The German Girl (19 page)

I took a photo of him with his father. Mr. Martin looked tired, sitting in an armchair with a gray blanket across his legs. He had grown older since I last saw him. Next to him, Leo was smiling, with one hand on his waist.

“The ring will be yours, Papa promised me, in Havana he’ll give it to me.” Leo spoke hurriedly. He often jumbled up his sentences, and I seemed to be the only one who could understand him.

“I’m going to have a brother. My mother is three months along.” That was my excuse not to have to thank him for the ring and to escape this awkward moment.

“Another mouth to feed” was his response.

This time I was the one who had been waiting to be congratulated, a “That’s great, you’re going to have a little brother or sister!” but as ever, Leo was practical and went straight to the point.

We were the first ones up on the promenade deck when the announcement came over the loudspeakers that we were approaching the Azores.

Leo and I joined my parents at the port rail, and we gazed at the islands appearing in the distance. Nobody shouted “Land ahoy!” as they used to in my adventure books. The decks became crammed with passengers staring at the horizon in eerie silence.

The air was freezing: night was falling. Even though Leo swore they would soon open the swimming pool, I could not imagine who would risk getting into the water with such a cold breeze. The tropics were still too far away for anyone to go out and sunbathe.

I began to feel seasick, either from staring at the horizon for too long or because of the news that a baby was on the way. For whatever reason, I found I had to hang on to the ship’s rail to keep my balance. The closer we came to the islands, the more the
St. Louis
seemed to rock to and fro.

Mama leaned against Papa. She felt protected by the strongest man in the world again. Papa held her to him, but there was something like a look of panic in his eyes. I tried to guess at his feelings, what he might have been thinking, what was worrying him—whether he felt sick or exhausted or regretted having to struggle the whole time and was giving up. I had no idea why he could be afraid, if we were together.
We’re safe, Papa. We managed to flee. Germany is farther and farther behind us.

We passed by the Azores at full speed. When we saw them begin to disappear off the port bow, it felt like a missed opportunity, like someone allowing a safe conduct to freedom to slip out of their hands. What would it have been like to live there, far from the Ogres? We ought to have bought visas for the Azores.

We could have been their new inhabitants. We would have changed their name, of course. Instead of the Azores, I would have called them the “Impure Islands.” Our children would speak Impure, a language we’d invented that was different from our mother tongue. The first Impure state.

This was where my brother or sister would have been born, free from the misfortune of being German, without having to speak the German language. Happy to be impure! With no need to hide from anyone, as there would not be a single pure person around.
Just think, Leo, what a paradise!

Leo gripped my hand. My parents didn’t notice, because they were so lost in their own thoughts, leaning against each other as they gazed at the horizon, where the islands were starting to fade in the midst of the sad Atlantic.

My hand was frozen, but Leo’s warmed me.

“I got a pair of roller skates for tomorrow.” Leo was able to get rid of any dark thoughts. I could already imagine what to expect when I woke up in the morning.

“Will you be able to learn in an hour?” I asked him. He shot me a look as if to say, “Of course I’ll learn, and much more quickly than you think.” His peals of laughter were contagious. Laughing was the best thing we could do.

It was then I realized that Papa was observing me rather anxiously—and there I was, daydreaming about Leo and his skates!
I think it is high time you end your silence, Papa, and make us feel like you are here with us; that you take us into account. That if anything was happening, you would tell us, because you know I am strong. We always feel safe with you.

His voice was solemn as he announced curtly, “We’re halfway there.”

Cable from the Hamburg-Amerika Line

I
t was bound to be a Tuesday. Since we came on board, no one had even thought about what day of the week it was. What interested us was how many days were left before we disembarked. I couldn’t wait for it to be Saturday, the day we were to arrive. On top of that, it was my birthday, and it fell on a Tuesday, the worst day of all. Well, anyway, what did I care? We were sailing in the mid-Atlantic and wouldn’t reach our destination for almost another week. I no longer even believed in my own bad luck.

I had awakened early, because a crew member sent by the captain came to look for Papa. I decided not to mention this to Leo. He would only have started with his endless speculation and conspiracy theories.

Mama had been on edge for days. I thought that revealing her secret might have unburdened her, but that wasn’t the case. Overwhelmed with foreboding, often groundless, that she kept rehashing in her mind, she
remained in bed, sunk among down pillows, shrinking from the sunlight streaming in through the porthole.

Everybody knew I did not want a party, since there was nothing to celebrate. But even the captain knew it was my birthday. Leo said I would receive a very special present but that I had to be patient. I thought he was still on the trail of his mother’s famous ring, although it would be crazy for his father to give away the only valuable thing they still possessed.

When Mama did finally get up, she came straight to my bed and lay down beside me. Her body felt so cold, I shivered.

“My Hannah,” she said, stroking my hair.

Mama said nothing more, but I sensed she wanted to tell me something. I turned to look at her, to encourage her.

“It’s time for you to have the Teardrop, Hannah.”

Her freezing hands reached slowly for my neck. She began to fasten the necklace with the flawed pearl that her father had made for her mother to wear at the opening of the Hotel Adlon—the precious jewel she received at the age I was reaching that day. The delicate white-gold chain beautifully complemented the pearl, which was set in a triangle also of white gold with a tiny diamond at the tip.

The room enveloped us, and the bronze ceiling light with its three rows of snowy bulbs looked like a dazzling upside-down wedding cake competing with the sun’s rays. I did not want time to pass. We were suspended in the center of this luminous space. Suddenly I was intimidated by the pearl now nestling at my neck; it brought with it a responsibility to preserve this jewel that had been in the family for generations. I ran to the mirror to examine my Teardrop, and decided to wear a soft-pink sweater to set it off properly.

