But just as Werner was about to end up back on the pier, he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. Glancing back, he saw Anika’s father. The tall handsome gentleman faced the sailor. “What’s going on here? Why did you stop this boy from boarding the ship?”
The sailor scowled, then glanced at Werner. “He’s a nobody, sir. Look at his clothes, his dirty fingernails. Don’t waste your time on him. He wants to sneak onboard like a million other nobodies. Thinks he can go to America, land of the free.” The sailor scornfully spit in the water.
Quickly as possible, Werner handed his ticket and passport to the gentleman, who looked at both carefully. “Werner Berlinger? Is that you?” Werner nodded, knowing his thin grimy face didn’t resemble the little boy in the picture. The girl’s father turned again to the sailor. “This boy has passage on this ship. Who are you, a dumb sailor, to stop him? Let him on board this minute.”
“Yes, sir, of course, sir.” The sailor muttered, glaring at Werner. “Why didn’t you show me your ticket, boy?” Then the big man stepped aside, letting him board the ship. A moment later, however, when the gentleman had returned to his daughter on the pier, the sailor stuck his face close to Werner’s. “You know what this ticket says?”
The boy shook his head.
“You’re below deck, third tier, not much higher than us seamen,” he snickered. “And don’t forget it. Don’t dare try sneaking up with the rich folks where you don’t belong, you hear?”
Werner nodded; by now he was eager to get off the deck and find his lowly compartment. Yet he lingered another moment, glancing back at Anika. He saw the girl give her father a final kiss, wipe her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief, and stuff the hankie in the pocket of her purple coat. Then, with head erect, she walked toward the ship. At her side, a thin young woman with frizzy red hair and a sharp nose clutched at a batch of whimpering children. As the sad group reached the ship, their parents on the pier grasped hands and leaned on one another, forming a knot of grief and hope. Just like his father, their dreams for the future were traveling ahead of them.
Stumbling down the ship’s narrow steps, Werner finally found the cabin listed on his ticket. Just as the sailor had said, it was near the bottom. Pulling open a metal door, he spied a tiny cubicle with barely room for one. A shelf with a thin mattress served as a bed at night and a seat during the day. There was a tin basin with a mirror above it, though the glass was so old and blotchy, Werner could barely see himself.
For a moment, he stared at himself. With grey eyes and thick sandy hair, he was a mix of his fair mother and dark-haired father. But years of bad food, worry, and just plain tiredness all showed. Yellowish skin stretched tight across gaunt cheekbones. His eyes were dull, yet a flicker of light now showed in them. He had done what Father had asked: made it to Hamburg, made it to the ship Hansa.
Werner turned away from the mirror. Even for a scrawny twelve year old, the room was a tight fit. Still, it was all his! And it was warm. Steaming hot, in fact, as the engines for the ship grinded away on the other side of a thin wall. The ship’s furnace was close by as well.
Latching the narrow door, Werner allowed the warmth to flood his chilled muscles. He untied the boots, carefully removed them and pushed the pair under the shelf. He slowly rinsed the bloody blisters on his feet with warm water from the sink. Coarse sheets, clean but stained from long use, were stacked on the mattress. There was no pillow or blanket but no need for either. Werner rolled up his mother’s jacket and stuck it under his head. I’ll nap a short while, he figured. But his body had other ideas. After days of walking and running, being uncertain and afraid, his eyes shut and stayed shut. He slept, snug as a rabbit in its fur-lined hole after being chased by hungry foxes.
Chapter Six
Time feel different on a ship crossing the ocean than it does on land.
When Werner awoke at last, he lay still for several moments. How long had he slept? One day, two days? Was it night? Was it day?
His body remembered the journey from home to Hamburg and refused, at first, to stir. Finally, however, curiosity drew him out of the snug cabin. The ship was like a city afloat – what might he find on board? Jerking open the door, he stepped into a narrow corridor crowded with people. There were several families traveling on the ship’s lowest level like him. The clothes on the older people were black, and their faces were tired and worn.
