Come from Away

by Genevieve Graham

  “Who is this on island?”

  “Oh, I don’t think those are the Germans you’re talking about. It’s a couple who have been out there for about ten years. Nobody knows their name or anything about them, but my father said he believed they’d come straight from Germany. They come up for supplies once a year or so, but they never speak to anyone other than to get what they need. They’re nuttier than a couple of squirrels.”

  “Oh.” Most of the explanation had been lost on Rudi. His mind was stuck on the fact that Borgles Island was not empty after all.

  “So you’re hoping to find other Germans? Are they Nazis, too?”

  Rudi could be just as determined as this boy. “If you cannot stop saying I am Nazi, I cannot talk to you.”

  “Okay, okay.” Tommy groaned and rubbed his foot. Gently he placed both feet on the table. “Yeah. It’s better when they’re up.” He adjusted, found a more comfortable position. “So you’ll just keep living around here?”

  “Maybe I am finding other Germans. Maybe crazy people on island.” He wished he had a better idea. Every option seemed impossible.

  “You might be safer with my family than them,” Tommy said. “Maybe they wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, Tommy. Family is not wanting me. You tell me before, and I understand,” he replied, picking up the cards and shuffling again. “War means no person is trusting. All people are afraid.”

  “True. And nobody ever wants things to change.” He wiggled one foot. “I guess I’m just as guilty as the next guy when it comes to that, because I’ll admit I was a bit scared of you at first. I’m always hearing about Nazis being such cruel people, then you’re all of a sudden in front of me, you know? You’re a big man, you’re strong, and you’ve killed people. And me, well, I was practically dead when you found me.” He sorted the cards in his hand. “You could have just killed me and nobody would’ve known.”

  It was ironic, Rudi thought, how his own thoughts had gone along a similar path. Tommy was in rough shape, but whether he realized it or not, he held a lot of power over Rudi’s immediate future.

  “But now,” Tommy continued, thinking out loud, “I actually think I might trust you. It’s like you’re just another fellow from back home, except you’ve been looking after me better than most of them would have. So thanks.”

  “You are welcome.” He thought about it. “I might trust you, too.”

  Tommy gestured towards his feet. “Easy to trust me, I guess. Not much of a threat.”

  “You are hungry?” Rudi asked, changing the topic.

  Tommy laid two royal pairs on the table, gave Rudi a smug grin. “If you want to ask me a question, you have to put the words in the other order. ‘You are hungry’ is like telling me I’m hungry. You should say, ‘Are you hungry?’ And yeah. I’m starving.”

  FIFTEEN

  In the morning, Tommy woke up first. When he tried to stand he crumpled to the floor, sputtering what Rudi assumed were some very strong curse words.

  “Would you look at that,” Tommy said softly.

  Rudi peered over the side of the bed, curious, then flinched at the awful smell rising to his bunk. Tommy had finally stripped off his heavy grey sock and was peering closely at his foot.

  “I . . . I think I’ve got to get to a doctor.”

  Rudi dropped off the bunk and crouched beside him, and his stomach curdled at the sight. A couple of toes on one foot were badly swollen and had darkened to a mottled red. This wasn’t the first time Rudi had seen something like that, and he knew it was more than just a minor problem. Tommy was right about the doctor, except Rudi had no idea how they were going to get him medical help. The snow lay under a warm, promising blanket of sunlight, but the drifts had piled too high for them to simply walk through.

  After another check of the blisters bubbling between Tommy’s toes, Rudi decided he had to do something. While the boy rested, he went out and shoveled hard, starting on a trail so he could bring him home. He peeled off his coat and hat when sweat rolled down his back, and his arms shook from exertion after an hour or so. He straightened, peering beyond the trees towards the open meadow, wondering. If he could carry the boy on his back . . . except Tommy was almost the same size as Rudi. He’d never manage. And he suspected Tommy had a couple of broken ribs. If he carried him, the pain would be too much.

