by Ruta Sepetys
When I left, the Amber Room was packed in crates in a secret underground room in Königsberg Castle. The map to the underground vault, along with the key, was still in my boot heel. Only three people knew of the location:
Me. Dr. Lange. Gauleiter Koch.
I thought of my father’s maps and pictured Kiel, tucked within a crease of northern Germany. Kiel was approximately a hundred kilometers from Denmark and only eighty kilometers from where my sister was sent to live with our old great-aunt. If I could get there, I would stash the swan in her barn until the war was over.
If.
That meant I would have to disembark in Kiel without incident. Without suspicion. If the blond soldier had told Koch that I was on the Gustloff, would someone be waiting for me in Kiel? The boat’s motion was too severe to forge new papers. And then I remembered.
I dug through my pack and found it. The identity card of the German soldier that the Polish girl had killed in the forest. When we reached Kiel, maybe I could leave the ship as a wounded soldier.
But once again, I would need Joana’s help.
alfred
Every lavatory was occupied or soiled. I stumbled to the infirmary, stepping over bundles of life jackets and coats that passengers had peeled off. The ship was so very hot, so foul-smelling of sickness. The last I overheard, we were carrying more than ten thousand passengers. Sailors were discussing whether the ship should follow a zigzag course to evade lurking submarines and whether the navigation lights would be illuminated. I was too sick to care.
The nurse was tending to soldiers when I arrived.
“I am here for self-admittance,” I announced. My legs began to tremble. “Please show me to a cot immediately.”
“Oh, Alfred, I’m sorry you’re seasick. But this ward is for the wounded.”
My stomach rolled in protest. “I am, in fact, wounded. My constitution has been destroyed by the enemy. The enemy is the sea.”
“Is this your first voyage?” asked the nurse.
“Indeed, and at this moment I have pledged it shall be my last.”
“Shake it off, sailor,” said an officer from his cot. “Go up top and get some air. Look at the horizon.”
“That really does help,” agreed the nurse.
“Please,” said a wounded soldier. “Don’t baby this guy. He loses his lunch and he’s crying? I’ve lost an arm.”
I tried to turn in his direction. “Seeing that your safe delivery to Kiel relies upon me, sir, perhaps you should have a bit more compassion for a fellow comrade. I will remember this.” I walked out of the infirmary and slumped against a wall in the corridor.
• • •
Dear Hannelore,
It is at crossroads such as these that my mind often questions the very integrity of man. Forgive me if I speak beyond your comprehension, but if we share unity of purpose, stand upon the same team, shouldn’t we try our best to assist one another? I fondly remember when we were once on the same team. It was for a game in the street. Do you recall it? You were wearing a short pleated skirt and a green ribbon in your hair. The game was brief because your mother quickly called you away, but for those fleeting moments, Lore, we were joined in common purpose. Purpose and principles are so very important.
It confounds me when people don’t assist or even welcome those on their own team. But it troubles me more when people welcome those from an opposing team. Have you ever considered these thoughts, Hannelore? Have you ever reflected on this idea with regard to your own mother and father, how your mother’s perfection was chipped by her judgment? I once asked your mother why she chose to marry your father. Do you know how she replied? She said the oddest thing.
“Because I love him.”
joana
“I promise.”
Was it the way he said it? Was there something that lingered behind it? Or was it just my own pathetic loneliness that made me grab the scissors?
Florian appeared as I was walking between the maternity ward and the infirmary. I hadn’t been sure he was still on board. Secretly, I was happy to see him. Why was it so hard to stay angry with some people?
“Please. It will only take a few minutes.” He smiled. “I promise.”
I quickly followed him to the stairs. He leapt up, taking them in twos, agile even with his pack. We crept through the small doorway in the stairwell up to the chimney.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” I said.
“It’s the best option I have right now.” He leaned his back against the door. “In case someone tries to open it.”
“Move your foot,” I told him. I stepped between his legs. “Okay, now come down a bit.” He shimmied his back down the door, sliding his legs alongside mine until our faces were level.
“How much?” I asked.
“As much as you can.”
I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to stand it up at the roots. That would make it easier to cut. It was thick and soft near the scalp. “You have nice hair,” I told him.
He reached out and gently slid one of my curls between his fingers. He closed his eyes. “Maybe you’d better start.”
I grasped a piece of his hair with my left hand and snipped with my right. He opened his eyes and looked at the chunk suspended in my fingers. We both laughed.
I cut most of the hair and then trimmed as tight to the scalp as I could. It was difficult near his ears. I moved in close, trying to be as gentle as possible. He put his hands on my waist. Was he keeping a safe distance between us?
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you. I’m hard at work here,” I teased. He didn’t reply.
“So,” he said awkwardly, trying to make conversation. “I’ve been to Lithuania.”
He was being honest. I decided I should be too. “I know,” I told him. “The first night in the barn, when I took out the shrapnel. You said some things.”
