Salt to the Sea

by Ruta Sepetys

  I was weighing my options when the hinges on the door rotated.

  The sailor climbed up the ladder and took a seat next to me.

  “I’ve come with news,” he announced.

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  He rubbed his blistered palms together. “I have just observed from the top deck the arrival of hundreds of female naval auxiliaries. They are well dressed and quite clean.”

  “They’re bringing the women’s auxiliary on board?” Maybe that meant we’d leave soon.

  “Yes, there are hundreds of them and they seem quite plucky.”

  “Where are they going to put them?” I asked. “Are there enough cabins available?”

  “Oh no. All of the cabins are quite full already. But I imagine there are those on board who might offer a warm cot.” He snorted with laughter.

  I leaned back against the cold chimney wall. Had this guy been broadsided with a brick at some point?

  “How long have you been in the service, sailor?” I asked.

  He stared at his feet, hesitating. “As we share confidences, I will be truthful. I was a late recruit. I had wanted to be part of the youth organizations, but the physical drills were quite rigorous and placed heavy emphasis on athletic competition. I can see you have gifts of strength and coordination. I do not. I cannot run very fast or jump very far. My gifts lie in other areas. My father was terribly disappointed but Mutter was relieved. Although Mutter of course loves the Führer, she wasn’t quite inclined to serve me up. I’m an only child.”

  “Your mother loves the Führer, eh?”

  He looked at me, his eyes sober and sharp. “Of course. We all love the Führer, sir. As the papers say, ‘The good German fights for the Führer.’ I certainly do. I will admit that I’m too tenderhearted and at times felt sorry for someone or other who could not be part of the master race, but now I banish such impure thoughts. Such is the nature of sacrifice, is it not?”

  His impure thoughts were radically different from my own.

  He stared at me. “You agree, of course? We are good Germans.”

  His eyes lingered. His speech pattern carried an unsettling cadence. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to knock him off the ledge. But instead I just nodded.

  “We are good Germans. So do you think you could find me some food?” I asked.

  joana

  The maternity ward was now full. Three of the women were quite close to their time. Emilia whispered to her baby, inspecting her tiny hands. When I was a little girl I had two baby dolls and carried them everywhere. Then I became competitive in school and had no time for dolls. I turned away from Emilia and her daughter, trying to swallow past the strange knotting in my throat.

  A soldier in a green uniform and black jackboots walked in.

  “Joana Vilkas.”

  The soldier had yellow hair and fair, almost translucent skin. He looked like the men referred to as “purebloods,” portrayed on the German signs. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here about someone that you helped.” He stood completely still. “One of your patients—the one with a shrapnel wound and a damaged ear.”

  Emilia’s posture tightened. She pulled the infant close and kept her eyes on the soldier.

  “Can you confirm the name of the patient with the shrapnel wound and the bad ear, Miss Vilkas?”

  I walked over to him and lowered my voice. “I’m not at liberty to give out the patients’ names. I’m sure you understand.”

  He became annoyed. This man wasn’t used to being refused.

  “If I am not mistaken, miss, you are Volksdeutsche, a Lithuanian who was allowed to repatriate into Germany. Your liberty belongs to Adolf Hitler. We can certainly hand you back over to Stalin.” He grinned, pleased by the bully within him. “But we wouldn’t want to do that. You’re too pretty. So can you confirm, then, the name of your patient with the shrapnel wound and damaged ear?”

  “I’m not sure I remember,” I whispered. “Maybe Friedrich? Or Fritz?”

  The soldier seemed to consider this. What did he already know?

  His eyes narrowed. “Florian, perhaps? Surname Beck?”

  He knew more than he was letting on.

  “Yes, that might be it.”

  “Where did you encounter him?”

  “In transit. He was bleeding and suffering a fever. Is there a problem, sir?”

  The soldier ran his finger along the edge of the metal table, as if checking for dust. “If you are telling the truth, then no, there is no problem. But if you are assisting or harboring a deserter, Miss Vilkas, then yes, there’s a big problem.”

  “He has papers. Did Herr Beck show them to you?” I folded a piece of linen to busy my trembling hands.

  “He showed me his papers. He also showed me his attitude. It was only after I pressed that he showed me all of his paperwork.”

  I tried to deflect but dig. “Then you understand the nature of his situation?”

  “Yes, he’s a courier for Gauleiter Koch. He was wounded and says Koch appointed you as his personal nurse.”

  My breath stopped but my hands kept moving. Gauleiter Erich Koch appointed me? What was he talking about?

  He shook his head. “But there was something,” he said, looking at Emilia and then at me. “I didn’t believe him. I’d like to take another look at his papers. I sent him to the infirmary but I can’t seem to find him there. Would you happen to have a duplicate of the medical testimony you signed for him?”

  Medical testimony. That I had signed. What had he done? “I’m sorry, there have been so many,” I said.

  “Yes, there are a lot of wounded. So I’ve sent a wire to Koch’s office for confirmation, but thought you might be able to solve the matter more quickly. Did you see him?”

