Salt to the Sea

by Ruta Sepetys

  “Meta!” a woman screamed, running toward us. She grabbed my arm. “Please, have you seen my Meta? She’s only five years old.”

  A lady with a blue bundle drifted by, crying. “His wet diaper’s frozen solid. Should I tug it? Will it tear his skin off?”

  People screamed out for food and lost family members.

  “My God, look what this war has done,” said Eva.

  The wandering boy clung to the leg of the shoe poet. Even the German seemed startled.

  Poet looked around. “There are so many, it could take days to secure passage. We must stay together. Let’s agree that if we get separated, we shall meet under the large clock on that building.” He motioned to the distant clock with his walking stick.

  Eva stopped a shawled woman pushing a baby buggy through the snow. “What are the reports? What do you know?” she said.

  “What do I know? They say Hitler’s in a bunker in Berlin.” The woman’s voice was deep, husky like a man’s. “And we’re here. Where are the bunkers for us?” She looked up at Eva. “Boy, you’re a big one, huh?”

  Eva’s face clouded.

  “Excuse me, is there any organized lodging?” I asked.

  “Organized?” The woman laughed. “Take a look around. Nothing’s organized. It’s bedlam, stupid girl. Grab space where you can and fight for a boarding pass like the rest of us.”

  The group moved closer to me. The wandering boy approached the baby carriage. His eyes widened.

  “And how is your child faring?” I asked, peeking into the buggy. Tucked into the buggy was not a child. It was a goat.

  “Don’t judge me,” said the woman, stepping in front of the buggy. “If I don’t take it, someone else will. I’ve got kids who are hungry.”

  “I’m not judging. We’re all hungry.”

  “Well, this goat’s mine. Find your own.” She then looked us over and motioned me closer. “I’m told the roof of the old movie house doesn’t have holes. Might be warmer there.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She stood, waiting. “I could have sold that information,” she told me. She snorted and shoved off, thrusting the buggy across broken stones and ice. The sound of a bleating goat echoed behind her. We stood silent in a circle, staring at one another.

  Eva finally spoke. “I’m sorry, but that was the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen.”

  “And for heaven’s sake, Joana, find your own goat,” Poet chimed.

  “Movie house has no holes,” said the wandering boy, imitating the deep tone.

  And then, from behind the group came his voice: “Careful, Klaus, you could sell that information,” said the German.

  I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. I laughed. The wandering boy started to giggle. Eva burst out laughing. And then the most amazing thing happened. The German smiled and laughed. Hard.

  “Let’s find the movie house,” said Eva once we had regained our composure. We walked away from the harbor and the enormous ships. Would we be able to secure passage on one tomorrow? If so, which ship would ferry us to freedom?

  Snow fell as we walked, piling atop our heads and shoulders. The German grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “About Ingrid.”

  I looked down. Before I could respond, he dropped my hand and walked away.

  emilia

  He was beautiful.

  The knight was beautiful, handsome when he smiled.

  He didn’t want anyone to see it.

  He didn’t want to acknowledge it himself.

  But for a brief moment, I saw him. The real man inside of him, not the one tortured by secrets and pain.

  And he was beautiful.

  I wanted August to meet him. They were so alike. Quietly strong.

  I wished Mama could meet August. She would seat him at our dining room table and serve him thick cuts of bread with sticky marmalade. The belly of the teapot would be warm, full of raspberry tea. Red poppies in the center of the table would give a friendly wave from their glass jar. Mama would remove her apron before sitting down next to August. Then she’d reach across, put her hand on top of his, and tell him—Tak się cieszę, że tu jesteś. I am so glad you are here.

  Joana still had her mother. Reuniting with her mother was her motivation. She would slay dragons to get to her. Mother was anchor. Mother was comfort. Mother was home. A girl who lost her mother was suddenly a tiny boat on an angry ocean. Some boats eventually floated ashore. And some boats, like me, seemed to float farther and farther from land.

  I forced my mind toward happy thoughts—August, warmth, storks, home—anything to distract myself from the swelling pressure inside me. I walked with the others in search of the movie house. With each step, the truth drew closer.

  I could not make it much longer.

  florian

  The military presence in the harbor was even heavier than I expected. That meant the Red Army was close. For once I was grateful to be within the group. I kept my head down and walked with them surrounding me. The scenes were agonizing.

  A woman nearby fell to her knees, sobbing. “They say I can only choose one child for the ship. How can I choose? Please don’t make me choose.”

  The feeling of desperation was so physically present I could have shoveled it off the dock. Germany needed any and all men for service. SS squads would be on patrol. I had forged courier papers, but an officer could easily ask me to abandon my mission and drive a tank instead.

  The woman with the goat had said everything was disorganized. She was wrong. Things were chaotic, yes, but the Germans were always organized. Meticulous. They had systems for everything.

  Nazi Party officials, local leaders, and their families would have priority passage on the departing ships. Officers and wounded soldiers would also be granted passage. After the priority travelers and military personnel were loaded, the Germans would choose refugees. Women with children would be allowed first. Young single men like myself would not be allowed. At all.

