The Little Ship

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘England? All that way without his mother? Crazy!’ The woman sat back, studying the small boy with hard eyes. ‘Perhaps he is Jewish, and that is why she is sending him away. It is better so. There are too many Jews in Vienna. They have fingers in too many pies. Yes, he looks Jewish …’

  The child’s wails and sobs stopped at last and he lay heavily against Anna, making small hiccups, tears still trembling on the end of his lashes. He was dressed in a brown coat and peaked cap and brown leather shoes. The fat woman was still staring. ‘He is well-cared for. Good clothes and the shoes are new. The Jews always have money to spend. You should ask him his name. Make him tell you.’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘You should ask him now.’ The woman leaned forward again and tugged sharply at the boy’s coat sleeve. ‘What is your name, eh? You must tell us. Wie ist dein Name?’

  The boy turned his face away and buried it in Anna’s coat. She clasped her arms around him. ‘Leave him alone. He’s exhausted.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘As you please, but you need to find out. Has he papers? He will need papers at the frontier.’

  ‘Yes, he has papers.’ The mother had said so, but where were they? She looked at the tickets in her hand which seemed in order, both for the train and the sea crossing. Tickets for a child under twelve. How old would he be? Three or four, perhaps? The fat woman seemed to read her thoughts. ‘He is four years old, I think. My grandson is that age. Once they are five they grow up very fast. This one is still like a baby.’

  The middle-aged man sitting next to her had been watching all the time. ‘They are spawning a whole new generation of Jews. Soon we will be overrun by them. They took my custom away from me. My business was ruined. The Germans are right. We should get rid of them before it is too late.’

  ‘They murdered Our Lord.’ The woman in the corner seat spoke up. She was dressed in black, a heavy silver cross hanging from her neck. She fingered it reverently. ‘The Jews are stained with the blood of Christ. They denied Him. Betrayed Him.’ Her eyes accused Anna. ‘You are one of them, too, aren’t you? That is why the mother chose you. She could tell.’

  They were all staring at her and the boy, every one of them, and the compartment was full of hatred. She had never felt such hate before nor seen it written on people’s faces. The boy had seen it, too, and he began to whimper and bury himself against her. She held him tightly. ‘Have you papers yourself?’ the fat woman demanded. ‘When we cross into Germany they will want to see that they are all in order. They are very strict. As for the child, I shall report that he is not authorized.’

  Anna lifted the boy off her lap and dragged her suitcase down from the rack. The compartment door had stuck and none of them moved to help her open it. At last the catch gave and she wrenched the door open. Out in the corridor she steadied herself against the rocking of the train and holding the child by one hand, the suitcase in the other, made her way down the carriage. The boy was crying again, whimpering and wailing, but she gripped hold of his hand and pulled him on. She could not have stayed in that compartment with those people, not for one more moment. Every compartment that she passed was full and whenever a face turned to look at her through the glass she imagined in it the same hatred as in the others. She had almost reached the end of the train before she found a compartment with vacant seats. The only occupants were an elderly couple, both fast asleep, propped up against each other, and a nun who glanced up from her book and smiled at her. She slid the door open and tugged the boy in after her. When she had put the suitcase up on the rack she sat down in the corner by the window and took him on her lap again and cradled him until at last he stopped whimpering and fell asleep. The nun watched her. She had a nice face but she was wearing a heavy crucifix on her breast with the dead Jesus hanging by his nailed hands. She will be just like that other woman, Anna thought, if she suspects what we are. The train rattled on and Anna leant her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. After a while, rocked by the train’s motion, she, too, slept.

  She awoke later with a start and found that she had been asleep for over an hour. The nun smiled at her again. ‘You have been fast asleep; the little one, too. You must both have been tired.’ She spoke in German but with a strong French accent. Anna said, in French, ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We have left Linz. We will be at the German border quite soon.’

