Deep Sea (5 page)

“Only the nobility have breakfast this late in the day,” Aunt Märta says ironically when Stephie, finally dressed and ready, appears at the kitchen door. But it doesn’t bother her. She hears the smile behind the words.

Once she’s had her breakfast, Stephie calls Vera’s
number again. This time, Vera picks up, but her voice sounds peculiar, and she says she can’t talk now. Stephie assumes there are other people around. They agree to meet as usual on Wednesday evening, and hang up.

“Is there something wrong with Vera?” Aunt Märta asks.

“Not really,” says Stephie. “She was busy, that’s all.”

“That child could use some looking after,” Aunt Märta says. “She shouldn’t be blowing around the city, from pillar to post.”

“Well, she does have a job.”

“I believe you know what I mean,” says Aunt Märta.

Uncle Evert has gone down to the harbor to check on the
Diana
and hear if there’s any news. The harbor’s where you go if you want to know the latest, both about the island and about the world at large—or you go to see Miss Holm at the post office.

Aunt Märta is putting cans and boxes on the kitchen table. She’s already got a brown cardboard box ready, too.

“Let’s organize the package,” she says. “Then you can send it when you go into the village.”

They work together, packing oatmeal and flour, canned meats and dried prunes, tins of peas, and a bottle of cod liver oil.

“Ugh,” says Stephie.

“It’s good for you, though,” says Aunt Märta. “I’m sure they need the vitamins.”

The last thing Aunt Märta does is to take a small
glass jar and fill it with sugar. Stephie looks at her in surprise. Their precious, rationed sugar?

“Right, that ought to do it,” Aunt Märta says, hiding the jar of sugar deep down below the other goods. “That’s everything, I think.”

She closes the box, tying it up sturdily with string. Stephie writes the address label.
Frau Elisabeth Steiner, Block C III, Theresienstadt
. Papa and Mamma have separate addresses at the camp. Apparently not even married couples are allowed to live together. Stephie wishes she knew more about what Mamma and Papa’s life in the camp is like. How often they see each other, how they spend their days, whether Mamma makes meals for Papa out of the things Stephie sends.

Stephie ties the box to the back of Nellie’s bike with a leather strap. It’s so heavy she can’t manage to ride up the hill and has to get off and push the bike.

When Stephie arrives at the post office, Miss Holm is talkative as usual.

“Stephie!” she says, clapping her hands. “It’s been ages! Just think, I remember as if it were yesterday the first time you came in here with Mrs. Jansson. I think you wanted a stamp, didn’t you? And here you are, all grown up. Grammar school girl, at that.”

Stephie gives her the box, and Miss Holm weighs it. The postage costs nearly as much as the things inside it. The only way to send anything to Theresienstadt is by registered mail.

“So what about Vera Hedberg?” Miss Holm asks. “She lives in the city now, too. Are you still such good friends?”

“Yes,” says Stephie.

The best way to deal with Miss Holm is to say as little as possible. She repeats everything she hears, usually with more than a little exaggeration.

It’s not far from the post office to Auntie Alma and Uncle Sigurd’s house. Elsa and John, Nellie’s foster sister and brother, are playing in the yard, but there is no sign of Nellie. Stephie parks Nellie’s bike and knocks. Auntie Alma opens the door.

“Stephie!” she exclaims. “I’m so glad to see you. Come on in. Nellie’s upstairs. You go on up if you like. Bring Nellie down. I’ve got sweet rolls and juice for you.”

Stephie goes up the stairs. Auntie Alma and Uncle Sigurd’s house has three upstairs bedrooms, a big one for the grown-ups and two smaller ones. Nellie used to have one of them to herself, with Elsa and John in the other. Now Elsa and Nellie share.

The door to the girls’ room is shut. Stephie knocks, then opens it. The minute she steps inside, she can feel that something has changed, and not only because Elsa’s bed is here now, on the wall opposite Nellie’s.

Nellie is sitting on the edge of her bed. She looks sullen. Stephie sits down next to her and takes her hand. Nellie goes stiff.
Stephie wonders what’s wrong, but she knows Nellie well enough not to ask outright.

“I like your dress,” she says instead. “Is it new? Did Auntie Alma make it?”

“ ‘I like your dress,’ ” Nellie mimics her nastily. “Do you think I’m still seven or something?”

“I was only saying you look pretty in it,” Stephie replies.

Nellie is really very pretty, with her long black braids, rosy cheeks, and big, dark eyes.

“Pretty!” says Nellie. “With this hair?”

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

“Well, maybe it’s all right to go around looking like a gypsy in the city, but not here! I wish I looked like everybody else. Fair hair and blue eyes. I wish I were Swedish!”

“Are you being teased?”

Stephie remembers being bullied by Sylvia the first year she lived on the island. But Nellie’s always been very popular at school.

“No,” says Nellie. “But I can see with my own eyes. I look like a changeling. Can’t you tell?”

