by Robert Elmer
Her voice trailed off, and she sat down on the bed next to Henrik. The battle over the stomach medicine was suddenly over.
“You’re not really going to marry Matthias, are you, Mother?” Henrik’s voice was barely a whisper.
Peter stood up straight when he realized Henrik didn’t know he was standing there.
Henrik’s mother paused. “I’m sorry he brought it up before I could speak to you about it, Henrik. We haven’t made any definite decisions yet.”
When she stood up to leave the room, Henrik finally noticed Peter standing out in the hall. Mrs. Melchior patted him on the shoulder as she walked by.
“Mrs. Melchior,” said Peter quietly, “Matthias said to tell you he would be right back.”
“Thank you, Peter.” Mrs. Melchior nodded and smiled as she disappeared down the hall.
Henrik sat up straight and turned to his friend. “Well? Did you find your gun?” he whispered.
“Not so loud.” Peter checked down the hall, then slipped in closer to the bed. “Elise and I were looking, and he sneaked up on us.”
“What do you mean, ‘sneaked up’?”
“Well, we were looking in the plane, and all of a sudden he was standing right there. He might have heard what we were talking about.”
“So he sneaked up, just like Elise here.”
Peter looked up to see his sister standing in the doorway with a plate of cake.
“You two should have some cake,” she told them. “It’s good.”
Henrik leaned forward. “So what happened? Did you find the gun or not?”
“I’m sure he has it,” Peter explained. “And I think he knows we know.”
“How do you know?” Henrik wrinkled his brow.
“He wanted to talk to me just as I was leaving. He said, ‘I have to tell you something,’ but then a man from the boatyard came up, and they started talking about his airplane. How come people always interrupt when someone is going to tell you something important?”
“Hmm,” said Henrik. “Maybe we should keep an eye on Matthias, after all.”
“I think we should,” agreed Peter. “I mean, first there was the gun, then he starts talking about a wedding, and now he’s acting really suspicious.”
Elise wrinkled her nose at the boys. “You’re not making any sense, Peter. None of what you’re saying fits together. Maybe Henrik was right the first time. Maybe it was just a flare gun you felt in the plane.”
“Did I say that?” Henrik sat up in his bed. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
Elise giggled and turned down the hall back to the kitchen. “Let me know when you two have it figured out,” she told them. “I think you’re looking too hard for another detective adventure.”
Peter looked at his friend and shook his head. “Well, she was right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It is kind of confusing. First, she believes me about the gun, and you don’t. Now you believe me, and she doesn’t. Next it’s going to be me who doesn’t believe it.”
Henrik grinned. “You have to admit it does sound a little far out. Maybe it was the plane ride....”
“That’s another thing, Henrik. Do you realize we came this close to getting killed today?” He held up a hand with his pointing finger and thumb half an inch apart.
But Henrik only shrugged and nodded. “When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go, I guess.”
Peter knew he couldn’t let that comment just slip by unchallenged. “And then what?”
Henrik laughed. “You mean, will I go to heaven? I have no idea, Peter. You’re the one with those kinds of answers. Maybe we’ll figure things out better after a piece of cake.”
“I thought you had a stomachache.”
Henrik patted his stomach, smiled, and swung out of his bed. “Pound cake is the best medicine.”
Back in the kitchen, they found that Matthias had returned, and everyone was laughing at his jokes. Peter found a place in the corner by the window, where he crossed his arms and brooded.
I blew it again, he scolded himself. Another chance to tell Henrik about heaven, and I blew it.
He looked over at Matthias and wondered how anyone so funny could be a spy, or whatever he was. At least there weren’t any gun‑shaped bulges in the man’s vest pocket.
“Aren’t you going to have any cake, Peter?” asked Lisbeth, who was cutting another piece for herself and Uncle Morten.
Peter nodded and inched closer to the group. “Sure,” he replied cautiously. “Just a little piece, though.”
“You’re still growing,” she told him. When she smiled and sliced a thick piece onto a plate, there was no way Peter could say no. “You can handle it.”
Peter sighed and nodded, then listened as the adults started talking about politics. Usually he didn’t want to listen to anything like that, but Matthias’s voice echoed throughout the kitchen.
“We’re going to change all that in Palestine,” he told them. “Just think. The chance to make a whole new country from scratch.” He caught Henrik’s eye and winked. “And it’s the perfect place for a young man like you to celebrate your Bar Mitzvah. You’re thirteen, aren’t you?”
“I’m almost fourteen,” answered Henrik, trying to swallow a bite of cake. “But we decided I wasn’t going to have a Bar Mitzvah.”
Matthias stopped chewing, stared at Henrik, and put down his plate. He glanced over at Mrs. Melchior, who looked away.
“You’re not?” Matthias had become the judge and jury, and he looked ready to pass sentence on the boy who said he wasn’t going to go through with the traditional Jewish coming‑of‑age ceremony for boys. Henrik leaned back, his fork in midair.
“This is something all Jewish boys go through, is it not?” continued Matthias.
Everyone kept silent, and Peter felt as if he could have sliced through the tension in the kitchen with the fork he held in his hand.