His face clouded. “Oh?”
“You said you had once visited Lithuania. You also said you had to recover to find Anni.”
“Oh, well, that’s not too bad. I already told you that Anni is my sister.”
I nodded and clipped closer to his scalp. “And you told me I was pretty. You said you were a good dancer and asked if I had a boyfriend.”
“Well, that’s . . . embarrassing,” he said.
“You were delirious. You didn’t know what you were saying.” I continued cutting, aware of both the silence and the sensation of his hands around my waist. He finally spoke.
“The night that I said those things—did you tell me anything?”
I stopped clipping and looked at him. I nodded. His fingers pressed gently against my back. He pulled me in closer. Then closer still. I put my mouth to his ear. It was barely a whisper.
“I told you that I’m a murderer.”
florian
Her hips were in my hands. Her lips were on my ear. And then the word came out of her mouth.
Murderer.
I moved my head back and laughed. “That’s supposed to be my good ear, but it sounded like you said ‘murderer.’”
She said nothing, just stared at me, her eyes pooling with tears. What? She wasn’t joking?
“I,” she began slowly, taking a breath, “killed my cousin.”
I felt my eyes widen. She nodded. Tears dropped onto her cheeks.
“My—my cousin Lina,” she stammered. “She was my best friend. When we fled from Lithuania, my father repeatedly told me not to leave anything or speak to anyone. But I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye to Lina.”
Tears streamed down Joana’s cheeks. Her breathing fluttered. It pained me to see her crying.
“I wrote her a letter, explaining that we were on Stalin’s list because my father had joined an anti-Soviet group. I gave the letter to our cook and asked her to mail it. I never should have
put those things in writing. After we fled, the NKVD ransacked our house. My father’s secret contact wrote to us and said the NKVD had my letter.”
“The cook gave your letter to the NKVD?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “My mother said she was probably trying to protect herself. When the Soviets came looking for us we were gone. But based on my letter they located Lina’s family and took them instead. My father’s contact corresponded with Lina’s neighbor. She said they were arrested and deported to Siberia.”
She tried to wipe her tears. “Two years ago our neighbor sent a letter with a coded message saying that my uncle was tortured and died in a gulag.”
I pulled her in to me. The pieces slid into place. Joana felt responsible for her cousin being sent to Siberia.
“When was that?” I whispered.
“Four years ago. June of ’41,” she cried.
From what I’d heard, Stalin’s torture in Siberian gulags was brutal. Her cousin was probably dead. I wanted to say something to comfort her, but I wasn’t good at this kind of thing. “Maybe she got away somehow. Maybe she’s still alive.”
Joana brightened. “Do you think so?” she asked. She dabbed her eyes. “I feel so guilty. My freedom cost her family their lives. The drawing you found in my suitcase. It was from Lina. She was so talented and was just about to start art school.”
“Stop talking about her in past tense. She could be back in Lithuania soon.” The positivity seemed to comfort her.
We stood in silence. Her honesty and guilt, they made me like her even more. I tried to wipe her tears. She resumed my haircut.
“So what are you going to do when we arrive in Kiel?” she asked.
Kiss you, I wanted to say.
“Let’s see. First, try not to get arrested. Second, try to find my sister and protect her until the war ends. What about you?”
“Try to communicate with my mother to find out about my family.” She finished cutting and brushed the hair off my shoulders.
“There you are, Prussian. I think it looks nice. You could use a shave though.”
My hands were still on her hips. I stared at the amber pendant around her neck. “Call me Florian, not Prussian, okay?” I pulled her close. “And I wasn’t delirious,” I whispered. “I do think you’re pretty. Take a break and meet me later,” I told her. “Let’s meet here at nine thirty.”
She seemed to think about it, then smiled and nodded. She moved toward the door. “I wasn’t going to tell you because I was mad, but that blond soldier came by before we sailed. He received a message from Koch,” she said.
My head snapped up.
“Yes. It said, ‘Have Beck contact me directly. Tell DRL dead. Keys needed. Urgent.’” She reached out and touched my cheek. “See you at nine thirty.” Joana slipped out the small door.
A root twisted in my stomach. Dr. Lange was dead. Who had gotten to him?
I would be next.
emilia
Joana returned, smiling. Had she left to see the knight? When birds pair, their plumage becomes more vibrant. I noticed that with the knight and Joana. Their feathers had changed since we arrived in the port. Something was happening between them.
The deep swaying of the ship increased. “The weather must be getting worse out there,” Joana commented, looking toward the ceiling. “We’re lucky to be inside.”
Cheerful melodies piped through the ship’s speakers. The music was suddenly interrupted by an anniversary radio broadcast from Adolf Hitler. Exactly twelve years ago to this day, January 30, he was appointed chancellor of Germany. It was hard for me to understand Hitler’s German as he yelled through the speakers. I caught one sentence and it gave me shivers.
