“Maybe another time, eh, old chap?” Wilson offered. “Anyone?”
John darted a glance toward Angelique, then dropped his gaze without speaking.
“Right, then.” Shedding shoes and coat and stripping to undershirt and shorts, Wilson dove cleanly over the side. He executed three laps around Number 7 without stopping, then climbed back to his position.
“Bracing, that is,” he said cheerfully, toweling off with a bit of burlap sacking. “Nothing better. Cheerio, Cap’n. What’s our heading?”
And the oars began their rhythmic rise and fall.
The gray light dimmed toward nightfall as the choristers sang Psalm 136:
“Give thanks to the Lord of lords
His love endures forever.”
I prayed as they caroled for us. James and John sang each verse while Tomas, Peter, and Connor offered the refrain.
“To Him who alone does great wonders…
His love endures forever.
To Him who by understanding made the heavens…
His love endures forever.
To Him who spread out the earth above the waters…
His love endures forever.”
Here where there was no “earth above the waters,” I wondered if I had ever really known the importance of this hymn.
The carol to the loving-kindness of the Lord was a regular part of the Evensong service at Westminster Abbey, so I had heard it performed many times. Had I ever really paid attention to the message?
“To Him who made the great lights…
His love endures forever.
The sun to rule over the day…
His love endures forever.”
Even more to the point, did I believe that the Lord’s mercy was unending? Could I take the words and apply them as balm to my fearful heart?
“The moon and stars to rule over the night…
His love endures forever.”19
When the psalm was finished, Third Officer Browne shared out our supper: another slab of hard tack. We were all calling it that now, convinced by Connor it sounded more nautical than “biscuit.” For variety, we had one slice of canned peach, instead of a sardine, on top.
After we had prayed and sung and eaten, miraculously, there was still some left over.
“There’s still the juice in the cans,” Browne noted after the fruit had been served out. “I propose giving it to the children.”
Podlaski opened his mouth in protest. Wilson on one side, and Barrett on the other, favored him with such threatening looks he subsided without speaking.
The grumbling was picked up amidships by the lascars. Hard looks were directed at Browne and at us. Something that had never happened before occurred: a portion of the syrup slopped out of the can as it was passed forward. Three native sailors licked their fingers—one of them defiantly.
Beginning with Yael and Robert, the sticky-sweet liquid was passed around the bow until only a half can remained and it was John’s turn. “Let the ladies have it,” he said.
Browne and Wilson agreed, so Raquel, Mariah, and I shared what was left. Mariah was hollow-eyed and barely spoke, but she thanked John for his thoughtfulness and straightened her shoulders. “And don’t I have a duty to go home to me Da?” she said. “Bein’ his only kin, and him expectin’ grand news of our arrival in America.”
The syrup tasted better than anything I had ever swallowed to that moment in my life. Before the Nazi horror, when the orchestra traveled the great capitals of the world, we had been feted with champagne and caviar, Sachar tortes and roast beef from gleaming silver trolleys. Yet nothing in my memory reached the level of the juice of canned peaches.
Of course, then we were all terribly thirsty.
When the water ration reached Robert, I encouraged him to sip it slowly. “No more until morning,” I warned. “Swish it around inside your mouth and make it last.”
Since the breeze had swung into the south, Officer Browne proposed setting the sail. “During the night I want everyone to rest as much as possible,” he said. “One man to the tiller and one as lookout ’til dawn. Two-hour watches. Me, Wilson, and Barrett taking turns with the helm. Naturally, Mister Podlaski, I assume your diplomatic duties do not extend to steering this ship of state.”
“What is this nonsense you speak?” Podlaski protested. “At home I am a champion yachtsman.”
He did not see the wink Browne gave Barrett. Podlaski insisted on taking the first turn at the tiller, leaving the others free to step the mast and rig the sail.
Soon after this operation, all was trimmed and order restored. Number 7 leaned slightly and the port rail dipped with the press of the wind. We ghosted along over the gentle swell. The compass heading indicated was east-south-east.
“Aunt Elisa,” Connor said. “I’m not sleepy. Can we have a story?”
“Yes! A story, please,” Robert echoed.
“Not tonight, boys,” I said. “But perhaps a song?”
“Sure,” Tomas agreed.
“What should it be?” James pondered.
While the choristers still debated the choice of selection, Peter’s mellifluous tones floated around the canvas arch of sail and into the canvas-colored sky.
“The water is wide,
I cannot get o’er.
And neither have I wings to fly.
Give me a boat that can carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.”20
From within the folds of his life vest Connor drew out his tin whistle. With Peter singing the lead, Connor piping the melody as interludes between verses, and the other boys harmonizing perfectly, the moment was like the juice of the peaches…the sweetest I had ever experienced.
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.
SONG OF SOLOMON 6:3 ESV
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
FEBRUARY 1938
I am married to John Murphy. He is not a knight in shining armor, but he married me so I might have the protection of his American citizenship. He does not love me and will be well paid for helping me. We will have the marriage annulled when I am safe with American papers.
I am sure he does not really like me, though for many months he came to performances and often asked me out for coffee.