  The boy was still asleep, his head lolling against her. She must find the papers before they reached the frontier. The brown coat had two small pockets at the front but they were both empty. She unbuttoned the coat and searched carefully but there were no more pockets and no papers. The nun leaned forward. ‘You are in trouble, my child? Can I help you?’

  She was old, Anna saw. The light from the window showed up all the lines and wrinkles; under the starched wimple her hair must be white, like Grandmama’s. Her eyes were kind and nothing like the eyes of the people in the other compartment. ‘He is supposed to have papers … a letter, a passport, something … I can’t find anything.’

  ‘He is your little brother?’

  ‘No. He’s nothing to do with me. I’ve never seen him before. His mother gave him to me at the station at Vienna and asked me to look after him on the journey to England. I have his tickets but there is nothing else.’

  ‘Have you looked underneath his clothes? Perhaps something is sewn in or tied to him?’

  She lifted the woollen jumper and unbuttoned the shirt. Underneath was a vest and underneath the vest was a leather pouch attached to the child by a cord round his neck. Inside there was some paper money, rolled and tied with an elastic band, a folded piece of paper and a photograph. The photograph was of the woman on the platform, the mother. She was dressed in a flowered frock and smiling happily at whoever had held the camera; on the back were two words, written in ink. Deine Mami. Anna opened out the letter. There was an address at the top – somewhere in Essex in England. The letter had been written in German and then repeated in English. She read it through quickly. To whom it may concern, this is to state that I, Vera Heine will take my sister’s child, Daniel Isler into the home of my husband and myself and care for him as one of our family and be responsible for his welfare and maintenance in all respects … She looked inside the pouch once more but there was nothing else. ‘There is no passport. Nothing official. Just a letter …’

  ‘Let me see.’ The nun took it from her. ‘I do not read English, but the German is clear to me.’ She took some spectacles from the folds of her habit. After a moment she said, ‘I am afraid this may not be enough. They may not let him pass.’

  ‘What would they do?’

  ‘Send him back to Vienna.’

  ‘But his mother will think he’s on his way to England. And there is no way to find her – except for a photograph with no name.’ The train was starting to slow down; they would soon be stopping at the German border. ‘If they can’t send him back then they may have to keep him,’ the nun said. ‘Enquiries will need to be made.’

  ‘I can’t let that happen. He’s Jewish. Jews are not safe in Germany.’

  The nun nodded. ‘Then we must think of a way …’ The elderly couple were stirring, smoothing their clothing, finding their passports. The train was coming into the station, slowing to a stop. Doors began to open and a uniformed figure passed the compartment door. ‘Give the child to me,’ the nun said. ‘Quickly.’ She took him on her lap and when he began to wake up, stroked his head and spoke to him softly. ‘You must be very good, my little one, and keep very quiet. Do not speak a word.’

  The door slid back and the German frontier guard stood there. ‘Your passes, please.’ He took his time over the elderly couple’s documents, while the man and woman watched him anxiously. Then his eyes moved on to her. ‘Yours, Fräulein.’ She waited while he examined her passport, comparing the photograph carefully with her, turning more pages slowly. ‘What is your destination, Fräulein?’

  ‘I am going to London.’

  ‘Wh
y?’

  ‘I am at school there.’

  ‘So …’ he turned. ‘You are not staying in Germany?’

  ‘No.’

  He stared at her a moment and then returned the passport to her. ‘Sister, if you please.’

  The nun produced her French passport and he looked it over. ‘And the child?’

  ‘He is in my charge.’

  ‘He has a passport? Papers?’

  ‘No. He is an orphan. I am taking him to our convent near Regensburg to be cared for there. It was his mother’s last wish before she died. She entrusted him to me, and to God.’

  ‘That’s all very well but he must have a correct pass. I cannot allow him to proceed without that.’

  The nun smiled her gentle smile. ‘I am sure that you are a kind and understanding man. This poor little innocent has just lost his mother, as well as his father. He is completely alone in the world and should not be distressed further. I shall say a special prayer for you and God will certainly bless and reward you for your compassion.’