A child almost crashed into him. The little boy was playing chase with two other youngsters. For them, the ship was a giant playground. They were sneaking in and out of doors, hiding behind trunks and baggage, giggling, and teasing one another. Werner watched for a moment, enviously. He hadn’t played with such a sense of fun and freedom for years. When a little girl with coppery curls dashed past, Werner grabbed the child and began to tickle her. She looked up with a startled face.
“Sorry,” murmured Werner, red-faced. He quickly released her. He had no claim; she wasn’t his sister.
A tough old woman, dressed in black from headscarf to shoes, was seated at the edge of the hallway. She gnawed on a chunk of hard bread, and a fat salami stuck out of a bag slung over her shoulder. Werner’s stomach growled fiercely at the pungent odor, but he didn’t want to ask.
Eyeing him, the old woman sighed loudly. “We’re blessed to leave that evil place.” She jerked her head in the direction she supposed was Germany. “My oldest son was arrested months ago. No word of him since. My youngest headed south with several friends. I pray to God he made it to Palestine.” The old woman glanced upward. She spoke in Yiddish, a language many Jews spoke. Werner could understand Yiddish, though Father had always insisted that his family speak only German. “As for my poor sister,” said the woman, pulling out a large dirty handkerchief and blowing her nose, “she wasn’t well enough to make the trip.”
Werner nodded impatiently; he’d heard enough sad stories for now. He was eager to explore the ship. Muttering an excuse, he headed down the corridor. First, he climbed one set of steps and then another. Finally he reached the highest deck and pushed hard on the door. Outside the wind was blowing so fiercely, he had to lean against it with all his weight. Finally the door opened a few inches and he squeezed out, stepping into the blackest night he’d ever seen. Above was the dark sky, below, the inky waves. The deck was empty; there was no moon or any trace of land.
It seemed as if Germany – the only country Werner had ever known, where he’d learned to walk and talk, played with friends and fought with foes, where his dear mother had kissed him for the last time – that land was gone, erased from the map.
Werner peered down at the dark waves below. What lay beneath? Sharks and sea monsters and the wrecks of long forgotten ships. He gripped the rail and leaned forward, letting icy wind smack his face. His eyes watered, and he pulled his mother’s jacket close around his chest. It felt like her arms hugging him tight.
Being forced to leave home, Werner knew, was nothing new. History books are filled with stories of people who are forced to leave one country and go to another. Disease, hunger, war, poverty, fires, earthquakes – those are some of the reasons people go – ending one story and beginning another. People often leave with a shadow of unhappiness in their hearts and their eyes bright with dreams. Indeed, for Werner, one nightmare was over; yet he had no idea what lay ahead.…
He tried to imagine the United States. But the only pictures in his head were cowboys and Indians and cops and gangsters – what he’d seen in books or movies. Was America really like that? Or was it the land of the free, as Father often said? A haven for all people? Soon he would find out. He’d know for himself what the U.S.A. was truly like.
His stomach gurgled loudly and he swayed dizzily. Over a day had passed since he’d had even a scrap of food. Afraid he might slip off the deck and become a shark’s dinner, Werner turned and pulled open the ship’s door. There must be plenty of food somewhere on the ship, but where?
Fortunately, Werner was used to sneaking around in search of food. He crept through the corridors, sniffing every which way, like a rat. He stalked the narrow hallways, peeking in doors, passing libraries, ballrooms, and game rooms, but no food. Then suddenly, as he turned a corner, a delicious aroma hit his nostrils. Perhaps a beef brisket or leg of lamb, roasting in an oven. Werner spied wide double doors and behind them he heard laughter and the clatter of pots and pans.
Carefully slipping through the doors, he snuck behind some shelves. The large kitchen bustled with cooks, working nonstop. They laughed and joked loudly with one another. Every square inch in the large room was covered with food – meat, fish, loaves of bread, vegetables, potatoes, cakes and tarts. A minute later, he saw his chance when a plump, pretty woman with blonde pigtails put a platter of roast lamb on a nearby table and walked away.
Crouching low, Werner crept closer and closer until he was right beneath the table. Then he carefully stuck up some fingers, pulled off a tiny piece and stuck it in his mouth. Scrumptious! He reached again and again – until, all of a sudden, he felt his arm seized in an iron grip.