  When he got back inside, Tommy was asleep, but he was restless. The shadows under his eyes were alarmingly dark against his pale cheeks. Carefully, Rudi folded back the blanket at the base of the bed. When he saw the frostbitten toes up close, his stomach sank. It didn’t matter how much snow blocked the way, he couldn’t wait any longer. Tommy’s blisters had doubled in size and the bedding under his foot was stained with discharge. If it got any worse, if it evolved into gangrene, Tommy could lose a lot more than a couple of toes.

  He couldn’t let Tommy die. And that changed everything for Rudi.

  He stuffed as much as he could into Tommy’s pack, then pushed the boy’s shoulder, jarring him awake. “Wake up. We go today.”

  Tommy pried his eyes open and blinked. “You said we can’t. It’s okay. We can go tomorrow.”

  “We cannot stay. I am taking you.” He held out his hands as if he carried a tray. “What is meaning this?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am hold—”

  That woke him up. “You’re planning to carry me?” Tommy struggled up onto his elbows, managing to laugh despite his obvious pain. “No way. They’d call me a fathead for sure if you did that. We have a sled out back. You know, for carrying firewood or a deer or something. It’s hanging on the wall.”

  Rudi waited, unsure. “You have a fat head? This means headache?”

  “What? No, no. Means I’m a dummy. Stupid, you know?”

  “Stupid, I know,” Rudi said wryly. “Beknackt. Dumm.”

  “Yeah. Dumb. Anyhow, I was talking about the sled out back.”

  “Sled?”

  He made a motion, as if to drag something along the floor. “Yeah. You pull it.”

  A huge weight lifted off Rudi’s shoulders. “Ah. Ein Schlitten. Yes. I need this. Where?”

  “Against the wall.” Tommy jabbed his thumb towards the back. “Outside.”

  Throughout the morning the temperature had risen dramatically, and the recent snow sagged, heavy and wet. Tiny drifts melted off branches like rain, cutting rivers into the snow. Slogging through it would be hard going even without the added weight of pulling a man in a sled, but the sun on Rudi’s face was welcome. He used pillows from the bunks to make a chair of sorts out of the sled, then he helped Tommy into it and covered him with blankets. The sled had a handle, but Rudi decided to tie a rope around his waist and attach that to the handle so he could walk straight ahead, pulling Tommy behind.

  “Usually I’m the one driving the wagon for the family,” Tommy said, his voice groggy. “I guess you’re my horse today.”

  “Do not sleep, Tommy,” Rudi warned, stepping into the harness. The sled had sunk into the granular snow and didn’t seem inclined to budge. He grabbed the handle and yanked, knocking his passenger back. “I do not know where is house.”

  Shoveling had been a lot of work, but Rudi was glad he’d taken the time to clear a good portion of the path. Other than the occasional tricky spot, they moved along fairly smoothly.

  “I guess you’re stuck now,” Tommy said as they went.

  “I am not stuck. We are going good.”

  “No, I mean you’re kind of in a bad spot. What we’d call a predicament. Before this happened, you could’ve left me at the camp. Now you have no choice but to take me home and meet my family.”

  “Yes. No choice. I am sorry, Tommy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He looked straight ahead but kept his voice raised so Tommy could hear. “German man is making trouble for family. Maybe they call Polizei.”

  “Nah. Not if I tell them about you.”

  “Tommy, even I do not
hing, I am still being your enemy.”

  Farther down the path, Tommy spoke up again. “If they did call the police, would you be scared?”

  “Would you?”

  “Huh. Sure. It’s just odd to think of a German being scared.”

  “Odd?”

  “Odd. Strange. Because we hear all the time about how Germans are monsters.”

  Rudi opened his mouth to object, then he heard his father’s words, the last piece of wisdom he’d ever shared with his son. He’d spoken them on the night before Rudi headed out to sea with U-69.

  “The rest of the world fears us,” he’d told his only son. “Our military is powerful, and we have a good chance of winning the war. But what you need to remember, son, is that no matter how many people we conquer, we are not the ‘master race.’ That is because no matter what you might hear, there is no master race. You must never allow yourself to believe you are better than another person.”