“Matthias,” began Mrs. Melchior, “we had plans, years ago, when Henrik’s father was still alive, but then... you know...”
“Yes, I know,” replied Matthias, taking a long sip of coffee. The steam rose around his face, and Peter wasn’t sure if it was from the coffee or from Matthias’s ears. “And this is a perfect example of what I’ve been telling you, Ruth. That is, you raise your children in a foreign country, and they turn into foreigners.”
“Now, Matthias,” objected Henrik’s mother. “That’s not quite fair—”
Matthias held up his hand to silence her. “It would be different in Palestine,” he continued, sounding like a preacher warming up to a fiery sermon. “There we could raise our children as Jews, as we should. There would be no questions over Bar Mitzvahs, or anything else.”
3
Mystery Cargo
In bed that night, Peter tried to make sense of the confusing day while Tiger lay purring at his feet.
“So tell me, Tiger,” he whispered to his cat. “Are Mrs. Melchior and Matthias really going to get married?”
Tiger only burrowed deeper between Peter’s ankles.
“Huh, boy?”
Peter wiggled his toes and tried to think, but the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts turned into a prayer.
I don’t get any of this, Lord, he prayed in the dark. I need some help.
He reached down to the floor beside his bed and pulled out his well‑worn pocket Bible. But even with a flashlight, he couldn’t make his eyes focus on the fine print. Finally, he gave up and let his eyes close.
Only for a minute to rest, he told himself. Everyone else had already gone to bed, and the Andersen apartment was still. The next thing he knew, a bell was ringing next to his head.
“What?” Peter snorted, waking suddenly. His room was still dark, and his Bible was resting on his face, open to the page he had been reading. Tiger tried to balance on his stomach. The bell tinkled again.
“The bell.” He sat up in bed, and
both Tiger and Peter’s Bible fell to the floor. When his mind cleared, he remembered he had hung a little brass bell from the metal crosspiece on top of his headboard. A kite string led out his almost‑closed window and down to the street next to the downspout. He threw his covers aside and ran to the window to pull it open all the way.
“Is that you, Henrik?” he whispered loudly down at the street. Someone was jumping up and down in the shadows.
“No, it’s your mailman,” answered Henrik. “Special delivery.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven, but come on. We have to catch up with Matthias.”
“Matthias?” Peter asked, still groggy from just waking up.
“No time to explain. Just get down here fast.”
Peter grabbed a sweater, and on his way out the front door, he shoved his bare feet into a pair of shoes in the entryway.
“Hurry!” Henrik pulled Peter’s arm as he stepped out onto the street. Even though it had already been a warm June, the street was cold and clammy, and Peter thought for a moment about his warm bed. He looked down at his feet, surprised to see one big black leather shoe of his father’s and a much smaller one of his mother’s.
“So did our new emergency alarm system work?” Henrik wanted to know.
“Worked fine. Better than you always throwing pebbles at my window. But I thought it was only going to be for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency.” Henrik began to run. “My mom was on the phone with Matthias for almost an hour after you guys left. They were talking about getting married. Arguing, kind of. Then I heard her ask him where he had to go so late at night.”
“And what did he say?” Peter was starting to breathe harder, but he kept up with Henrik on the deserted cobblestone streets.
Henrik grunted. “I don’t know. So to make sure, I went over to the place where he’s staying, higher uptown. He almost ran into me.”
“Really? Did he see you?”
“No. But he was going in the direction of the harbor.”
“I’ll bet he’s going down to his plane.” Peter slowed as they reached the last block before the shipyards. They looked around the corner of a waterfront warehouse.
“He’s not there,” whispered Henrik. “I knew I should have stayed with him.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t want to follow him alone. What if—”
“Shh,” whispered Henrik. “Look over there.”
Henrik pointed across the shipyard to where old ships were usually tied up before repairs. It was beyond where the Andersen fishing boat was docked, closer to the real working area of the harbor. Three rusty, old ships were tied with their sides to a long wooden pier that ran along the shore.
“I don’t see anything.” Peter strained his eyes, but the few lights in the shipyard area were too dim.
“Didn’t you eat your carrots?” joked Henrik. “Look over there on the deck of that second ship.”
“I still don’t see...” Peter began, and then he saw what Henrik was pointing at. Someone was climbing up a steep ramp next to the middle ship, maybe half a block away.
“That’s Matthias!” hissed Henrik, slipping out of the safety of their hiding place.
“I don’t know how you can tell,” began Peter, but he followed his friend, and they jogged quietly across the shipyard. They stopped for a moment to make sure no one had seen them, but by that time the man had disappeared somewhere into the dark ship.
“This way.” Henrik stopped at the bottom of the boarding ramp and waved to Peter.
Peter craned his neck to see the dark ship above them. High up on the deck, huge cranes with crooked arms and tangled cables looked like giant, frozen dinosaurs guarding something terrible and silent in the cargo hold. Only a distant gurgle of pumping water came from somewhere deep inside the belly of the ancient ship, as if it had just eaten. Maybe it would have been fun to explore in the daytime, but now Peter could only shiver.
“Are you sure you want to go up there, Henrik?”