Nellie points to a photo on the dresser. It’s from a photographer’s studio, and very recent. Auntie Alma and Uncle Sigurd are sitting next to each other. John is on Auntie Alma’s lap. Elsa is standing next to her, leaning against her. They all have open, round faces with light-colored eyes and blond hair. Nellie is standing
behind them. In their company, she looks like an exotic plant, a princess out of the
Arabian Nights
.

“How can you say something so unfair?” Stephie asks. “Auntie Alma has always treated you as if you were her own child.”

“I wish I was!”

“How can you say that? You have parents of your own, or have you forgotten?”

Nellie doesn’t reply, just shrugs. Stephie feels like taking her by the shoulders and giving her a shake. She’d like to shake her sister until the old lively, warmhearted Nellie comes out of this grumpy stranger with her closed-up face.

That’s when she sees what’s different about the room.

Nellie’s portraits of Mamma and Papa—the same ones Stephie has—are missing. They’ve always been on the dresser, where the new family photo is now.

“Where did you put your pictures?” Stephie asks. “Of Mamma and Papa?”

“In my drawer,” Nellie tells her glumly.

“Why?”

“This is Elsa’s room now, too. I don’t think she wants to look at them all the time.”

“Did she say that?”

“No.”

“Nellie,” says Stephie. “They’re our parents. Your parents. I don’t want you to forget that. You do write to them, don’t you?”

“Sure I do. I write once a week. Alternate weeks to Mamma and Papa. Any other questions?”

Nellie’s voice is harsh. As if she feels the need to defend herself. As if Stephie were her enemy.

Stephie goes down on her knees in front of Nellie. She takes her hands and tries to hold her gaze.

At that very moment, Auntie Alma calls them.

“Stephie! Nellie! Come have some juice.”

Nellie pushes Stephie away and stands up.

“Auntie Alma’s calling,” she says. “I’m going down.”

Stephie politely declines to stay for sweet rolls and juice. She knows Auntie Alma will be offended, but she can’t just sit there pretending. She needs to be by herself, now that Nellie doesn’t want to talk to her anymore.

Take care of Nellie
. She can hear her father’s voice from the railroad station in Vienna, the last time they saw each other, nearly four years ago.
Take care of Nellie
. Both Papa and Mamma write that to her often.
Take care of Nellie. She’s so young
.

Stephie has let her parents down. She should never have agreed to go to grammar school in the city. She and Nellie ought to have stuck together. And she’s the one who bears the responsibility since she’s older.

Maybe she shouldn’t start high school, for Nellie’s sake? But if she doesn’t continue her education, she’ll have to get a job. And there are no jobs for girls on the
island. The girls here do as Vera has done, take domestic jobs in the city, or work in the factories. Unless they marry fishermen and stay on the island.

It’s too late, anyway.

She can’t take care of Nellie anymore, because Nellie is never again going to let her.

B
efore taking the boat back to Göteborg on Sunday evening, Stephie asks Aunt Märta to phone the relief committee to find out whether they will pay her room and board for another three years, while she’s in high school. Aunt Märta promises.

On her way back, Stephie stands out on deck again, but this time, she mostly just stares down into the water. The surface of the sea is unruffled and gleaming. Somewhere at the bottom, in the depths, might be the missing submarine, the
Wolf
.

That night she dreams that she has been shut up in a narrow room with some other people. There’s almost no air. She wakes up feeling as if she is suffocating.

On Wednesday, Miss Björk is at her desk at the front of the room, a pile of test papers before her, gazing out at the class. Thirty-four pair of eyes meet hers—nervous, pleading, or self-confident. Then there is May, who just stares down at her desktop.

“Your test results,” says Miss Björk, “aren’t exactly brilliant. No one had a perfect score this time. On the other hand, no one who turned in a test paper failed, though there are a few borderline cases. I’m not going to keep you in suspense. Ulla, would you return the test papers, please?”

The class monitor walks forward to the teacher’s desk and collects the pile. One by one, she returns the tests. A few of the girls leaf eagerly through theirs. Others try to look unperturbed. Stephie just glances at hers. She already knows that she got 28 out of 32. That will give her an A-minus. She would have had an A if she’d done that last problem. But she couldn’t do it without letting May down.

Stephie looks toward May, but May’s eyes are still glued to her desktop.

“And then we have May,” says Miss Björk. “You didn’t turn in a test paper. I assume you fell ill during the exam?”

May looks up. Her lips are moving, but no sound comes out.

“Isn’t that right?” asks Miss Björk. “You certainly did look ill to me. So I’ve decided not to count this test
toward your grade. But if I am going to be able to give you a final grade, you are going to have to prove that you did your work on this section of the course. I’ve made up an extra assignment for you. I’ll give you two weeks to do it at home. Come see me in the staff room on your lunch break today, and we’ll look through it together.”

May’s lips are moving again, but it’s like watching an old silent movie. Stephie can read her lips, though. May is saying,
Thank you, Miss Björk
.

After her lunchtime talk with Miss Björk, May is bright and chipper again. Their teacher has promised to pass May in math if she does her extra assignment diligently.

“ ‘On one condition,’ she said,” May tells Stephie.