and then left a borrow note for a sewing kit. That’s a real calculated killer.” I laughed.

  The curtain flew back up. I had pushed too far. “Killers aren’t always assassins. Sometimes they don’t even have blood on their hands.” She gathered her bag, leaving my shirt open.

  “Your stitches should be removed in a couple days. I don’t know if they will accept me on a ship. If they do, I may think about vouching for your ear and your wound. But I have to know more. I can’t take the risk. Either give me your name, show me your papers, or tell me what you’re hiding in your pack.” She stood up and looked down at me.

  I raised myself onto my elbows but said nothing. I really wanted not to like this girl, but was failing miserably.

  “You think you’re sly,” she said, shaking her head. “I know you took something from my suitcase. I want it back, by tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you’d better check your suitcase again.”

  “Oh, you’re good, but you’re not that good,” she said. “And trust me, you’re not the only one with secrets. Good night, Prussian.” She closed the door.

  I lay back down on the cold tile floor. I reached into my pocket and pulled out her note about the sewing kit. What sort of girl leaves a promissory note in the midst of a bloodbath?

  An honest one.

  I stared at her pretty handwriting, memorizing it and tracing over her signature with my finger. I had slipped the drawing back into her suitcase. Yes, I was that good.

  Good night, Joana.

  alfred

  Good morning, Hannelore!

  Today shall be a busy day. In a few hours we will begin registration for all of these fine ladies of the lake, the ships that will save thousands. There is quite an armada assembled here at the naval base. But my boat, the Willi G, as we navy men call her, is a real mackerel amidst the minnows.

  A letter arrived from Mutter. She informed me that nosy Frau Henkel has been gossiping untruths on our doorstep. Indeed, I saw the old swollen Frau peeking from beneath her curtains when those Hitler Youth irritants arrived at my door and insisted on coming inside. They were so arrogant and aggressive. I am thankful that Mutter was on an errand to the baker during their visit. Of course I didn’t mention the episode to her. The war had already disrupted her nerves to the point of exhaustion. But apparently old sow Henkel has brought it up, so I now feel compelled to make comment.

  After the pests left our home I happened to be in our bathroom. I noticed that you promptly left your kitchen and walked toward the foyer when the boys of Hitler Youth came knocking. I still wonder why you moved so quickly to the door.

  We cannot be too cautious, Hannelore. Just because someone knocks on the door doesn’t mean you have to open it. Sometimes, sweet girl, there are wolves at the door. If we are not careful, they might eat us.

  joana

  We left the movie house at dawn and walked to the port. The energy in the harbor had escalated to a frenzy.

  Refugees hauled possessions however they could. Eva dodged a man on a bicycle and pointed across the road. “Is that a dining table?” A tired horse dragged an inverted table loaded and strapped with belongings. “Talk about a last supper. Sorry,” said Eva.

  A few hundred yards away sat Oxhöft station. Eva threaded through the crowd, collecting information.

  “They say wounded soldiers will be brought via train if the railways are still operating. Several claim the Russians have already bombed the entire track.”

  Rumors spread like infection. Some said Berlin didn’t care about the Germans in East Prussia. Others said boys as young as twelve were being conscripted, carrying guns taller than they were.

  “Why are you so nervous?” said Eva. “You know you’re getting on a boat. You told me you’ve got a letter.”

  “Shh.” I looked behind me to see if anyone was near. “I don’t want the others to know.”

  “Why the secrecy?” whispered Eva.

  “I don’t want them to think I’ll have preferential treatment or opportunity.”

  “It’s a letter from the doctor in Insterburg saying you’re good at dealing with blood and guts, Joana. I’m sorry, but I don’t call that an opportunity,” she said.

  “The whole thing’s unfair, Eva. You know that. Hitler allowed me into Germany. He thinks some Baltic people are ‘Germanizable.’ But for every person like me that Hitler brought in, he pushed some poor soul, like Emilia, out.”

  Eva shrugged. “Life’s not fair. You’re lucky.”

  I didn’t feel lucky. I felt guilty.

  “Do you think you have time to be moral?” snapped Eva. “The Russians are right around the corner. If you wait, they’ll be under your skirt and you’ll be dead. Sorry, but don’t waste your time with some goodwill gesture for a lost Polish kid. Get in line and get on a boat. It’s been nice to trek with everyone, but now we’re here. I don’t need a group. I need my belongings and I need a ship.”

  I saw a young sailor digging through a pile of luggage.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  The sailor stood upright quickly, trying to conceal a crystal butterfly behind his back.