  Anna held her breath. After a moment the man grunted. ‘Very well. But see that he does not travel again without the correct papers.’ He slammed the door shut and moved on to the next compartment. The nun made the sign of the cross. ‘I have to leave the train at Regensburg. When you reach the Dutch border I should tell them that the child is an orphan and you are taking him to his aunt in England. It is near the truth and you can show the letter … Smile at the guard and flatter him, and if that does not work, then weep.’

  Anna took the little boy along to the dining-car for some supper but he had no interest in food. She tried to tempt him with some of the soup, holding a spoonful to his mouth, but he turned his head away, shaking it fiercely. ‘Come, Daniel.’ At least she knew his name now. ‘Try to eat a little bit.’ He looked at her bleakly. ‘Wo ist Mami?’

  ‘You will see her again very soon. You are just going to stay with your Aunt Vera for a little holiday. You remember your Aunt Vera?’ He shook his head again. She offered the soup once more. ‘Just one spoonful, Daniel, for Mami …’

  She found her reserved sleeping compartment, partly undressed the boy and put him down in the single bunk, tucking him in. He fell asleep almost at once. There was no room to lie beside him without risking disturbing him and so she curled up uncomfortably at the end of the bunk with a blanket wrapped round her shoulders. The train pounded on through the night across Germany.

  She woke from a fitful sleep with a stiff neck, and pins and needles down one leg. The train had stopped at another station and she raised the blind and peered out. She could see the illuminated sign: FRANKFURT. The platform was empty except for two uniformed men standing nearby. They were dressed in black caps with high shiny peaks, knee-high black boots and badges sewn on their left sleeves showing a black, hooked cross. A young man carrying a suitcase came into view, wanting to board the train, and they moved to bar his way. He was wearing a Jewish yarmulke on his head, and looked very like gentle Gideon of the Fischer family. He put down his battered suitcase, fumbled in his coat pockets for papers and stood meekly while they were examined. Instead of returning the papers, the two men began to ask questions. She could not hear what they were saying but she could see that the young man was frightened. They stood over him, like bullies, while he grew more and more bewildered, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. They were still asking him questions and he was still trying to answer them as the train pulled out.

  It was daylight when they crossed the border into Holland at Venlo. A dull, grey dawn. The child had woken and she was washing his hands and face at the basin when the Dutch official rapped and entered the sleeping compartment. Smile at him, the nun had said, and if that doesn’t work, weep. The man was quite young, tall and nice-looking. She smiled dazzlingly at him and explained that the little boy was an orphan going to his aunt in England. His father had been killed in an accident and his mother had just died of a terrible disease. It was unbearably sad. The child had been alone for three days before he had been discovered beside his mother’s body, clinging to her. They had had to prise his fingers free, to tear him away … She showed the letter and, for good measure, let her eyes fill with tears. He looked at the letter and then down at her. She knew that he was admiring her and moved a step closer to gaze pleadingly up into his face, a tear running down one cheek. ‘It would be such a kindness if you would let him pass.’

  ‘Is your own passport in order?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  He turned pages. ‘I am sorry about the little boy. I lost my own mother when I was a small child.’

  ‘How dreadful for you! Then you will understand how it is for him?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘I should always be grateful. Always.’ Another tear spilled over.

  He handed back her passport. ‘You can dry your tears, Fräulein, the boy can pass.’ As he closed the door again he said, with a small smile, ‘And I shall remember your undying gratitude, in case we ever meet again.’

  She coaxed Daniel to eat some breakfast – a piece of bread with a slice of sausage and a cup of milk. He looked deathly pale and listless and she wondered anxiously if he was ill. He had stopped asking for his mother and hardly spoke a word.

  At the Dutch port the train took them close to the ship. She was rehearsing her story again, with embellishments, but at the gangplank they were waved on board among a crowd of other passengers. She stood with the child at the deck rails, holding his hand and watching as the sailors untied the ropes and the ship began to move away from the quayside. The gap widened and became a gulf. Beside her, the child had started to cry again and call for his mother. In comforting him, she forgot her own misery.