“When was the helpless goose ever not eaten by the fox?”
alfred
I collapsed among the refugees on the floor of the music room. My throat burned from the nonstop retching of phantoms in my stomach.
A little girl played with a floppy stuffed bear near my feet. She stopped and stared at me for a long while.
“Stupid girl, it isn’t polite to stare. Especially at someone in my condition,” I informed her.
She giggled, bent her bear over at the waist, and pretended it was vomiting.
“Oh, isn’t that funny?” I reached out and clawed a button eye from the bear’s face.
florian
I made my way down to A deck to check on the wandering boy. He slept, his head in the shoe poet’s lap.
“You’ve cut your hair. You look almost respectable.” The old man laughed. “Sit a while. Rest. The ship is doing the traveling for us.”
“Yes, at least we don’t have to walk,” I said.
“Ah, but remember, the poet Emerson said that when we have worn out our shoes, the strength of the journey has passed into our body.” He nodded and winked. “Wisdom pays the largest debt to his shoemaker.”
We sat in silence. I admired this kind man. Why couldn’t I have apprenticed with someone like him, instead of Dr. Lange? If I had listened to my father, how different would things be? I gestured to the boy. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“No, I am the lucky one,” said the shoe poet. “The boy keeps me kicking.” He looked at me and his face softened. He extended his hand. “I’m Heinz,” he said.
I shook his hand. “Florian.”
He held my hand for an extra beat, staring at me. “The children and young people, you are the unlucky ones. This war has murdered many futures. Are your parents still alive?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Ah, I thought so,” he said, patting my knee. “You are a wandering boy too.”
“Will you give the little one to the Red Cross in Kiel?” I asked.
“I don’t think I could bear it,” said the shoemaker. “I quite like being Opi. I’ve got the address in Berlin that was pinned to his coat. I’ll take him there myself and see what comes of it.” He sighed. “But who knows how long Berlin will hold. Do you have other family?” he asked.
“A sister, Anni. I haven’t seen her in three years. I don’t know if I’d recognize her.”
“You’ll recognize her. Your feet will steer you in her direction.” The old man leaned back and hummed the melody of “Lili Marleen.” It made me think of Joana.
“Are you married, Heinz?” I asked.
“I spent fifty-five years with the love of my life. I lost her last July.” He gestured to the boy. “Just when you think this war has taken everything you loved, you meet someone and realize that somehow you still have more to give.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, looking at my watch.
“I know you do.” He smiled. “And she’s worth it too.”
joana
9:15 p.m.
Fifteen minutes. Then I would see Florian. I smiled, remembering Eva’s comment that he wasn’t too young for me. I hoped Eva was comfortable on the Hansa.
BANG!
A massive jolt. My head hit the wall. Lights flickered.
Emilia was on the floor.
What was happening?
BANG!
Total blackness. Women screamed.
BANG!
Alarm bells shrilled. The entire maternity ward suddenly tilted toward the front of the ship. Dim emergency lights began to glow.
emilia
BANG!
My body was thrown from the cot.
I hit the floor.
BANG!
Pitch-black. I crawled. I couldn’t see the baby.
I yelled for Joana.
BANG!
Screaming.
Glass breaking.
Alarms ringing.
alfred
We were twenty-five nautical miles offshore.
BANG!
Something slammed into the port side of the ship.
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What was that?
BANG!
Another explosion. Darkness. I could not breathe.
BANG!
Panicked screams filled my head. My body shifted.
The ship was listing.
The nose was going under.
florian
BANG!
Our bodies slammed into each other.
The old man grabbed my arm. “Did we hit a mine?” he whispered.
BANG!
The little boy stirred. “Opi?”
“Yes, yes. I’m right here.” The old man quickly tightened the straps on the boy’s life vest.
BANG!
And then I knew.
Torpedoes.
joana
I stood, not knowing what to do. Where were Dr. Wendt and Dr. Richter? I helped a screaming pregnant woman off the floor. She gripped my arm in terror.
“Please. Help me!” she pleaded.
Emilia grabbed Halinka. She wrapped her in a pillowcase and then quickly spiraled a sheet around her. She looked at me and shouted, pointing up with her finger.
The ship’s tilt increased. Everything in the room slid. The pregnant woman’s nails pierced my skin.
Emilia sprang into action. She put on her coat and pink hat, grabbed a life vest from the corner and tied it on. She held the swaddled baby in one arm and threw life vests from the corner to everyone. I grabbed a vest with my free arm and put it around the pregnant woman.
“Let’s all stay calm,” I said. “We’ll wait for Dr. Wendt or one of the captains to advise us. I’m sure they’ll make an announcement.”
“No!” Emilia yelled, gesturing frantically. “Coat. It’s cold. Up. Now!”
Emilia was saying we had to go up top into the cold.
Emilia was saying the ship was sinking.
