I was disoriented.
Everything was dark.
Which way was up? Where was the surface?
I was losing breath, my head spinning.
And then I heard her voice, calling to me from above the water.
“Kick! Kick your feet!”
She was yelling to me. The voice was suddenly close, warm and present, in both of my ears. “Kick your feet!”
Propel myself upward. Yes, okay.
Up.
My head rose above the water. I gasped, choking as I pulled air into my lungs.
“There!” yelled a sailor. My shoulder screamed with pain as they pulled me onto a raft.
joana
The sailors had him on a raft.
“Florian!” I screamed. I tried to climb over the side.
“Stay where you are,” insisted the sailor. “They’ve got him.”
Florian looked up. He motioned for me to remain on deck. The two brave sailors who had jumped into the water after him were boosting him up the net. They pushed him over the side and he collapsed in a heap.
The wandering boy threw himself onto Florian, sobbing and crying.
“I’m okay, Klaus. Just a little cold and wet.”
“We have to get him warm immediately,” I said.
We followed the sailors as they moved him belowdecks. I quickly stripped off his icy clothes and wrapped him in a big blanket.
“Not exactly how I envisioned that part,” he said quietly, with a grin.
“Hush.” I pulled the blanket tight and kissed him. The sailors gave him some dry clothes.
People ran in front of us, shrieking and crying for those they had lost. One man went mad, tearing at his hair, talking nonstop of chickens and the chicken car.
A sailor walked among the passengers.
“What vessel is this?” Florian asked him.
“You’ve been picked up by T-36, a German torpedo boat.”
An explosion detonated beneath the boat. People screamed.
“Stay calm,” said the sailor. “We’re releasing depth charges. There are still Russian subs prowling the area.”
Submarines. We were still in danger.
They gave us hot drinks and soup. The warmth brought tingling and pain. The wandering boy cried of aches in his legs and feet. And he cried for Opi. The baby whimpered for Emilia. We settled onto the floor with piles of blankets, huddling together for warmth.
Florian reached down and took my hand. “I heard you,” he whispered.
“What?”
“When I was underwater. I heard you telling me to kick my feet. Thank you.”
I looked up at him.
What was he talking about?
florian
Joana lay with her head on my shoulder, cradling the baby. The little boy slept in a bundle under my good arm. The brave rescue crew worked with precision, moving the boat and plucking people from the water.
I had been certain I was going to die.
The baby slept. Where was the Polish girl? Had she been picked up? I looked at the wandering boy, asleep. Heinz had his papers, the address in Berlin.
Heinz.
Our shoe poet, our friend. Opi. I fought the emotion that stirred.
The sailors walked among the people who had been rescued. They spoke to each passenger, asking questions and giving instructions. Joana opened her eyes and looked up at me.
“They’re asking everyone for their name and information. They say we’re going to Sassnitz, on the German island of Rügen.” She squeezed my hand.
I bent over and kissed the top of her head. I then leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.
My name and information.
Who was I?
I looked down at Joana and the children.
Who did I want to be?
emilia
The lace curtain flapped in the kitchen window. The breeze today was the kind you opened the shutters for, the kind that carried away old sin and flakes of sadness. The sun streamed through the window, blooming light through a jar of amber honey on the sill. I dipped my fingers into the cool sack of flour, sprinkled a handful across the board, and began to roll out the dough. Rachel and Helen were coming for tea after synagogue. They would be thrilled to have their favorite doughnuts with rose petal jam. Father would eat the leftovers for breakfast.
Something stirred by the sideboard.
“I see you, Halinka.” I laughed. My daughter peeked out from behind the cabinet.
“What are you sneaking around for?” I asked.
“Fairy bread.” She giggled. She was a beautiful whisper. If only I imagined her, my little bird could always be with me.
“Get a plate,” I told her.
She ran to the cupboard and returned with a plate, already licking her lips.
I cut a thick slice off the loaf while she sprinkled sugar onto the plate. I spread a layer of butter on the piece of bread and handed it to her. She gently pressed it facedown in the sugar. She then peeled it back up, slowly, careful not to lose a single crystal.
Halinka carried her fairy bread to the back door of the kitchen, which stood open to the unfenced yard and wildflowers. I had just returned to my dough when my daughter began jumping up and down.