The German Girl (16 page)

The noise was deafening. By now, nobody on the quayside could hear us, but lots of passengers were still shouting messages to the unfortunate ones who had been unable to obtain a lifesaving visa—a passage on the ship that would set us free.

The captain came up to us. He was so small he had to raise his head to look at Papa. With a courtesy we were no longer accustomed to, he held out his hand to my parents, who responded with distant smiles.

“Herr Rosenthal, Frau Rosenthal.” He had a deep opera singer’s voice.

He gently took my right hand and lifted it to his lips without touching my skin. If I hadn’t been so bewildered, I would have curtsied.

We were there at last. There was no room to walk along the deck: the passengers were crowded at the rails overlooking the port, as if trying to stay close to everything they would never see again, an image that was condemned to vanish from their memories.

Mama came to a halt, terrified. She did not want to take another step and become part of this desperate throng. Then all of a sudden she realized that the three of us—Papa, me, and even her—were just as
wretched as all the other exiles on board. Like it or not, we were all in the same situation.

Take a good look at them, Mama
. We were a wretched mass of fleeing people who had been kicked out of our homes. In just a few seconds, we had become immigrants, something she never wanted to accept. She had to face reality now.

Suddenly a thin arm was trying to force its way through the throng and reach the captain, who was still beside us. Shoving a man still shouting good-bye out of his way, I heard a voice telling me, “Come with me! Hurry up!”

At the end of the arm appeared the black hair, more tousled than ever, the shirt buttoned to the top, the short trousers, and his huge eyes, with those lashes that always arrived before him.

“Leo! It’s you! I can’t believe it!”

“What? You’ve been struck dumb? Come on, let’s run.”

There was a blast on the ship’s siren. We were going—together—to somewhere where no one would measure our heads or noses, or compare the texture of our hair, or classify the color of our eyes. We were going to the island you drew in the muddy water of a city to which we would never return.

To Havana, Leo. We would arrive, after two endless weeks, in Havana.

Would we plant tulips? I had no idea if tulips grew in Cuba.

I
’ve heard that when you die, your life flickers before your eyes like the pages of a book until your brain gives out, but that you don’t feel any pain or nostalgia. When we left Germany, I seemed to have only three memories remaining from my childhood.

The first was of being in the arms of Eva, nestling in her big, warm bosom in the bed of her tiny room by the kitchen. Papa said I was too young to have such a vivid memory, but I could clearly recall the fragrance of her lemon-bergamot-cedarwood cologne mingled with the smell of sweat and spices. This was the woman who had helped bring me into the world and took care of me while Mama recovered from a birth that kept her in the hospital for several weeks. I can still hear the tender way Mama would tell me later that it was time to go to my bedroom, and my bitter tears because I didn’t want to leave Eva’s room. It was the only place where I felt safe.

My second memory was from when I was five and went with Papa
to the university. I hid under the desk in the gigantic hall where he was giving a lecture to a hundred or more students who listened spellbound as the most intelligent man in the world unraveled the secrets of the human body. Papa’s voice sounded as if he were conducting a religious ritual or reciting the Torah from memory. He repeated the word
femur
several times, pointing to gigantic limbs displayed in a diagram on the wall, and I resolved that as soon as my parents allowed me to have a dog, I would call him Femur.

My third memory was from my fifth birthday, when my parents promised me that one day we would go on a world cruise on a luxury liner. For many nights after that, on the map beside my bed, I began to plot our route to all the faraway countries, feeling I was the luckiest girl in the world.

These were the only three things I seemed able to recall. And sadly, one of them had to do with Eva, whom I would never see again. The erasing process was already beginning. My new book of memories was blank.

Leo and I were standing at the starboard rail of the ship, watching as passengers waved to their relatives below. The people on land peered up at us not as though we were being saved but as though we were headed for some dire, inconceivable fate.

Leo and I moved away from the crowd and fixed our gaze instead on the river Elbe, which would carry us to the North Sea and from there far away from the land of the Ogres. It was high time we were leaving that port stinking of oil and fish; I didn’t want my eyes to register anything further about it. I closed them tight, clinging to Leo so as not to feel the rolling of this enormous iron monster. I thought I was going to be seasick.

The captain was watching us from the bridge, pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. Despite his ridiculous moustache and small stature, he was an imposing figure. He motioned for us to come up and join him. Leo was even more excited than I was; he tugged at my hand for us to run. Our adventure had begun.

From the bridge, the port looked tiny. The smell of rusty iron and the ship’s rocking motion made me feel queasy again. Realizing this, the captain spoke directly to me with that gruff voice of his that seemed so much at odds with his small body:

“The ship will stabilize in a few minutes, and then you won’t even see water move in a glass. Won’t you introduce me to your friend, Hannah?”

Leo was bursting with pride. Previously, he had wanted to be a pilot, but now I thought that he would probably prefer to be a ship’s captain. He rushed anxiously toward the controls, but the captain warned him, “You’re welcome in here, but you mustn’t touch anything that might endanger the two hundred thirty-one crew members and the eight hundred ninety-nine passengers we have on board. I’m responsible for the lives of each and every one of them.”

Leo wanted to know exactly when we’d arrive and how fast this ship weighing more than 16,000 tons and 575 feet long could travel.

“What would happen if someone falls overboard?” Leo asked breathlessly. “Which port will we arrive at first? What other countries are we going to visit? What if somebody falls ill?”