  Rudi had been stunned at the declaration and by the conviction in his father’s voice. Even more, he was astonished at the risk his father, a lieutenant commander in the German Navy, had taken by saying this to Rudi. It simply wasn’t safe to say things like that out loud.

  Rudi cleared his throat. “Some Germans are monsters,” he confessed to Tommy. “Some Canadians are monsters.”

  “That’s true enough. I guess it’s all about what you know. The radio says things, and the newspaper. You hear it enough, you just believe it without question. I suppose that happens in your country just like it does in mine.”

  He was right about that. When he’d first seen Canadian newspapers, Rudi had been shocked by what he’d read. For the first time he’d learned about some of Germany’s losses—as well as those of the enemy. No mentions of defeat ever made it into German newspapers or radio. Made him wonder how many of the German news stories about Hitler’s unstoppable fighters were actually true.

  “I think this is how begins war. People do not listen to people.”

  Tommy didn’t answer, and when Rudi looked back he saw he’d fallen asleep, lulled by the sled’s rocking motion and a possible fever. He woke up when the sled couldn’t avoid a hole in the snow, but Rudi dug them out and kept on walking, apprehension growing by the minute. Step by step they were nearing a place where he would become even more of an outsider. Leaving the relative safety of the cabin exposed him to the real world. Even if these people didn’t know his background, they would see him as hostile; they’d be suspicious of everything he said or did. And they’d be right to feel that way.

  “I think maybe is better you not say ‘Nazi’ to family,” he told Tommy after a while. “Maybe say only German.”

  “I know what you’re saying, but that wouldn’t be honest,” Tommy replied, “and they’d figure it out after a while. I did. It probably doesn’t really matter anyway, since you’re not fighting anymore, right? Listen, I’ll tell them all how you saved my life. They can’t hate you when they know that.”

  Yes, they can.

  “What do you think?”

  “I know nothing.”

  Pathetic as that sounded, it was the truth. Ever since he’d woken up weeks ago with his face stuck to the ice, he had no idea what was going on.

  “I’ll tell my mother who you are. I’ll explain.”

  “And Vater?”

  “Oh, my dad died years ago. He was out fishing.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It happens,” Tommy said, false bravado in his young voice. “Fishermen drown. That’s the way it is. How about your father?”

  Rudi didn’t like to speak of his parents. Especially since he’d been given very disturbing news about them a few months back, and he’d been doing all he could not to think about that.

  He knew how to end that conversation. “He is dead. And my Mutter.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  For a while all Rudi heard was the shushing of snow under the sled’s runners, the songs of birds celebrating sunshine, and his own heavy, wet steps. Tommy told him to keep to the path, then fell asleep once more.

  Left alone with his thoughts, Rudi remembered his parents. The last time he had seen them they had hugged him briefly, stoic expressions pasted on their faces. They’d waved a sombre farewell from the docks as his U-boat coasted out to sea, and at the time Rudi thought he might burst with pride. He was sailing off to defend his country, and he was doing it as a part of the same navy in which his father had sailed twenty years before.

  Then things had begun to change. Out of the forty-four men on board U-69, Rudi was one of only a dozen or so who had been part of the Hitlerjugend way of life. Their training was far superior to that of the other sailors, and that became obvious from the moment the crew stood at attention on the deck of the sub for the first time. The Hitlerjugend graduates were the ones with the stiffest backs, the fastest responses, and the fiercest loyalty on their faces. The others—well, they seemed more to be doing a job than serving der Führer. Those were the ones who laughed the most and complained even more.