  “Yes. I removed his stitches.”

  Emilia squirmed in protest, wanting to defend Florian.

  “What did he say?” asked the soldier.

  “Just that he was tired.” Emilia shot me a ferocious look. “And . . . that he had wanted to board the Hansa instead.”

  “Hansa?”

  The wandering boy ran in, chest heaving beneath his life vest, tears streaming down his face. He held up the stuffed rabbit. The remaining ear dangled from a strand.

  “Oh no!” I exclaimed. He nodded, pouting.

  “Don’t you worry, we’ll fix him right up.” I turned to the soldier. “Are we through, sir? As you can see, I’m about to go into surgery.”

  emilia

  Florian Beck. The knight was Florian, like Saint Florian, the patron saint of Poland. The Nazi soldier had tried to cause problems. He was clearly full of hate. If he discovered I was Polish, he would throw me off the boat into the Baltic.

  Joana paced the floor, sewing the ear of the rabbit back onto its body. She was mad or thinking. Maybe both. The wandering boy walked over to my cot and peeked at the baby.

  “Hallo,” he said to her. “I’m Klaus.”

  I looked at the boy. His cheeks were red, burned from the cold and wind. The large blue life vest dwarfed his body and hung down to his knees. He was alone, like me, but he was only six years old. Where were his parents? Mama said that a transplanted bud doesn’t prosper. The shoemaker loved him, though. I could tell. He would take care of him, protect him, unlike Frau Kleist.

  “Four years. We’ve kept you for over four years,” Frau Kleist used to complain. “Do you know what that’s cost me?”

  “My father will come for me,” I told her. “He will pay you.”

  She whipped around, furious. “Your father’s dead. Why do you think I’m so annoyed?”

  Dead.

  Her words had squeezed at my throat, run down through my windpipe and strangled the air from my lungs.

  “It’s not true,” I whispered.

  Please. It couldn�
�t be true.

  August appeared at my side. “Of course it’s not true.” He pulled me by the arm. “Come on, Emilia, let’s snip the roses for the jam.” He shot his mother a fierce look.

  • • •

  The old feelings of fear began to churn within me. The baby stirred in my arms. I looked down. Her little head bobbed, almost nodding at me. And then our eyes fastened. Her sweet yet steady stare calmed me. My shoulders released and the fear dissipated.

  The shoemaker arrived in the maternity ward, panting and out of breath. “You must wait for me, Klaus. These old sticks can’t move as fast anymore.” He saw the baby and his hands flew to his face.

  “Look, look. A miracle, indeed.”

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” said Joana.

  “What’s beautiful,” said the old man, “is that she has beaten this war. You saw it on the road. Ingrid through the ice, death and destruction all around. Look what’s transpiring down on that pier. Frantic desperation. The Russians are just around the corner.”

  He moved forward and gestured to the baby. “Yet amidst all that, life has spit in the eye of death. We must find her some shoes.”

  alfred

  Dear Hannelore,

  Night falls in the harbor. I sit, reflecting on all that has happened. Do not be misguided by my poetic inclinations. I am not only a watchman. I am a thinker, Lore, and I have been thinking. I have been working in service to a man of great charge. We have a confident understanding of one another and share many attributes. This evening we discussed loyalty. I assured him of my allegiance to Germany’s fight. I also confessed of once feeling sympathy for those who are inferior. Be assured that I pull at the roots of these sympathies. I know they are a weakness. They must be torn from the garden. We are good Germans. It is our birthright. As such, it is our duty to sift the sands, preserve the gold, and with it build a stronger national vertebrae.

  I believe you’re also familiar with moments of weakness? I recall your deep sighs of admiration as I swept your sidewalk. Oh yes, dear one, I noticed. I am much more observant than those pests of Hitler Youth.

  I will admit, Lore, that I was surprised when Mutter held me back from Hitler Youth. My father was ashamed that I was not deemed ready to join the others. He feared consequences. But then I grew tired of those pushy boys and realized I was intended for something much more important. Although it took nearly five years for me to join the war effort, I have finally found my calling here in Gotenhafen. My qualities are finally recognized by one of my own, a recruit of steadfast courage. Yes, it is calming in an indescribable way to find oneself. Few men have that opportunity. I am one of those men.

  I now understand what it is to feel superior. And I quite like it.

  florian

  Breath fogged from my mouth. My stomach rumbled. I thought of our warm kitchen at home in Tilsit, the soft ring of the lids trembling on their pots, and my sister’s laughter echoing throughout the house.

  When my mother died of tuberculosis, my father’s greatest concern was Anni. “How will I raise a proper girl on my own?” he said.

  Anni was thirteen when I last saw her. She would be nearly sixteen now. Would I recognize her if I passed her on the street? Where had she been and what had she experienced?

  The door squealed. “Anyone hungry up there?” yelled the voice.

  Such an idiot. “Shh,” I reminded him once again.

  “Ah, yes, we must be covert.” He climbed the ladder. “I feel my physique responding,” he announced. “I have made exercise a priority and am seeing benefits. In fact, I believe the benefit now expands to my hands, which seem to be improving.”

