Forced Journey

by Rosemary Zibart

  The boy shook his head. “This is our home where I belong. I knew you would ask me back, soon as you could.” He grinned as he held up the glass, ready for more. Bettina sidled up next to him like a kitten.

  But his father’s face had turned serious, almost stern. He put the bottle down hard on the table. “No, Werner, you must listen. I’ve got something very important.” From a drawer he pulled out a thick envelope, opening it quickly. “For you, my son, only you.”

  He handed Werner a little booklet with a dark blue cover stamped with a Nazi swastika. Inside was a photo of a boy. The boy’s cheeks were round, and his hair was combed neatly. Werner could barely recognize himself. It was an old photo, taken several years ago, when he was no more than nine.

  “This is your passport,” said Father. “You will never know what it took to get it.” His eyes darted, however, toward the empty space where Mother’s beautiful piano had stood. Was that the price of a passport? Werner wondered.

  Father put the booklet back in the envelope and took out a large ticket. “Here’s the real prize.” He looked extremely pleased.

  “What is it?” Werner asked, uncertain why he was being given this stuff.

  “A ticket for the S.S. Hansa, leaving from Hamburg,” he said. “You are a passenger.”

  “The Hansa? A ship?” Suddenly the boy’s face became hot, his palms sweaty.

  “It’s going to America in three days,” Father replied. “You’ll find it on Pier 37.”

  “Me? Find a ship?” Werner exploded. “What are you saying? You mean for me to leave? Why, I’ve just come home!”

  Bettina’s head jerked up. Father pursed his lips, saying nothing. That was his answer.

  “No, Father, I’m not going.” Werner quivered with rage. “You can’t make me go! You can’t!”

  His father stiffened, also angry. “You don’t want to go? You don’t know what you’re saying!” He grabbed the boy’s thin shoulders and started to shake him. But Werner pushed him away roughly. In that instant, the two realized they were equally strong.

  “You don’t want me here, do you?” Werner yelled. “You never wanted me here – that’s why you put me in the orphanage. And now – now you’re getting rid of me again!”

  “No, Werner, that’s not true,” Father tried to explain, but the boy didn’t let him. The pain of that long, lonely year jostled his heart.

  “You don’t care about me – you don’t! You never have!”

  Father looked frantic. “Werner, please, you don’t understand. You must go. It’s the best chance you have – to stay alive. That’s what counts now. All that counts. Please understand.” His voice was so choked by now, he could say no more.

  Werner stood staring at his father dumbly. He did understand. He’d seen it happen. The Nazi Gestapo pounding on a neighbor’s door, hauling off grandparents, parents, even young children. They’d disappear. No one knew where. To escape that fate, many Jewish families had already fled the country. Others were desperately trying to find a place to go.

  Slowly, Werner reached for the envelope.

  Lines of worry vanished from his father’s face. “War has begun,” he explained. “Soon no more ships will be traveling from Germany to America.” His voice was now low and steady. “That’s why you must leave right away.”

  “Why just me? What about you and Bettina?” Werner demanded. “Can’t we all go together?”

  Father glanced at Bettina, his face sadder than his son had ever seen. “I wish it were possible. Truly, I do.” He shook his head. “But I am too old and your sister is too young.” He gathered Bettina in his arms and pressed her to his chest, stroking her fine hair. “We will stay together. Here, where we’ve always lived. During the good times and now the bad times.”

  Seeing the two of them so close hurt Werner yet again. They seemed like a complete family – without him.

  Father read the look on Werner’s face and pleaded once again. “You go first, son. Get a foothold in this new country – a place for us to live, a safe home.” For a second his face glowed with hope. “Then we’ll follow, I promise. We’ll come too.”

  Would they really come? Werner wondered…

  Yet his father wasn’t giving him a choice. Either he went alone or none of them did. His father couldn’t make him go, and yet he had to. Werner had to take the chance of going first, with the hope that Father and Bettina would follow. The other possibility – no one going – was like choosing a dead-end street. Nothing ahead, no way out.

  Though Werner couldn’t say no to his father’s plea, he stalled. “How will I get to Hamburg? I’ve never been by myself. I don’t know the way.”

  “The ship sails Wednesday. That gives you three days. It’s too dangerous by train, so you’ll need to walk, using road signs.” He paused. “I know it is difficult, son. I wish I could go with you at least as far as Hamburg.” He glanced at Bettina, adding, “But being alone is better, because you can travel fast. And traveling fast is safer.”

  Father was speaking quickly now; he knew what he had to say. “I have written to a relative of your mother’s named Esther. She will meet you on the pier when you arrive. She’s promised to take care of you until…” He hesitated a moment…“until we can come.” Then he went to the closet and pulled out a pair of boots, his own good hiking boots. “These are a bit too big, but better than what you’ve got.”

  He watched as Werner took off his shabby old shoes. Beneath them, his socks had more holes than yarn.

  Bettina giggled. “Look at your toes.”

  Werner pulled off his socks and put on the boots. Though they didn’t fit, he was pleased. His father had once belonged to a hiking club with stout Germans from town. He’d worn these boots proudly every weekend as they tromped through nearby forests. The boots smelled of better days.

  Then his father fetched something else. “Here’s a wool loden-cloth jacket that belonged to your mother,” he said. “It’s been packed in a trunk for years, so it doesn’t have a yellow star sewn on it.”

  The two looked at one another. Both he and Werner knew the risk of not wearing a star. The Nazi government required every Jew to wear a big yellow star on their clothes at all times. To be caught without one meant jail or worse. But wearing a star was also dangerous because it drew attention. Werner could be stopped by anyone and beaten up or even killed.