  “Good morning, ladies. Alfred Frick, at your service.”

  florian

  I stood behind the shoe poet and the Polish girl, straining to hear the exchange between Joana and the sailor. The Polish girl did her best to conceal me.

  The sailor rambled. “I was sent to meet a train that’s due in. I thought I would make use of the valuable time and perhaps reunite some precious items with their owners.”


  Instead of questioning us, he was explaining himself. His rank, Matrose, was the lowest for an enlisted seaman in the German navy.

  “Certainly,” said Joana. “I won’t take but a minute of your time. Could you tell us where and when registration begins?”

  “Ah, yes, that is the question of the day, isn’t it? Registration will begin at oh seven hundred hours on the eastern side of the quay. Of course, as you can see, there are many vessels. But that one”—he pointed to the largest ship in the distance—“that, ladies, is the Wilhelm Gustloff. That is my ship.”

  Joana looked carefully at the young man. “Forgive me for asking, but what happened to your hands?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little skin irritation. Sailor’s hazard. A small sacrifice for Germany.”

  Eva rolled her eyes.

  “I have a salve that will protect your hands and calm the irritation,” said Joana.

  The sailor looked down and mumbled something.

  “I have medical training,” said Joana. “I used to work in a hospital.”

  The sailor’s eyes brightened. “Are you assigned to a ship?”

  “No, that’s why I was asking about registration,” said Joana.

  “Well then, consider this your day of good fortune, Fräulein. I’m waiting for a convoy of hospital trains and field ambulances. We’re boarding our wounded men onto the Gustloff, you see. We have just one doctor. He’s walking this way and I will introduce you.”

  This wasn’t Joana’s day of good fortune. It was mine. This guy was a first-class booby. I stepped from behind the Polish girl to make my move, but Joana spoke first.

  “Oh, my. Thank you, sailor. But you see, I have some important patients that I’ve been supervising. I’d have to take them with me.”

  “Well, if everyone’s papers are in order we can make a request. Wounded soldiers and members of the Party will of course be boarded first. But I’m told that we will be evacuating many fine ladies . . . such as yourself.” He gave Joana a strange smile, his top lip curling over filmy teeth.

  Eva turned to me, annoyed. “Is he the best that’s left? I’m sorry, but I’m not putting my future in the hands of this heavy breather.”

  alfred

  The fates of fortune had found me. I had stumbled upon a qualified nurse just minutes before the trains carrying mutilated men would arrive.

  I grabbed the young woman by the sleeve and dragged her through the crowd. “Dr. Richter!” I shouted through the hordes of people. “Dr. Richter! I have your nurse.” I shoved the girl in front of the doctor. She nearly toppled over him.

  “Stop right there. What are you doing?” asked the doctor. He offered a hand to steady the nurse.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the girl. “This sailor thought you might need assistance.” She pulled out her papers and handed them to the doctor. “I was a surgeon’s assistant in Insterburg. There’s a recommendation among my papers.”

  “A surgeon’s assistant.” I grinned. “Outstanding qualifications.”

  The doctor quickly scanned through her papers. “Are you registered yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet, sir,” she replied.

  “I have a convoy of wounded on the way. We don’t have room for all of them. We need to quickly evaluate their condition. Those who are strong enough to make the voyage will be boarded onto ships.”

  “I’m traveling with priority patients,” said the nurse, “including an expectant mother who—”

  “Do you have maternity experience?” interrupted the doctor.

  “Yes, I do.”

  He handed back her papers. “Help me here. We’ll register you for the Gustloff after we sort the wounded.”

  “And my patients, sir?” she asked.

  The doctor became annoyed. “I don’t have time.” He then looked to me. “You. The one who brought the nurse. What’s your name?”

  “Frick, sir.”

  “Take her people to registration. Maybe one of the ships has space.”

  The nurse removed a stethoscope from her bag and put it around her neck.

  The doctor nodded at me. “Thank you, Frick.”

  “Happy to be of service.”

  I stood tall, pleased. When given the opportunity, Alfred Frick rose to the occasion and seized the path of the hero’s journey.

  joana

  Part of me felt drawn to the doctor and the opportunity to help the incoming patients. But I did not want to leave our group.

  “Go, my dear,” said the shoe poet. “Help others if you can. This young sailor will take us to registration. We’ll come back and find you.”