When she saw how moved I was, Mama made an effort to stand up and come over to me. For her benefit, I struck a few familiar poses, to make her think I felt like a goddess, too. She laughed. For a short while, we played at being happy.

She put on a blue-and-white dress, and the pair of us headed off to celebrate my birthday.

As we approached the Adlers’ staterooms, we noticed several crew members outside. We knocked on the door, but no one replied. When we insisted, we realized it had been left unlocked. Mama went in, and I followed. We found ourselves in the lounge with Papa, the captain, two seamen, and the ship’s doctor, all of them looking forlorn. Papa came over and held us. I could smell the menthol odor from the Adlers’ cabin on him.

“Last night Mr. Adler began to have trouble breathing. He’s gone.”

He’s gone, he departed, he passed away, he has left us. It would have been so much easier to say “He died,” but they wouldn’t; they were all afraid of the word. Mrs. Adler came up, a sad smile on her face but with no sign of having cried. She took Mama by the hand.

“I wanted to bury him in Havana, but the captain has received a cable telling him that will be impossible. We’ll have to hold the funeral service at night and then throw him into the sea. Can you imagine such an ending, Alma?”

The captain was talking to two of the crew, who were showing him the latest cables. At one point, he raised his head and said to me softly—so softly I could understand him only because I read his lips—“
Alles Gute zum Geburtstag Hannah
.”

So everyone knew it was my birthday. I had warned Mama I did not want a celebration like those held on previous evenings for other children on board. I was sure that, after Mr. Adler’s death, nobody would be in the mood for a party.

I slipped out and went to look for Leo. He, of course, already knew everything. He also told me there had been another death during the night.

“A passenger?”

“No, one of the crew. Apparently he committed suicide by jumping into the sea. They couldn’t rescue him. One tragedy after another.”

Great news to start my birthday! Of course, it had to be a Tuesday.

“What happened to Mr. Adler was to be expected,” I told him. “He never once got out of bed since he came on board. He let himself die. He was worn-out.”

I didn’t feel sorry for him, because in the end he had given up, but I did feel sympathy for Mrs. Adler: she had to bury him and continue this uncertain battle. Leo could sense my melancholy. He rested his hands on my shoulders and said, “Hannah, promise me something. We’ll live together until we are eighty-seven. Beyond that, life isn’t worth living. Who wants to be lying in a bed like Mr. Adler?”

I promise, Leo, of course I do.
I said this to myself because he had already begun to move off without waiting for my reply.

The news about both deaths was already spreading among the passengers. Leo’s friend Walter had come up with another theory. That Mr. Adler had committed suicide. That the member of the crew had been killed. That there could be more suicide attempts.

“Our visas are worthless. They say the Cuban government is now demanding a bond for each of us, a fortune that not even the wealthiest will be able to pay,” he muttered. He peered around, anxious that no one else should hear his secret.

“I don’t believe you,” I said to him sternly. “My mother got our visas at the Cuban consulate in Berlin and bought the one for my father at the HAPAG offices in Hamburg.”

I was fed up with all their speculation, their stupid theories. Everything was going to be fine: I was sure of it.

“Yes, just like ours. Those are the ones that are no longer valid.” Walter sounded so sure of himself that I felt intimidated.

“If they don’t let us into Cuba, do we have any other choices?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.

“Talks are still going on to see if any other Caribbean island will take us.” Leo was taking control again, not wanting to appear to be behind with the news. He was the one to make announcements—not Walter, who thought he was so clever.

At least none of them said we were going back to Germany. That was not a possibility. We had already handed over our homes; there was nowhere for us to go. No one would survive. Now I understood why there were so many rumors about suicide.

“Do you think I should confront my parents so that they tell me the truth?” I asked Leo, without the others hearing me.

“No, what you have to do is find those capsules as quickly as possible. If you’re refused entry to Cuba, the Rosenthals already have a plan,” he said determinedly. “And we can’t allow that, Hannah. Whatever happens, we have to be together.”

I obeyed him, even though he was only a couple of months older than me.

We were caught up in a fresh nightmare. I didn’t know if it was real or just a dream.

I reached my parents’ cabin. They were sitting still, in silence, lost in their thoughts. I went to shut myself in my room and discovered on my bedside table an envelope bearing the insignia of the
St. Louis
and marked “For Hannah.”

Inside was a postcard showing the biggest, most luxurious liner that had ever sailed the seas. “
Alles Gute zum Geburtstag Hannah.
” Signed “
Der Kapitän
.” It was true what Mama said: that man was a gentleman. I should have gone up to the bridge to thank him.

I could hear Mama crying outside. I clutched the postcard close to my heart and shut my eyes, wanting to hold on to the illusion that we were safe on this iron island. Choking with sobs, Mama’s voice sounded so shrill I could hardly understand what she was saying:

“There’s no argument. If all three of us cannot land, then none of us will. Neither Hannah, nor the child I’m bearing, nor I, are going back to Germany, Max. You can be sure of that.”

Cable from the Hamburg-Amerika Line

I
wasn’t afraid of death. Of the final hour arriving, of everything being switched off, of being left in darkness. Of seeing myself among the clouds, looking down at everyone still walking freely around the city. To die was like having the light switched off, and with it all your illusions.

But I didn’t want my parents to decide
when
this happened. It was not yet the moment for me to return to dust. They wouldn’t dare, because I would defend myself. I didn’t care if our visas were worthless or that they wouldn’t let us land on that nondescript island.

At night, while I slept, I could hear voices telling me to get up, leave my room, go out on deck, and throw myself into the ocean. The current would take me to the only place where I could arrive and be accepted: another tiny island that didn’t figure on any map. I saw myself all alone, without my parents or Leo. From up above, I could hardly make myself out as a tiny dot, lost on the shore. That was what death must be like.