  I didn’t want to think about his clotted hands. “What have you brought to eat?” I asked.

  He removed the shoulder strap and handed me my canteen. It hadn’t felt that heavy for a long time.

  “Thank you.” I drank immediately. He then produced a large chunk of bread from inside his shirt along with a slice of meat wrapped in paper.

  “Most are eating pea soup, you see, but that would be quite challenging to transport,” he explained.

  “When are we leaving?” I asked.

  “Word is that we could depart any minute.”

  An artillery blast sounded in the distance. He twitched and plastered himself against the wall of the chimney.

  “Still miles away,” I told him. “But they’re advancing.” I pictured my father’s maps. I could see swarms of Russians plowing into East Prussia toward the coast of the Baltic Sea, flattening Germany’s Wehrmacht, and all of us, in the process.

  He scratched his wrist. “May I ask, are you good with weaponry?”

  I nodded. “You?”

  “Better with my mind,” he said. “I’m what is commonly referred to in philosophical circles as ‘a thinker.’ I prefer to capture all angles mentally. I observe. I am a watchman.”

  “But sometimes there’s no time to think,” I told him. “We just have to act.”

  “I quite disagree, respectfully, of course. I see many who act on instinct, which I believe is wrong. Through instinct we succumb to weakness and emotion. Careful thought and planning, mental construction, is always best.”

  The impulse to hit him returned. I swallowed the last of the bread.

  “‘Obstacles do not exist to be surrendered to, but only to be broken,’” said the sailor. “I think of this wisdom often. Of course you’re familiar with these words. You’ve read Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer the question. “You know, you strike me as an intelligent guy. It might be better for you to think for yourself, rather than memorizing the words of others.”

  “Why, thank you. Mutter always praises my sharp mind.” He turned to me, his top lip curled in a grin. “And I do think for myself. But the wisdom of the Führer, it fills me with an indescribable command.” His grin widened and he began to recite, “‘Only in the steady and constant application of force lies the very first prerequisite for success.’”

  He stared at me, pupils dilated. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

  I didn’t respond. Small hairs on the back of my neck lifted in warning. This guy wasn’t a sailor. He was a sociopath in training.

  “Have you seen the nurse?” I asked him.

  “I’ll go get her,” he said eagerly.

  “No—”

  But he had scrambled down the ladder and out the door before I could stop him.

  joana

  I took a breath, trying to control my anger. How could he do this to me?

  Tomorrow morning I could walk down to the pier and find the blond soldier. I could tell him that I realized I was mistaken. I didn’t write any sort of medical testimony, that I knew nothing of it. The soldier had said I was Volksdeutsche—of German ancestry. It was true. Germany had saved me from Stalin. What now did I owe to Germany?

  “Joana.”

  The voice came soft from over my shoulder. I turned. Emilia stared at me, her eyes full of concern.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Were my thoughts visible?

  “Excuse me, Fräulein.” Alfred stood at the edge of the ward. “A certain gentleman has requested an audience with you,” he said.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “I will take you,” he said. “You might want to bring your coat.”

  I tried to hurry Alfred, but it was no use. The ship was so overcrowded it was impossible to move quickly. How many thousands of people had they boarded?

  “But when will I see them?” sobbed a young girl in the corridor.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” said an old woman. “You were lucky to be the one chosen in your family. Your mother will come for you in a couple years. You’ll see, the time will go quickly.”

  The crying girl looked to be ten or eleven. How would she make it on
her own? “Alfred, there are so many. They’ll have to remove some passengers, won’t they?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve heard that we have over eight thousand already and we are still boarding.”

  Eight thousand? The ship’s capacity was not even fifteen hundred. We passed cabins intended for four people. A dozen were squeezed in, trying to sleep, suitcases and luggage stacked to the ceiling.

  “This is quite civilized,” said Alfred. “This afternoon over three hundred girls from the naval auxiliary arrived. They are at the very bottom of the ship. In the drained swimming pool.”

  I realized how fortunate I was to be in the maternity ward. There was space and relative calm. We waded through the sea of people toward the stairwell. Some were wearing life vests, which took up even more space.

  We climbed the stairs. The air became cooler. I put on my coat. Alfred stopped me and put his finger to his lips. We let some people in the stairway pass. He then opened a small door in the stairway and pulled me by the sleeve of my coat.

  We were inside a hollow chamber. “Where are we?” I asked.

  “In the chimney,” he announced.

  “Shh,” echoed from above. I looked up and saw Florian climbing down an interior ladder.

  “Alfred,” I said. “Would you mind leaving us for a moment?”

  florian

  She slapped me.

  When I didn’t react, she raised her hand again. This time I caught her arm.

  “How dare you,” she breathed.

  “What are you talking about?” I said. Her face was an inch from mine.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” she whispered. “You forged a letter. You said I was appointed by Erich Koch. Do you know what they could do to me?”

  I let her go. “What happened?”