I did my hair up like Katherine Hepburn in the movie Bill of Divorcement. I told myself that I would act my part and go on with my life, never seeing John Murphy again after the annulment. If I am arrested by the Nazis, my official link to the life of an American newsman may save my life. This is all I must think about.
Murphy’s hands were shaking when we went to the American Embassy to fill out papers. He did not know how to answer the questions. His friend, who is a clerk there, asked him if he really knew me well enough to get married. We laughed, but of course Murphy does not know me really, nor do I know him.
This is the record of my wedding ceremony.
Murphy to Harry the Clerk: “How long is this going to take?”
Harry: “Most ladies like the long-type ceremony.”
Murphy: “You got a short one?”
Harry: “Sure. We can do it short. As short as you like.”
Murphy: “How’s thirty seconds?”
Harry: “It’ll cost you extra.”
Murphy reaching across the desk to grab Harry’s tie:
“You’re charging me $500 bucks as it is, you little crook.” Harry: “That’s because you want her passport in one day!” Murphy: “I want a quick passport and a quick ceremony!”
And so it went. A phony wedding. A cigar band for a wedding ring. And then we kissed. His lips pressed mine, and he held me against him. Warm coils lit up inside me. I could not breathe…and then it was over. We said good-bye on the curb like two strangers.
I caught the streetcar and tried not to look back at him. It was a long time before my heart slowed to normal. I still feel that kiss.
19 Psalm 136:1–9 ESV, PARAPHRASED
20 “The Water Is Wide,” English folk song
19
LIFEBOAT NUMBER 7
NORTH ATLANTIC
AUTUMN 1940
The night brought no additional rain, but the weather turned dramatically colder. In the after-midnight hours the wind backed completely around so that it blew out of the north—directly from the North Pole, it seemed to me.
Some of the boys were proof against the chill. Robert in his forest-green cape was well protected. So was Connor in a heavy overcoat. “Mother made me promise to wear it whenever I went on deck,” he said. “When the torpedo hit, I didn’t have it, so I went back to my cabin for it.”
The alarm bells of my maternal instincts clanged violently. By turning back, sweet Connor could have been trapped belowdecks. Or he might have missed his chance at being on Number 7 and been lost aboard some foundering lifeboat.
On the other hand, now he was warm and protected while Tomas and Peter, who had evacuated Newcastle in their pajamas, had one blanket between them, as did James and John.
Robert slept on my lap. Connor had his head tucked against Mariah’s arm. My Irish friend traded places with Raquel. The dancer and her three charges were tucked snuggly beneath the canvas canopy. Angelique snuggled inside John’s overcoat. “I don’t need it,” he said. “I’m plenty warm in my sweater.” John muscled in beside his brother, who knew better than to object.
It was the lascar crewmen who suffered the most. Their shipboard uniforms were of thin material. None of them had coats. Many were barefoot, while those who were shod wore only sandals. There were enough blankets aboard to provide one for every three men. The two on the outside of each bench were half warm and half frozen.
My nose and ears grew cold enough to wake me. Even through my drowsy confusion I saw black looks of envy from two shivering lascar sailors.
Untangling myself from Robert, I reached my hand up to rub some feeling back into them and saw that Peter was awake.
“Peter? Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, Aunt Elisa,” he replied in a soft, clear whisper. “I often wake at night to look at the stars.”
I had not even noticed that the shift in the wind had rolled back the layers of cloud so that bright pinpoints of light glowed overhead. “Do you know their names?”
“Some.” He indicated a bright blue-white star rising directly in line with the bow. “That’s Rigel. He marks Orion’s knee.”
“I know Orion,” I agreed. “That’s his sword and belt.”
I heard the smile in Peter’s voice as he warmed to a favorite topic. “The orange one, just there? That’s Betelgeuse. Sometimes I imagine heaven is up there. My mother and sister…you know? Surrounded by shining lights and no more war.”
I thought about the children of our voyage who had not survived. Fresh grief welled up in my throat for Lindy and the others. Why, God? I silently asked.
I said aloud, “Heaven is a wonderful place, they say.”
Peter answered, “When I look at the stars, I’m sure it must be true.”
I realized Peter had not stuttered once in all this dissertation, nor did his speech impediment create any problem when he sang. It was only when he tried to speak in the daylight that his brother had to interpret for him.
“Tell me more,” I said.
“Father was professor of physics at Charles University in Prague,” Peter said proudly. “He had been there since before I was born. Then the Germans came.”
When I said nothing he said bitterly, “They said the school belonged to the Deutsche Universite of Berlin. No Jews wanted. My father went to work in a rail yard, shoveling coal.”
I also knew about Jews being expelled from teaching positions and orchestras, but again I waited for Peter to speak. “Now my father is in America, working with Professor Enrico Fermi, studying atomic fission. At Columbia University. In New York. Do you know of it? We are supposed to see him there before we go to Holl-ee-wood-land.” Peter carefully pronounced each syllable of the California film colony, naming it as if it were the title of a magical kingdom in a fairy tale.
“Yes,” I agreed. I had not a clue what was meant by “atomic fission,” but I recognized the prestigious university. “Columbia in New York. You’ll like it, Peter. And your father will be so glad to see you and Tomas again.”