“Mein Gott, dieser kleine Schlingel!” You little rascal! yelled the blonde cook. She turned triumphantly to her fellow workers. “Look at this guy, eating all my good roast lamb. Gobbling it up as fast as I cook it!”
She dragged the boy to the center of the room. The din in the kitchen ceased as the cooks stopped working and stared. Still gripping Werner’s arm, the woman seized a huge butcher knife with her other hand, holding it close to his nose. He shut his eyes tight, assuming she meant to slit his throat and praying death would come quickly. But still alive seconds later, he opened his eyes. The cook was whacking off pieces of juicy pink meat from the roast, then piling them on a platter. “Here you go, skinny lad.” She thrust the plate at him. “You remind me of my six brothers back home in Düsseldorf. Always starving!”
Werner sat down with the dish in his lap, eating and eating and eating until his stomach ballooned, until it ached. Oh my God, this is paradise, he thought. If only my friends Mandel, Victor, Sammel and Lutz were here to share.
A moment later, however, his bliss was shattered by a familiar voice. “Where’s my darling Elsa?”
Glancing up, Werner saw the big sailor who’d tried to push him off the ship stride through the room. The guy was heading straight for the blonde cook Elsa who was now rolling pie dough on a marble slab. When he reached her side, the pretty young woman giggled and planted a wet kiss on his lips. That made the sailor so happy, he wrapped his arms around her.
Werner was just starting to relax when Elsa pointed in his direction. “Look, Eckhard, sweetie, at the skinny little guy I’m feeding!”
Glancing toward Werner, the sailor’s big smile turned into a scowl. “That thieving scoundrel!” he yelled. “He doesn’t belong here! Not in the first-class kitchen with all the best food.”
Werner dashed for the door and almost escaped. But the sailor grabbed his shirt and spun him around, his angry eyes inches from the boy’s.
“Eckhard, darling, don’t pick on that poor child,” Elsa called out. “See how miserable he is?” Her words caused the sailor to pause a second, just long enough for Werner to jerk away and scramble out the door.
Chapter Seven
If only he could find the way to his little cabin. Dashing down one hallway after another, Werner searched for the steps to the lower level. Behind, he could hear footsteps thunder after him. Doors lined the corridor on either side, but like in a nightmare, every door was shut tight.
Suddenly, a door cracked open and a girl peeked out. She had dark, curly hair and dark eyes. Werner recognized her at once – Anika, the girl who had been weeping on the pier. The two stared at one another, then she gestured, “Would you like to come in?”
For a second, Werner didn’t move. Then, hearing heavy footsteps, he ducked inside. Anika shut the door and fastened it. Werner’s heart was pounding – both from running and from something else – the feeling he got from being near this girl.
“Your name is Werner, isn’t it?” she murmured. “I heard Father say it.”
He nodded. “Werner Berlinger.”
“My name is Anika. Anika Frankenthaler.” A tiny smile crossed her lips. She was wearing a soft, fluffy white sweater and a dark green velvet skirt. Around her neck was a string of shiny white pearls with one matching pearl in each ear.
Anika’s stateroom was ten times bigger than Werner’s compartment. The bed was covered with a fluffy silk bedspread. A gold-framed mirror hung over the large white sink. There was a thick rug on the floor and a lamp, big as a chandelier, hung on the ceiling. Clothes were piled high on a chair. It looked as if Anika had pulled everything out of her trunk without bothering to hang anything up.
At a glance, he could see the clothes were new and expensive, not old and worn like his. Werner stiffened slightly, feeling awkward and shy. His father was a teacher; their friends were teachers, clerks or simple shopkeepers. He wasn’t used to being around wealthy people, to people who owned large houses with servants.
Also, the past year in the orphanage, he knew, had roughened his words and manners. He wasn’t sure how to talk and behave with this young lady. And he certainly didn’t want to appear foolish.
