by Murray Pura
“What about my poem?” asked Eva as he steered the boat back to get more men.
“All right.”
He recited the poem he had written two years before without looking at her, speaking the last stanzas slowly.
Let me open my wings like the Caspian tern
Let me burn, let me illumine, like the rays of the sun
I will have the sea and all that it gives
All that it promises and all that lives
Deep in its soul and I shall be free
To drink of its years and learn of its hours
To sail on its colors and all of its waters
With no end in sight
No ending to light
Then he said, “For Eva.”
“Still?” she asked as the darkness slipped past to port and starboard.
“More than ever, I expect.”
She slowly put her hand over his as he held the wheel. “Can we stop the boat?”
“Stop it?”
“Or make the half-hour run to shore last twice as long?”
“If we took in more sail. But why would you want to do that?”
“Because I’m tired and I need a few minutes rest.”
“You? Tired?”
“It happens sometimes, Englishman. I see German planes over our boat. I see them dropping bombs on ships that are trying to rescue the men. They come in as low as possible and their bullets kick up the sand and water and kill. I remember it is my country doing this. I remember how I used to march and how I betrayed my father because he was hiding Jews and Albrecht. I have tried to pin up the tear in my shirt so the British soldiers don’t see my tattoos. I’m exhausted by everything I carry on my heart and in my mind. Please. A few minutes.”
“Can you take the mainsail in by yourself? Not all the way. Leave about half the sail up.”
“I have the strength, yes.”
She braced her legs on the deck and drew the sail down quickly, tying the line off at the cleat.
“Now lash the wheel,” she told Owen.
“What do you mean?”
“Let it run parallel to the beach.” She placed her hand on his bare chest and over his heart. “It’s not so much rest I need as the freedom to speak with you.”
“What is there to say?”
“I have a lot to say, Englishman.”
He did as she asked.
The lantern light swayed back and forth over his arms and shoulders as the boat moved sluggishly through the swells. They were about five hundred yards offshore. Fires of different sizes flared on the sand, and the destroyers and troopships glimmered behind them, but other than that they sailed on blackness. He turned to face her, and she whispered, “Sie haben in solch einer schonen jungen Mann herangewachsen.”
He smiled. “Pardon?”
She smiled back. “I shall have to teach you some German. It might come in handy.”
“Because of the war?”
“Because of me. I just told you that you have grown into a beautiful young man.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
“But you—you are such a stunning woman. I feel like I’m not enough for you.”
“Anyone who writes poetry like you and sails like you and saves the lives of men like you is more than enough, Owen. You have been part of changing me, renewing me, ja? So there is already a special bond between us. Do you have any other poems for me?”
“I did think of some over the past two years. But I thrust them aside. I’m sorry.”
“I have seen a little bit of how your mind works, Owen. I think you have not forgotten all of the poetry that has run through your head.”
“It’s been hard for me to turn into stone.”
“If it had been easy I would have known the poetry was just pretty English words with no heart.”
He took in a face streaked with grime from the day, the saltwater tangle of her loose hair, the rips on the arms of her shirt, a cut that ran down part of one cheek, the large darkness of her eyes, the light of the lantern that for a moment showed him her features and then slowly took them away again.
“Mate, it’s too good to be true.” He shook his head.
She smiled. “Say something a bit more profound, please.”
“You’re so much.” He touched her face and hair. “Before I turned my thoughts away from you, I read a poem by T.E. Lawrence. The British call him Lawrence of Arabia. ‘I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands and wrote my will across the sky in stars.’ I thought of you instantly. And I wrote down in my book something like this. ‘All that I wish for comes together in her. Nothing more needs to be placed beyond what has been set in place, nothing must be taken away. The seas, and skies, and constellations are in her, all the nights, and days, and surging breakers. I can only love, if I begin to love her while the dew is still on her heart.’ ”
She took in her breath. “But that is too beautiful. How can you have written that for me?”
“It wasn’t hard. It was just hard to forget I had written them. Just as it was hard to try to forget about you altogether. I never succeeded at either.”
“But I was a Nazi.”
“I never believed that.”
“I was, Owen, you know I was.”
He shook his head. “You may have played along. Gone through the motions. Acted the part. Even believed you were what you said you were in front of the Third Reich and SS and Gestapo. But you were never a Nazi, Eva. You fooled Germany and you fooled yourself. But you never fooled me. Even when I was angry and hurt I knew better. I knew you were roses, Eva, not thistles and thorns.”
He leaned down and kissed her. Her return kiss was hesitant. It seemed to him she still wanted to argue about who she was or wasn’t. But after a few moments she hugged him in closer to herself, her arms crossing his back.
“I care for you very much, Englishman,” she said.
“And the Englishman for you.”
She patted his back. “Achtung. There is a boat moving across our bow. It’s about a hundred meters away.”
Owen turned quickly to look. “It has so many lights it could be a Christmas tree.”