  I might finally be forced to reveal that I was hiding a wound greater than a piece of shrapnel. If so, I would need the nurse’s help. The strategy was one I had hatched days ago. But it wouldn’t work if she was mad at me. By grabbing the nurse I had saved her life. Why was she angry? It bothered me that she was mad. It bothered me even more that I cared.

  But I needed her help.

  So I had to say I was sorry.

  But I didn’t have to hold her hand.

  alfred

  Darling Lore,

  The tension grows with each hour that passes. Tomorrow morning, ambulance trains will be arriving from the East, full of wounded soldiers. I was initially assigned to the hospital ward but I will find a replacement, of course, as they will surely discover my talents are better suited in other areas.

  As a child my Mutter would shield my eyes from sickness and deformity. She was quite right to do so. There is so much ugliness and imperfection in the world. We know it exists but we create further trauma by being forced to look at it. Some things are better ignored.

  • • •

  “Frick, snap out of it!”

  I turned toward the voice that addressed me.

  “This area will be for limbless soldiers and amputees. But we can’t take all of them. Tomorrow, when the ambulance trains arrive, we will examine the wounded. Only soldiers with a strong chance of survival will be embarked.”

  Examining wounds? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

  “Excuse me, sir,” asked another sailor. “You said those with a chance of survival will be embarked. What about our men who are more gravely injured?”

  “They will be left behind,” replied the officer.

  “Quite wise.” I nodded. “Leave the browned cabbage in the basket. It makes no sense to save a head with only a few good leaves.
”

  “Shut up, Frick,” they said in unison.

  joana

  The town of Gotenhafen bloated with refugees and military. The shoe poet scavenged through abandoned luggage as we walked. He found two pairs of boots. The wandering boy quickly shined them. By the time we reached the movie house, Poet had traded the boots for a large bucket of hot porridge.

  “Useful skills can always be bartered. You see, your expertise is valuable,” he told the wandering boy. The boy beamed.

  We approached the small movie house. “We’ll sit down soon,” I assured Emilia. She looked as if she might collapse. We walked to the back door but found it locked.

  The shoe poet turned to the German. “Perhaps you can find a way in, friend?”

  “Perhaps.” He nodded. “Gather around me.” We did as he asked. He removed a small jackknife from his pocket and within seconds had opened the door. We slipped inside and he locked the door behind us.

  “We should leave it open,” I told him. “Others will need a place to stay too.”

  Others were already inside. Sitting in the chairs, lying on the floor.

  “I see the goat mother made a few coins selling her information,” said Eva.

  “Where shall we make our camp?” asked the shoe poet, looking around.

  “We should take the projector room,” said the German. “Upstairs.”

  “I don’t want to walk up the stairs,” said Eva. “I’m tired. Let’s just sit and eat this porridge before it gets cold.”

  I agreed. The day had been so long. The boat ride, the ice, Ingrid.

  Ingrid.

  I felt a tremor in my throat.

  “So,” said Eva, “who’s hiding the blackberries and carrots from the dead house?”

  After a quiet meal I laid Emilia down and elevated her legs on a suitcase. The wandering boy was asleep in seconds. Eva also fell asleep quickly, her huge frame the length of two wandering boys. She snored, sputtering growls each time she exhaled.

  I pulled my medical bag from my suitcase, preparing for those who might need help.

  “Hey,” said the German quietly.

  I looked over to him.

  “There are several ships. Tomorrow we’ll all be split up at registration,” he said.

  Emilia looked at me. I hadn’t thought of that. “But we should try to stay together,” I whispered to him.

  “Well, what’s your story for her?” he said, pointing to Emilia.

  “I guess the same, with the Latvian’s papers.”

  He shook his head. “It will be tougher here. Everyone wants to get on a boat.”

  “I’ll explain that she’s pregnant. She’ll open her coat and they’ll see.”

  “But she doesn’t look old enough to be the Latvian. She doesn’t speak any Latvian,” he said. “They’re strict here. There are senior officers in charge, not just young recruits.”

  Emilia reached out and touched the German’s knee. “Bitte,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t take you on,” he told her. “But she can.” He pointed to me.

  “I can?”

  “Yes. Like the old man said, skills are valuable. The larger ships will have hospital wards. They’ll need you. Present yourself for work, but tell them you want to bring your patients with you.”

  Emilia looked at him. “You are patient too,” she said.

  “Maybe. I do have”—he hesitated—“a medical condition,” he said.

  The shrapnel. I had nearly forgotten. “Oh, I haven’t even asked. You seemed well. How is your wound?”

  “It’s not that. It’s something else,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  Emilia patted her left ear and then pointed to the German.

  He stared at her, shocked but laughing. “What are you, a little witch or something? How did you know?”

  “What is it?” I repeated.