The boy nodded, then yawned. “Father was very excited. He says Fermi is the smartest physicist in the world. Father says Fermi’s wife is Jewish, like us. They had to escape from Mussolini, just like…like we…”
As if I could hear the voice of my father speaking, my mind was filled with the words of the first two verses of Isaiah 57 (ESV):
The righteous man perishes,
and no one lays it to heart;
devout men are taken away,
while no one understands.
For the righteous man is taken away from calamity;
he enters into peace.
Peter had nodded off to sleep. Moments later, I did the same.
In You, O LORD, do I take refuge; let me never be put to shame! In Your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline Your ear to me, and save me!
PSALM 71:1–2 ESV
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
MARCH 10, 1938
The Austrian prime minister has been arrested and the government taken over by Fascists who favor Hitler. I am weeping now as I write this. What will come of us now? Surely Germany will annex Austria, and our small island of safety will be destroyed.
Since the first of January, I have escorted seventeen Jewish children from Germany to Austria, and then on to safety in Switzerland, using my American passport for cover and protection.
John Murphy unexpectedly came to my flat tonight. He seemed nervous when he told me why he had come.
“I want to warn you that you and your friends must leave Austria. It is very dangerous now. No more risks. I thought you should have a wedding ring. For appearances.” He thrust a small box into my hand. I opened it. There was a blue lapis wedding band inside.
“Lovely,” I said. “Blue.”
“Like the dress you wore. Same color. The day we were…married.”
I wondered if he used part of the money he was paid to marry me? I felt emotion tug at my throat. I had not forgotten our one and only kiss.
He slipped the band on my finger. “Just wanted to let you know. I was thinking about you. About us. Hoping you’re okay.”
Leah came to the door and Murphy left quickly, saying there were enormous political events he must witness and write about.
Leah says he looked back at me with longing as he left. I wonder if he remembers our parting kiss as I do.
I wonder if we will ever meet again. Leah and I made plans to leave for Kitzbühel. If Austria falls to the Reich, we will escape to Switzerland from there.
20
LIFEBOAT NUMBER 7
NORTH ATLANTIC
AUTUMN 1940
Our days aboard Number 7 quickly fell into a routine. When we awoke from our unsatisfying rest, there was much contorting of limbs to restore circulation, and many groans.
Officer Browne led us in The Lord’s Prayer:
“Our Father, which art in heaven.
Hallowed be Thy Name.”
When we came to the petition about “Give us this day, our daily bread,” John’s stomach growled.
No one laughed.
Everyone made conversation about the weather, the wind, and about how much we had progressed toward the end of our journey.
John: “Breeze is more from the west now. Good for us.”
James: “But it’s died away since the sun rose. Bad for us.”
Angelique addressed her question to John: “How far have we come?”
I saw conflicting emotions cross John’s face. He wanted to sound encouraging, to give Angelique hope. At the same time he could not lie to her. Someone would certainly correct him if he gave a wildly wrong answer, and then the beautiful gypsy girl might no longer trust him.
John hedged. “It’s hard to say, exactly.”
br /> James had no such hesitation. “Even when we had the breeze we can’t have been averaging more than three knots.” He paused to straighten his spectacles. “Probably less. I bet we haven’t made—”
His brother interrupted. “Seventy-five miles. That’s great progress. A third of the distance to Ireland.”
“If we’re even going the right direction,” the Polish diplomat asserted. “How do we even know?”
“There’s the sun, Mister Podlaski,” Browne said. “We’re sailing toward it, aren’t we?”
Podlaski harrumphed.
“We couldn’t miss something as big as Ireland, could we, Aunt Elisa?” Robert inquired, stretching one arm toward my nose and the other toward Mariah’s.
“As big and green as ever it is?” Mariah offered. “Not a’tall, a’tall. Soon enough we’ll be sailin’ into Galway Bay to a hero’s welcome. And what do you think we’ll have to eat then, eh?”
This was also part of the routine. Contrary to what I first thought, taking turns describing a desirable meal was not depressing. Instead it seemed to raise the children’s spirits.
“Sausages!” Connor piped cheerfully.
“Scads of roast beef and potatoes,” James suggested.
“As much soft bread and nice jam as I want,” was Robert’s choice.
“Sure, and won’t it be Irish stew?” Mariah laughed. “And sausage and roast beef and bread with…with what sort of jam, Robin Hood?”
“Strawberry!” the green-clad miniature archer declared. “Unless…” He paused thoughtfully.
“Yes?” Mariah encouraged.
“Do they have rolls with butter and honey in Ireland?”
“For you, my dear, yes. Even if we was to have to import it!”
The time between waking and the first of our two daily meals passed very slowly. Food and water were distributed around noon and then again six hours later.
I soon learned the longer I stayed asleep the better.
It was on day four that we made a terrible discovery.
As the evening distribution of rations commenced, Matt Wilson passed out the first round of the hard tack, each topped with a small chunk of canned salmon. There was a longer than usual pause as Wilson broke into the second case of ship’s biscuits.