  I knelt down to the wandering boy. “Now, Klaus, you stay close to Poet. Hold his hand.” The boy nodded. I gave him a kiss. He held out his one-eared bunny for a kiss and I obliged.

  “Take care of him, Poet,” I said as I hugged the old man. “Make sure you find me before boarding a ship.”

  “The clock,” reminded Poet. “We can meet under the clock.”

  A panting, soot-covered locomotive appeared in the distance.

  Emilia stepped toward me, eyes wide with fear.

  “Don’t worry,” I told her. “I have to help these people. But I’ll help you too.” I tugged her pink hat down and straightened it. “Put on the lipstick,” I whispered. I set my hand on her belly. “I’ll see you both tonight.”

  Even from afar, I could see the train cars were stuffed with wounded and refugees. Passengers leaned out of the compartments, screaming for help. Sailors rushed in, prepared with gurneys and pallets. The doctor began shouting instructions.

  And then amidst the pandemonium I heard him.

  “Joana.”

  I turned toward the voice.

  The Prussian pulled me aside.

  “You wanted to know something,” he whispered, moving in close. His eyes found mine. “I’m Florian. My name is Florian.” He reached out and took one of my curls between his fingers. A blush of heat washed across my face.

  I grabbed the young sailor who had brought me to the doctor. “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Frick. But you may call me Alfred.”

  “Alfred, these people are very important. They have papers. I’m going to help the doctor, but these people must be taken to the same ship I will be on. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Fräulein. Certainly.”

  The train, battered like a bruised fighter, hissed in the sidings.

  The doctor handed me a clipboard. Could I trust the sailor?

  “Alfred, will you promise to take care of my group? This young mother is very important.”

  “Leave it with me, Fräulein.”

  Urgent shouts came from the train.

  “Let’s go!” said the doctor.

  I grabbed the Prussian and whispered in his good ear.

  “Nice to meet you, Florian.”

  emilia

  She was leaving. Why did everyone leave me? But Joana was special. A doctor had chosen her for work. A flurry of commotion erupted when the train arrived. We turned away from the tracks and followed the sailor toward the port.

  The sailor concerned me. Something shadowed lay beneath his surface. Ingrid would have felt it. As the group was talking to Joana, a starving dog approached the sailor. The poor animal, too weak to even bark, sniffed plaintively at his feet. The sailor kicked the suffering creature away with his boot, annoyed and disgusted.

  “Remember, don’t speak,” the knight whispered to me. “You’re Latvian.”

  My knight hadn’t left me yet. He was happy about something. The sailor or Joana. Maybe both. But he would probably have to leave me too. Father hadn’t wanted to leave me. I had felt his struggle as I eavesdropped from behind the door.

  “Promise me, Martin,” Father had said to Mr
. Kleist. “Promise me you’ll protect her, take care of her, love her like your own. She’s all I have.” I couldn’t erase the memory of choked emotion in my father’s voice.

  Mr. Kleist had promised. “Yes, Michal, we’ll take good care of her. She’ll love the countryside and the farm. Else and August will be happy to have another young voice in the house.”

  “And what about Erna?” asked Father. “Are you certain she will welcome her?”

  “Erna . . . yes,” said Mr. Kleist.

  I continually returned to the conversation in my mind. He had spoken the word yes but something screamed no. And then I revisited the truth:

  Martin Kleist welcomed me.

  Else Kleist welcomed me.

  August Kleist truly welcomed me.

  But Erna Kleist, she did not welcome me.

  Ever.

  florian

  Hundreds of thousands had descended upon Gotenhafen from the depths of East Prussia and the Baltic countries. They now pushed and floated, like human driftwood, near the harbor. Vehicles shrieked their horns, carving a narrow path through the sea of refugees. A crowd gathered around a small girl who had been hit by a car. Hooded crows feasted on the innards of a dead horse in front of an overturned wagon. People wandered, looking constantly to the sky in fear of the Black Death. On the side of the road, where the earth had been turned by tank treads, an emaciated cow wailed. Its udders had frozen and burst overnight.

  “You will step aside, please. I am an official escort!” announced the sailor who accompanied us.

  The Polish girl tugged at my sleeve and gave me a concerned look. The sailor was drawing attention unnecessarily. He was more than a booby without experience; he was desperate to feel important. I knew the type.

  In the distance I saw a group of Party officials with their wives. The women wore thick fur coats and expensive jewelry. They were flanked by parlor maids carrying trunks and hatboxes. These were the privileged passengers who would have priority boarding with the officers and wounded. They were also the type who could give me trouble.