“Our first port of call will be Cherbourg, where we’ll pick up another thirty-eight passengers.”

These were too many questions all at once—the captain wasn’t smiling—but Leo and I had the same sensation: this man was powerful and knew a lot. And something more: he wanted to be our friend.

“Now go down to the dining room,” he ordered us. “They’ve already begun to serve the last meal of the day.”

I took the lead, and Leo followed me to the first-class dining room. When he hesitated at the door, it was my turn to take him by the arm.

“They’ll throw me out of here, Hannah!”

As I opened the huge door decorated with symmetrical mirrors, leaves, and flowers, we were dazzled by the light from inside: polished wood and huge teardrop chandeliers sparkling like diamonds. Leo couldn’t believe his eyes. We were in a floating palace in the middle of the sea.

A friendly steward dressed in white like a naval officer pointed out our seats, and I saw Mama waving at us from the main table as if acknowledging her admirers.

Like a perfect gentleman, Papa stood up ceremoniously and held out his hand to Leo, who took it timidly and made a slight bow to Mama.

“You need to eat properly. It’s going to be a long crossing.” The Goddess was back, her words silken and clear.

I didn’t know how she had found the time to change and redo her makeup. The simple sleeveless pink cotton dress made her look like a schoolgirl. She had changed her pearl earrings for a pair of diamonds that glittered whenever she moved her head. Papa was still wearing his gray flannel suit and bow tie.

At one end of the room a big table was overflowing with all kinds of bread, salmon, black caviar, thinly cut slices of meat, and vegetables of various colors. This was the “light buffet” the
St. Louis
offered as we steamed out of Hamburg.

The steward served Mama her favorite champagne. Leo and I got warm milk, to help us sleep.

Papa began to thrust his chest out again, and his face looked as though he was once more at ease in his environment. Four men left the tables where their families were seated and came up to greet him, calling him Professor Rosenthal. He rose to his feet and courteously extended his hand to them. He embraced the last one, clapping him on the back, and said something no one else could hear. The men also greeted Mama, but without coming close. She smiled back from her Viennese chair, a glass full of bubbles in her right hand.

It was quite hot. Mama took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her face to prevent the perspiration from ruining her makeup. Two members of the crew drew back the red velvet curtains to open some windows. The breeze from the deck relieved the close atmosphere and dissipated the odor of smoked fish and meat, which was beginning to make me nauseous.

The steward came to ask Leo if he would like anything more, calling him “sir.” I didn’t know what alarmed my friend more: being called “sir” or having someone approach him in such a manner. Leo didn’t answer, and so the steward continued around the table taking everyone’s orders. It was obvious that Leo was not used to being treated well, especially by someone from the “pure race.”

“Can you believe it?” he whispered, so close to my ear I thought he was going to kiss me. “The Ogres are serving
us
!”

He began to chuckle, raising his glass of warm milk to make a toast.

“Here’s to you, Countess Hannah! This is going to be a long and wonderful trip!”

I laughed out loud in a way that made Mama smile.

“Yes, Leo, drink up your warm milk, it’ll do you good,” I replied with the voice of a fussy old countess.

At the next table, four young men raised their glasses high as well. Papa smiled at them and nodded slightly, taking part in their toast from a distance. Leo and I looked on, trying not to giggle.

“We’re going to have such fun tomorrow!” he whispered gleefully, downing his milk in one long gulp.

Cable from the Hamburg-Amerika Line

I
felt lost. When I woke up, I heard the notes of a violin playing the intermezzo from one of the operas Papa used to listen to in the evening at home. I was in the middle of a dream. We were back in Berlin. The Ogres were nothing more than a nightmare created by my troubled mind.

I saw myself lying at my father’s feet next to the gramophone. He was stroking my head, ruffling my hair, while he told me about the opera heroine Thaïs, a courtesan and priestess in powerful Alexandria, Egypt, whom they wanted to strip of her possessions and force to renounce the gods she had always worshipped. They obliged her to cross the desert to pay for her sins.

I opened my eyes and saw I was in my cabin. The doors to Papa’s room were open, and I could see the gramophone. He was reading in bed, listening to “Méditation,” from
Thaïs,
just like in the good old days. The orchestra blocked out the rest of the world.

They would send us back to Berlin because we had brought the gramophone! I was sure it had been on the list of our apartment possessions we had been forced to draw up. Who on earth had thought of such a stupid idea as bringing it with us? Mama would never forgive Papa. She would start to cry and blame me as well, insisting we should all vanish. Perhaps she’d try to poison me with that terrible capsule Papa made her buy from Leo’s father.

But Mama strode into my cabin looking livelier than ever. If the gramophone did not bother her, if she didn’t think we’d be sent back because Papa adored music so irresponsibly, that meant we were safe.

She looked radiant and even more elegant. Having to shake off the lethargy of the past four months in order to track down our permits and comb the dusty streets of a Berlin packed with Ogres marching in sickly unison had done wonders for her. She was wearing long, loose trousers in ivory gabardine, a blue cotton blouse with matching turban, a scarf tied around her neck, and a pair of dark tortoiseshell glasses to protect her from the sun on deck. A broad golden bracelet glittered on her left forearm, and her dazzling wedding ring was back on her right hand.

The Goddess in all her splendor.

“You can go wherever you like, except to the engine room,” Mama said to me. “That’s dangerous. Be off and have fun, Hannah. Your father will stay here reading. It’s a beautiful day.”