“Sure I’m sure.” Henrik started up the swaying metal ramp, holding on to both sides of the rope railings. “Follow me. Tiptoe.”
Peter tried to keep his mismatched shoes from flapping as the boys quietly slipped up the ramp. The ship, as far as he could tell, was an older freighter and probably a lot like many of the tired, old ships that came into Helsingør Harbor for repairs. A bare light bulb hanging at the top of the ramp cast a feeble yellow glow on the side of the ship, showing more rust than black paint. The rest of the ship was completely dark, except for one or two portholes, higher up on the second and third stories, that squinted lamely into the night. Somehow it didn’t look like the kind of place that would welcome two visiting boys.
“Henrik,” whispered Peter, halfway up the ramp, “I really don’t think we should—”
“Shh. This is the only way we’re ever going to find out what Matthias is really up to.”
“I know, but...” Peter sighed and followed. The ship even smelled old, with a musty kind of dampness Peter could almost feel. Up on the deck, Henrik led them around to the opposite side. Peter tried not to touch anything, afraid it might be mossy or wet.
“He came around here,” Henrik whispered into Peter’s ear as they rounded the corner. The words were barely out of his mouth when they both froze in their tracks. On the deck in front of them, they could see a sort of hallway with a row of oval doors, sheltered by a low‑hanging ceiling and open to the ocean on the left. Most of the glass‑covered overhead lights were out, but one gave enough light to show a man kneeling on the deck, his ear pressed against one of the doors. Peter knew instantly that it was not Matthias, and that they did not want this person to see them.
As Peter backed up, he heard a wild yell from somewhere behind him. It sounded like a couple of loud men coming aboard the ship from the same direction they had just come.
Henrik grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him to the side into a doorway, and Peter looked up just in time to see the kneeling man turn their direction in surprise. He was a dark man, but anyone looked dark at that time of night. His face hid behind a bushy black mustache, but Peter could make out a curiously twisted nose and a dark crop of black curly hair. Peter wasn’t sure if the man saw them, or what the man would have done if he had.
“Move back,” Henrik whispered, and they crouched in the darkness of the doorway as the loud men who had boarded the ship staggered by them.
“A’llos!” roared one of the men, and they both laughed before launching into a rowdy song. Peter wondered what kind of language they were speaking. It sounded Greek, but he wasn’t sure. In a moment, the men had disappeared down the passageway.
“That was close,” whispered Peter.
Henrik peeked around the corner. “Not so close. I don’t think they were paying much attention. And they chased away that guy by the door in a hurry.”
“Who was that?” Peter asked. “Did you see what he was doing there?”
“All I saw was the back of his head,” answered Henrik.
“I got a good look at him when he looked our way.” Peter almost wished he hadn’t.
Henrik tiptoed into the pale light from the dirty light bulb and stopped in front of the door, the same door where the man with the crooked nose had been kneeling moments before. They could hear a murmur of voices from somewhere inside. Henrik held his finger to his lips while Peter kept watch to make sure no one else was coming.
After a minute, Henrik nodded and motioned for Peter to join him in front of the door. As Peter leaned closer, Henrik tapped him on the shoulder and whispered into his ear.
“That’s Matthias in there.”
A laugh from inside confirmed what Henrik had just told him. Even Peter could tell it was Matthias’s laugh.
“Your men are pretty loud, Captain,” said Matthias, this time more clearly. He was speaking in English, and suddenly Peter was glad he had learned more of that language during the past year in school. He wished he could see who
else was inside but didn’t dare look into the little porthole. Another man laughed, too.
“My men, they’re just having a little fun,” said the other man, who was obviously the ship’s captain. He spoke in English, too, but with another accent entirely.
“Yes, well,” Matthias cleared his throat. “Considering the fact that we are paying you perfectly good money for the use of your ship, I would prefer that we maintain a little more discipline.”
Again the captain roared. “Discipline? You hire this ship and now you tell me how to run ship, too?”
“I’m just telling you—”
“Listen, my young friend. Where you want to go I think is crazy, but that’s your business. Running this ship, the Acropolis, is my business. Understand?”
Matthias answered with something Peter couldn’t make out, but he didn’t sound happy.
“All right, then,” continued Matthias. “Twenty thousand now, ten thousand when we pick up our cargo in Bremen, and the rest when we land safely. I will keep the guns under lock and key, unless there is an emergency.”
Peter stood stiffly as Matthias continued speaking. It was the same voice Peter knew, but somehow Matthias seemed like a different person.
“You sail in the morning for Germany, Captain, where you’ll get your cargo. I think maybe three weeks to finish loading. Then you turn right around back this direction, sail around Denmark, out through the English Channel, and through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean. And not a word to anyone about your cargo. Agreed?”
“I understand, Mr. Karlsson. For this kind of money, we take you to the moon and back if you want.”
Peter and Henrik both jumped when they heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor inside. Henrik motioned for Peter to follow him, and they both rushed down the deck, away from the door.
“Come on!” whispered Henrik. It sounded as if Matthias was suddenly out on deck, and another group of loud sailors seemed to be coming from the opposite direction. This time, there was no convenient dark doorway to hide in. The boys looked from side to side, hearing footsteps from both directions.