  He leaned in, over Emilia. “My left ear has been damaged,” he whispered. “I have papers, an important assignment. I need to get on a boat. But there’s a chance they’ll ask me to stay and fight instead. I’d have a stronger case with a medical testimony. You could say that I’m recovering from a wound along with losing my hearing.”

  What was he asking me to do?

  “I’m not a doctor,” I told him.

  “But I was your patient,” he said. “Please, just think about it.” He grabbed his pack and pointed up to the projection room. “I’m going to find my way up there.”

  He walked off. He had spoken more to me in the last five minutes than he had since he joined our group.

  The shoe poet was still awake, listening. He raised his eyebrows at me, then rolled over to sleep.

  alfred

  I stared at the envelope from Mutter. It had arrived two months ago. I decided to open it.

  My dear Alfie,

  I am so very worried. Despite my many letters, I have heard nothing from you. Please send a few words to let your Mutti know that you are safe. Are you eating well? How is your stomach?

  Heidelberg is fairly quiet relative to the rest of the country. I am grateful that we are insulated. I clean your room, in hopes you shall soon return home. Last week, while dusting in your closet, I discovered all of the butterflies pinned to the back wall. Imagine my surprise. So many, yet you never mentioned them. How long have you had them, Alfred, and why?

  All is the same as in my last letter. The Jägers’ house is still lonesome. Frau Henkel always mentions you when she speaks of the Jägers. I think you admired little Hannelore, did you not? I wonder if there is something you haven’t told me? Do not be frightened to share your secrets. I will not tell your father. When the war is over there will be a “right side” to land upon. The “wrong side” could have grave consequences. Your father is aware of that. I hope you are too.

  Remember to wear two pair of socks. It will protect your bunions.

  With loving thoughts always,

  Mutti

  • • •

  I grabbed a pen and paper.

  Dear Mutter,

  Your letter has just arrived. I am in Gotenhafen. I am fine and very busy. I am working on the ship Wilhelm Gustloff and am too occupied in duty to write often. Do not touch my butterflies and please refrain from entering my room. I know nothing of the Jägers.

  Your son,

  Alfred

  florian

  I knew it. The nurse would want to see my ear. I watched her make her way through the aisle, looking for the stairway. Would she find it? I sat down and began cleaning my nails with the knife.

  She opened the door. “I’m surprised it’s unlocked.”

  “I knew you would come up.”

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “You’re exceedingly responsible. You have this terrible need to heal people.” I looked up from my jackknife. “Why is that?”

  “You’re one to ask questions. You barely speak. I’ve asked your name several times and you won’t reply. Do you know what I call you?” she asked. “The German.”

  “I’m Prussian.” I looked down at my knife. Should I have told her that?

  “Okay, so now you’re the Prussian.” She knelt in close. “Let me look at your ear.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a small light, and peered into my ear.

  I could feel the warmth of her face near mine. An amber pendant rested in the hollow of her throat. “Nice necklace. Do you like amber?” I asked, thinking of the priceless swan.

  “I’m Lithuanian. Of course I like amber. Your eardrum has ruptured. This is recent. How did it happen?” she asked.

  “The explosion. Same time as the shrapnel,” I told her.

  She pressed around my ear. Her fingertips brushed against my earlobe. I twitched.

  “Does that hurt?” she asked
.

  I shook my head. No, it didn’t hurt. I was half-deaf but I wasn’t numb. The nurse’s face was inches from mine. Her mouth was close and her breath was in my ear. I closed my eyes, fighting like hell to hold off the shiver. She was testing me.

  She leaned back on her heels, grinning.

  “Are you satisfied?” I asked her.

  “Oh, yes.” She smiled. “You must be deaf in that ear.”

  “I know you said something. I could feel it. I just couldn’t hear it.”

  “Well, I’d like you to hear this. I’m Joana. You should call me by my name. Not nurse, not girl. Joana.”

  “That might be impolite,” I told her. “You’re older than me. I should probably call you ma’am, or maybe madame?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lie down. I want to check the dressing on your wound.”

  I lay back and folded my arms behind my head. I had to ask.

  “Or maybe you’re a Mrs.?” I said.

  “No, I’m not a Mrs.,” she said, inspecting my wound. “Do you have a Mrs.?”

  I flinched. “That area you’re touching now. It still hurts,” I said.

  “That’s normal. If it were infected, you’d have a fever and discoloration.” She had no problem returning to medical chat. She softly swept back my overgrown hair and laid her palm against my forehead. Her hand was warm. “You don’t have a fever.” She paused and cleared her throat. “So I’ve been thinking about what you said. We could all be split up tomorrow. I need to stay with Emilia.”

  “You need to?”

  She peeled my soiled bandage back farther. “Yes. Her time is near and despite the brave face she’s putting on, she’s probably quite frightened.”

  Are you frightened? I wanted to ask. Was a soldier waiting somewhere for her? I thought of the song “Lili Marleen” that she had mentioned. Maybe a guy was waiting under a lamppost back in Lithuania.