“A good thing.”
Owen unlashed the wheel and steered the boat to port. It responded slowly. But the other boat had an engine and was out of their way in half a minute.
“You’ve never taken the wheel, have you?” Owen asked.
“No.”
“Come on. Have a go.”
“I don’t feel capable of doing that, Owen.”
“Here. Take hold. I’ll put my hands on yours.”
He guided her to the wheel and closed his fingers over hers as she gripped it tightly.
“I can’t even see,” she said.
“You will in a moment.”
Two buildings were burning fiercely to starboard. Even though they were still a quarter mile or more from the beach the tall flames made the whole boat flicker. She moved the wooden wheel cautiously. He took away his hands.
“You see? You’re doing fine.”
“Not much of a wind. Not many waves. Hardly any sail up.”
“It’s a good start.”
“I miss you.”
Cautiously, he put his arms around her from behind and placed his hands on hers again. “How’s that?”
“Just right. I could sail all night like this.”
“Why don’t we?”
“No, Owen.” She glanced back at him, firelight rippling over her face and her tangled hair. “We must get as many soldiers off as we can before the planes come back.”
“I know that. It was just a wish.”
She slipped a hand out from under his and off the wheel and put it to his cheek. “One more kiss.”
He bent forward. “I’ll never forget this night.”
“No one who is here will.”
“Even if I close my eyes now it’s all darkness and flames and the hands of soldiers reaching for mine. And your fac
e in the middle of it all.”
“I hope it stays there.” She kissed him again and took her hand back. “Can I steer it to shore?”
“This is as good a spot as any. The soldiers are all along the water’s edge.”
She edged Pluck to starboard. “How is that?”
“Perfect. We’ll go right in and get ourselves a couple of dozen.”
“Wouldn’t it be something to find his son?”
Owen took his arms from around her and stepped back. “Wouldn’t it just?”
The sailboat headed toward the rolls of flame from the shattered buildings. In fifteen minutes they were close to the beaches and could see the dark shapes of men wading out to them.
“Here, mate, can you pick us up?” one soldier called out.
“Got room? Got any room on your boat?” called another.
“Are you ferrying us lot back to the ships and England?”
Owen and Eva worked through the rest of the night and early morning, moving Pluck as quickly as they could from the beaches and back to the troopships and destroyers. They continued to sail the boat alongside Lord Preston and Skitt well after the sun had cleared the clouds to the east. About noon both fell asleep minutes apart on coils of rope in the cabin. The shriek of German dive-bombers, the crash of Hurricane fighters’ machine guns, exploding ships, the boom of antiaircraft fire, and the shouts of men hauling themselves on board Pluck didn’t disturb them. Before Owen collapsed, Lord Preston asked him if there had been any sign of Robbie or his regiment.
“None, Grandfather. But this is such a long stretch of beach. And we were only evacuating from one small strip of it.”
“Quite right. Well, I may catch a glimpse of him today.”
“I pray so.”
Skitt handed out loaves of bread and wedges of cheese to the soldiers. He kept a duffel bag of food in the cabin for the crew. At sunset a ship’s whistle woke Eva. She drank some water, ate some sausage, and went onto the deck.
Lord Preston, great rims of darkness under his eyes, was at the wheel as they sailed toward the beach. “Hullo, my dear.”
“I’m sorry I slept, Lord Preston.”
“But you must sleep, my girl. How else can you work through the night?”
“Would you like me to take the wheel?”
“I confess I’m quite done in, but let me just get Pluck to the shore.”
“Where’s Skitt?”
“Down a hatch forward. We’ve got a bit of a leak and once an hour he bails for five minutes.”
She looked to where the hatch was open. “I hope it doesn’t develop into something serious.”
“We’ll keep an eye out.” He cleared his throat. “No sign of my son.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Let’s keep on looking. There are so many soldiers.”
“Of course.”
“You should lie down after this. I will go and wake up Owen, and we’ll take over.”
“You must have something to eat first. There’s a duffel bag in the cabin.”
“I saw that. I had a few things, danke.”
“And there are jugs of fresh water stored in the wooden boxes.”
The stars came out, smoke drifted over the beach and the sea from bombed-out houses, and ships’ lights winked on. Owen put out more sail while Eva steered toward the ships. Soldiers clambered aboard and chewed on the bread and cheese and sausage as Skitt and Lord Preston slept in the cabin. May 29 became May 30, and May 31 slipped into June. Eva lost track of the days of the week. Her eyes blinked open several evenings in a row to the voice of Lord Preston reading from the same passage in the Bible to the soldiers crowded aboard Pluck, a voice that was growing rougher the longer they remained at Dunkerque.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.
By Sunday, June 2, their water and food were gone. Owen and Eva had ferried troops during the night but didn’t climb down into the cabin to sleep because Lord Preston was so weak. Skitt had him sit below with a blanket around his shoulders and helped bring another boatload of soldiers to a destroyer. Eva was at the wheel, Skitt and Owen on the lines.