  Over weeks and months, Rudi watched those other men, curious. After all the rallies, all the drills in which he’d proudly participated, the dispassionate attitudes of these men seemed almost sacrilegious. And yet deep inside—far too deep for him ever to mention it out loud—he felt envious of their freedom. Had anyone else from the Hitlerjugend ever felt uncomfortable with some of the lessons they’d been taught? Because more than once Rudi had pulled his government-issued dagger from its sheath and stared at the inscribed words on the blade—BLOOD AND HONOUR—and wondered if those two things must always go together. Was one weak without the other? Did his reluctance to spill blood put his honour in question? He’d seen the violence, even been a part of it, and though he was good at getting the job done, that aspect of his duties had never felt natural to him. The pride the Hitlerjugend were supposed to feel as the builders of a new, rejuvenated Germany was fueled by a growing, self-righteous sense of hate, and while some of the others seemed to thrive on the power they were encouraged to wield, Rudi questioned it more and more. Was he the only one with doubts?

  He still believed Germany would win the war, still staunchly opposed anyone who spoke out against the Führer, but he started to question the dogma and revisit the odd bits of advice his parents had given him, the opinions that had once made him question their loyalty to the party and to the country. There is no master race, his father had said. You must learn English, his mother insisted. He’d been angry at them, ashamed of their ignorance. Now that shame fell on his own stubborn shoulders. By the time he realized his parents had been right all along, they were gone.

  Rudi became aware that the sheltering woods were becoming sparser. The frozen sea showed itself once in a while, its grey and black shadows drifted in stripes by the recent storm. He stopped walking and squatted beside Tommy, jostling him awake.

  “Is time you not sleep. I am lost now.”

  Tommy took in their surroundings. “You’re not lost, but we’re almost there. Just keep going. I’ll stay awake, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “When we get there, you let me do all the talking, right?”

  “Ja.”

  “I should probably warn you that my mother gets nervous around strangers. I’m sure you understand. Her being a widow and all, well, seeing someone like you might scare her a bit.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “Sure. You know. A big, strong stranger . . . and German, too. So I’ll just do the talking. That’d be best.” He thought more about that. “Actually, no. I’ve changed my mind. I think you should say hello to her. That’d be the polite thing to do. Try this. I’ll tell her your name, then you say, ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.’ ”

  “Nice meet you, Mrs. Baker.”

  “Nice to.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.”

  “Then you can say, ‘I am Tommy’s friend.’ ”

  A feeling of warmth spread through him. “I am Tommy’s frie
nd.” He put a hand on his chest. “Ja, Tommy, du bist mein Freund auch.”

  “ ‘Mein Freund,’ ” Tommy echoed, then, “Okay. We’re here. That house just ahead.”

  The small white house was an uncomplicated, two-story building with plain navy shutters. A slow stream of smoke twisted from the brick chimney, promising warmth and comfort, and small boot prints covered the yard, converging in a big cluster around a lopsided snowman. Despite the idyllic scene, apprehension roared through Rudi.

  At the door, he leaned down to help Tommy stand. The boy gripped the sides of the sled and struggled to one foot, then he reached for the doorknob. The door swung open, and friendly voices called from inside. Rudi fought the urge to run the other way.

  “Hey, don’t worry,” Tommy said. “I’ll look out for you.”

  Rudi took a breath for courage. He had no choice. He’d leave it all up to Tommy.

  SIXTEEN

  “Tommy?”

  A diminutive woman in a white apron rushed to the door, sweeping Tommy into her arms. Rudi saw him stiffen as the damaged ribs grabbed him, but the boy’s smile was brave.

  “Oh, Tommy! I was so worried about you! Oh heavens, I’m glad to have you home! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Uh, Mom, I had a little trouble, but—”

  She released him and stepped back. “Trouble? What happened?” Her hands went to his face. “Oh, you’re pale, Tommy! Did you—” She stopped short, seeing Rudi. “Hello there. Tommy, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “Mom, this is—”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.”

  He had done all he could to round out the vowels, to soften the accent, but he could see she’d heard it. Her eyes went from welcoming to wary in one blink. Nobody ever wants things to change, he remembered Tommy saying.

  Hello, Mrs. Baker. I am change.

  “Mom, this is Rudi. He, well, I don’t want you to go bananas on me, but he saved my life. He truly did. And then he dragged me all the way home.”