Anika watched him quietly. “Would you stay with me a bit?” she asked. “I find it rather lonely on this ship.” A shadow crossed her fragile face, then her eyes brightened. “Perhaps you’d like something to eat? I have fruit and candy.”
Though stuffed to bursting, Werner nodded. It had been a long time since he’d seen either fruit or candy.
From under the bed, Anika pulled out a large candy box, wrapped with a wide, green, satin ribbon. Inside were rows of luscious chocolates wrapped in gold and silver foil. Werner carefully chose one, removed its gleaming foil and popped it in his mouth. A cherry dripping in creamy sweetness! The candy didn’t sit well, however, on top of his stuffed belly. Werner covered his mouth to stifle a loud belch.
Anika giggled. “My goodness, you aren’t sick, are you?”
He shook his head, reaching for another chocolate. “Of course not. I’m just fine.”
She shook her curly head. “I hate this ship, don’t you? I didn’t want to leave Germany. Father forced me to go.”
“So where is your mother?” Werner asked, glancing around. “Why didn’t she come with you?”
Anika’s smile faded, her lower lip trembled and a tear welled up in one eye. “I…I haven’t any mother now…” Her gaze dropped and the tear slid down her cheek.
The two of us do have something in common, Werner thought. We are both motherless. He looked around at the many beautiful things in the stateroom. What does this stuff matter if you don’t have a dear Mutter to hug and kiss you, to sing lullabies and say how she loves you?
He spied a book spread open on the bed. The words weren’t in German. “What is that?” he asked.
“I’m learning English,” Anika said, wiping away the tear. “I speak French already. Je suis une tres jolie fille, n’est-ce pas?” She smiled mischievously. “You think I’m pretty, don’t you?”
Werner frowned, and didn’t say what he thought: Yes, you are pretty, but you are also very spoiled.
Anika didn’t seem to notice; she kept talking. “My family traveled a lot before the Nazis came and took everything. Our house and furniture and paintings and books.” She picked up the book from the bed. “We kept just a few things like this splendid Alice and Wonderland. Do you know it?”
Werner shook his head.
She opened the book and read aloud: “You are old, Father William, the Young Man said…and yet you incessantly stand on your head—do you think at your age it is right?”
She looked up; laughter poured from her lips like sunlight. Though he didn’t understand the words, Werner was delighted to see her laugh so freely.
> “But you’re not alone on this ship?” he asked.
“Of course not. How could I travel by myself? I’m only eleven,” she snapped. “I’m with Miss Feldenbaum. She’s accompanying sixteen children to the United States.” She looked annoyed. “Miss Feldenbaum is very sweet, but I don’t want to go to America. I’ve heard it has terrible food and no fashionable dresses.”
“Now you’re being silly,” Werner exclaimed. “You know we don’t have a choice, either of us. We had to leave Germany because of the damn Nazis. And I’m not sorry, not any more. I wish every Jew could get out. Every Jew!” As he spoke, his hands clenched into fists.
Anika’s eyes widened. She was clearly surprised by Werner’s loud voice and words. He was surprised, too. As long as he could remember, Father had said, “Don’t show your feelings, Werner, whatever happens.” And so he had kept his feelings neatly tucked behind a blank mask until that moment. Why had he burst out now? Did he feel freer on the ship, moving swiftly away from Germany? Or had this girl somehow pried him open like a clam in warm ocean water?
Anika now spoke quietly. “I can see you haven’t had a very nice time of it, either.”
Werner slid his fists into the pockets of his blue jacket and hunched over a bit. He recalled the boys forcing the chalk into his hand and the Nazi soldier grabbing at his hair before slipping on the mud. “You’re right, I haven’t.”
She observed him carefully, “Why are you wearing that coat in here? It’s very warm. You should take it off.”
“I’d rather keep it on,” he muttered. Though his coat had less scent now, he could still catch a whiff of Mutti, of home.
“Suit yourself.” Anika shrugged, then walked across the room. Her dainty bare feet sank into the carpet. Werner longed to remove his boots and feel the soft rug on his own sore toes but he didn’t dare. What would this delicate girl think of his red bruised skin and puffy blisters?!
Forced Journey Page 3