“I think that’s it,” said Skitt. “Lord Preston is badly off and we’re out of supplies. We need to head back to Dover.”
Eva nodded. “I agree.”
“I’ll tell him,” Owen said.
He went into the cabin and sat next to Lord Preston, who was bent over and clutching the blanket, almost asleep.
“Grandfather, we have to head back to Dover. We’ve no more food and no more water.”
“The soldiers…” rasped Lord Preston.
“There are hundreds of other small ships to do the rest of the ferrying. The shore is not nearly so crowded as it was a week ago. I expect it will be all over in a couple more days.”
“I should like to see Robbie.”
“For all we know he’s back home already.”
“Take another lot back with us to Dover.” Lord Preston looked up at his grandson with watery eyes. “One more lot.”
“We have nothing to give them to eat or drink.”
“Bring another couple of dozen on board.”
“All right.” Owen took a pea coat and folded it. “Will you lie back and use this as a pillow?”
“You’ll need me up top.”
“No. Skitt’s turned into quite the sailor over the past seven days. And Eva can handle the wheel like a master yachtsman. We’ll be fine.”
“If you do happen to pick up Robbie—”
“We’ll tell you straightaway.”
They took on twenty-seven soldiers and headed west for Dover, sitting low in the water. Skitt climbed down through the hatch into the hold and bailed every half hour till several of the soldiers pitched in and helped. Pluck passed burning and sinking ships, took a good wind in her mainsail and the smaller headsail, and fought her way across the Channel despite the weight she had on board. She followed a long line of ships of all kinds back to England, strung out behind one another like a naval parade, passing a similar line of boats sailing from England to Dunkerque. The soldiers cheered as the white chalk cliffs drew closer, and they slapped one another on the back as the boat moored alongside a quay.
“Thanks then, you three,” said a corporal. “It’s grand to be on good English soil again.”
“All the best,” said Owen, shaking his hand.
A naval officer came down to look at the boat. “The log says you’ve been gone since the twenty-seventh of May.”
“Yes, sir. We were ferrying men from the beach to the destroyers and troopships.”
He nodded. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Skitt had gone up the quay to the street. “The car is where I parked it. Let’s get Lord Preston to Dover Sky.”
“Right.”
Eva was helping Lord Preston out of the cabin. “The rest did him good, but I wish we had some water or tea.”
Skitt held up a container. “This thermos was left in the car. Tea.”
“Oh, good. Grandfather, how about some tea from this vacuum flask?”
Lord Preston’s face was white, but he managed a smile. “That would be the very thing.”
Owen moved the boat to its normal mooring on his own, took down the sails, squared everything away, and joined them at the car. Skitt whisked the four of them to Dover Sky. Fairburn, the groundskeeper, doffed his hat as they passed him on the lane to the f
ront door. He called out something none of them could hear. Eva helped Lord Preston out of the car once Skitt had come to a stop.
“Let’s get you in and give you a bite to eat.” Eva had both her arms around Lord Preston. “Then you could use a bath.”
He offered a lopsided smile. “I expect we could all use a bath.”
She laughed. “We are a bit untidy, aren’t we?”
“A week at sea. Can’t be helped.”
The front door opened. Robbie was framed there a moment in his soiled and tattered uniform.
“Father!”
He ran down the steps and took the old man in his arms.
“Robbie.” Lord Preston’s face immediately took on color. “What’s this?”
“I’ve been here less than an hour. A steamer brought my lads and me across—they collected us off the East Pier in Dunkerque. I got a driver to bring me to Dover Sky. I was just talking to Mum. She said you had gone to Dunkerque and been gone a week. She’s worried sick.”
Lord Preston hugged his son and patted him on the back. “Had to be done. Everyone needed to chip in. We tried to do our part. God be praised…God be praised here you are.” Tears hung at the edges of his eyes.
Robbie gave Skitt a quick glance, his eyes hard. “Did you have to take him with you?”
Skitt stood up straight in his torn shirt and pants. “He would not be left behind. You should know your father better than that.”
“But to take him to Dunkerque. To take him into harm’s way.”
“It was I who took them.” Lord Preston gripped his son’s shoulders. “It was I who ordered them to join me. If they had refused I would have cast Pluck off from the pier and sailed to France alone.”
“It was foolhardy.”
“We got the soldiers onto the warships, didn’t we? Got them away from the Germans and safely home? If we’d all held back because of old age or fear, our army would be behind barbed wire by now. Others took the risk. Why shouldn’t I?”
Robbie’s face remained grim. “I doubt there are any other lords or Members of Parliament out there in the small ships. Mum said Churchill was aghast that you’d crossed the Channel in a sailboat and were hanging about off the Dunkerque beaches.”