  Out to sea, it was cold and rough and the ship began to roll horribly. She took the boy below to sit in a saloon but the motion was worse there and after a while he began to retch. She hurried him back up on deck and took him to the rail where he vomited up what little breakfast he had eaten. Soon after she was sick herself. She found a bench in the lee of one of the funnels and held the child on her lap, trying to keep him warm. They were both shivering violently but the fresh air was better than the stuffiness of below decks. We are in the same boat, she thought – literally and otherwise. Both sent away from our country and neither of us wanting to go. Supposing the English authorities would not allow him to land? Would he be sent back again and have to travel through Germany once more where men in black uniforms patrolled stations interrogating Jews? Surely they would let him stay and Lizzie’s mother would know what to do once she got him to London. She would find the aunt in Essex. She took the letter out of her shoulder-bag to look at the address again. The wind made it flap and flutter wildly and, as she unfolded it, snatched it from her hands and whirled it away down the deck and over the rails into the sea.

  ‘You say there was a letter, miss?’

  ‘Yes. A letter from his aunt, promising that she would take care of him. It was lost on the boat. The wind blew it away.’

  ‘I see.’ The English immigration officer stared at her. He was a very ordinary-looking man, short, and with a small moustache the colour of dry sand and gooseberry eyes that had no expression at all. She knew that smiling at him would be a complete waste of time. He would not be impressed; it might even set him against her. ‘And how did you come to be in charge of the boy?’

  ‘I told you. At the station at Vienna. I was asked to look after him for the journey.’

  ‘By whom?’

  She had been going to spin the orphan story again but her instinct told her that this was a time for the truth. ‘His mother came up to me just as the train was leaving. There was no chance to refuse. She just gave me the child and his tickets and then the train left.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘It must be Isler – like the boy. His name is Daniel. She never said her first name – there was no time. The aunt’s name is Vera Heine. She promised that she would look after him at her home.�
�� She put her arm protectively round the child’s shoulders. She could tell that he was terrified by the man.

  ‘This aunt, where does she live?’ He was as bad as the two bullies at Frankfurt, barking his questions.

  ‘I can’t remember. The address was on the letter. Now it is gone. It was somewhere in Essex. The town began with the letter C, I think. There is a photograph of the mother …’ She had to unbutton the child’s coat and then undo more buttons to reach the leather pouch. She spoke to him soothingly in German. ‘It’s all right, Daniel, there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ She handed over the photograph to the man. ‘Here it is. That was the woman at the station in Vienna.’

  ‘This is no help, I’m afraid. It could be anyone. It’s no proof of his identity, no proof of the aunt’s existence. No proof of anything at all.’

  She stared at him coldly, hating him and his gooseberry eyes and his nasty little ginger moustache. ‘I thought the English were supposed to be civilized. This child is Jewish. I am Jewish, too. Do you know what they are doing to Jewish people in Germany and now in Austria? They are persecuting them. That is why Daniel’s mother wanted him to come here – to be safe from persecution. The English will take a child, she said to me. She believed that, but she was wrong. You are not good at all. You don’t care. It’s nothing to you what happens to him. You are going to turn him away just because there are no silly papers and because you will not believe what I have told you.’ Her voice had risen hysterically and heads were turning.

  The immigration officer said mildly, ‘Calm yourself, Miss Stein. As a matter of fact, I do believe you. And we’re not such a bad lot, you know. I think you’ll find that Daniel will be able to stay.’

  ‘Did they let him?’ Lizzie had been listening to the whole story. ‘What happened.’

  ‘In the end, they were very kind and I was sorry for what I said. They found out that the aunt lived in Colchester not so far from Harwich and they telephoned her and arranged for her to fetch Daniel. There were forms to be filled in, of course, and everything of that sort, but I’m sure they were going to let him stay.’