  He put on the pale blue jacket, the color of the sky on a spring morning. The wool carried the faint scent of mothballs, yet its warmth surrounded him like his mother’s embrace. Oh, how he missed Mutti! She had died four years ago of a fever when he was eight and Bettina was only three. In a few days, she went from being a charming lively woman to being so weak that she couldn’t lift her head from the pillow. She barely recognized Werner and Bettina as the children pressed around the bed, weeping. In the last instant of her life, however, she grasped her son’s hand tightly. “Werner, mein Liebling, mach es gut, es wird alles gut werden.” Take care, everything will be all right. That’s what she thought. But then, Werner figured, she had died before things got really bad.

  He was glad that she wasn’t there for this terrible day. How could he have said goodbye to her, too? Putting on his mother’s coat, Werner slid his hands into the pockets. His fingers closed around a tight wad of money that he pulled out.

  Father shrugged. “A few Reichsmarks. All I could manage.”

  The big old clock in the hall began chiming. His father’s face suddenly looked grey and tired. “You must get going, Werner. You need a good start before nightfall.” He carefully put the envelope with the ticket and passport in the boy’s knapsack. “Use your head, Werner. Don’t speak to anyone unless you have to.”

  Now there was no reason to delay, but Werner’s feet felt rooted to the old carpet. He gazed at Bettina and Father, wanting to hold fast to everything he knew and loved. He had been home less than an h
our and already he was leaving. With no idea when he might return, or when he might see them again.

  He started to say, “No, no I can’t.…”

  But suddenly, Bettina rushed over and flung her thin arms around her brother. He grabbed hold of her and kissed the top of her head. Since the death of Mutti, Bettina had been the sweet, soft part of their lives. For a moment her delicate fingers clung to his shirt. Then Bettina let go and ran to the window.

  “Go, Werner, go quickly,” she called, turning her face to the cool glass pane like they were playing a game.

  Father led him to the door and pointed north. “Hamburg’s that way. You’ll find signs on the edge of town.” He gazed at his son hard for a moment as if sealing his face in the vault of his memory. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I have one minute to give you a lifetime of advice, and… and I can think of nothing to say.” Then he squeezed his son’s shoulder ’til it hurt. “Only this, Werner…wherever you go, remember how much your mother and I loved one another. And loved you, our children.”

  “But you will come,” Werner insisted, his voice shaking. “You said you would.”

  “Write to us, Werner, as soon as you arrive,” Father’s eyes grew bright. “Tell us all about this new country. Everything. We so look forward to getting your letters. Please write.”

  A moment later, the door swung shut. Rain pelted Werner’s face, falling much harder than before. Father and Bettina were inside. He was outside. Through the window, he saw Bettina waving and waving. As if he were simply going to the market as he once did and would return soon with sweets in his pocket.

  Werner slowly turned and walked away, glancing back once or twice. His face and hair were quickly drenched by the rain. The air seemed much colder, too. He pulled his mother’s jacket close around him. Its warmth was all that remained of home.

  Chapter Four

  After the young man, Gunther, left his side, Werner kept walking toward Hamburg. Soon, he lost count of the kilometers. The sky grew dark as the road. The rain had let up but the wind still blew hard. His heavy boots, now coated with mud, seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Fortunately, a farmer pulling a big rick of hay slowed his pair of draft-horses. “Wanna rest your soles a bit?” he called out and Werner eagerly climbed on.

  He fell asleep on the wagon, not waking until dawn the next day when a loud rooster crowed in his ear. The sky was clear, and he figured he only had 25 kilometers remaining on his journey.

  Toward the end of the day, however, he lost his way. There were no signs – just wide empty fields and little cottages. He passed a few folks but was afraid to ask directions. Finally, he saw a plump child playing in the little fenced yard of a stone cottage. She looked about six; her hair was so fair and fluffy, it shone almost pink in the sunlight. She was commanding a shaggy brown dog to jump up and grab a piece of bread.

  “Wunderbar, Reiner, wonderful!” She rewarded Reiner with another piece.

  Werner’s stomach growled at the sight of bread. Did he dare ask her for a bit? Seeing him pause at the gate, the child stared and then cried out, “Mutti, Mutti!”

  Immediately, a blonde young woman hurried out the door. “What is it, Lottie, Liebling?” Seeing Werner, she stopped and stared too. In a trembling voice, he asked, “Do you know the way to Hamburg?”

  The child’s mother shrugged. “Cut through the fields over there; you’ll get there in a day.”

  One day. That’s all the time he had left.

  “Danke!” Werner yelled and started in that direction, but the woman called after him. “Warte eine Minute.” Wait a minute. She ran in the house and brought back a big soft roll, warm from the oven.

  “Here, Lottie, my sweet, give this to the poor boy.” Lottie shyly brought the roll to him.

  Werner wolfed it down, muttering thanks. Lottie’s pale blue eyes grew wide. “Gott segne Sie,” she murmured. God bless you. Then she ran back to her mother and the two watched as he stumbled across a wide field plowed in long muddy furrows.

  The roll from Lottie kept him going. Soon he reached a road sign: Hamburg, 23 km. I can make it…I will make it, thought Werner.

  But just as he began feeling good, a truck filled with soldiers pulled up. Three or four young men in Nazi SS uniforms climbed out. The way they yelled at one another and staggered along the road, Werner guessed they were drunk. He ducked his head, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, and began walking faster. That was a mistake.

  “Dummer Junge!” one shouted. Stupid boy! And the soldier began chasing Werner. His feet in the big boots were already blistered. The road was so muddy, he slipped several times. The soldier came so close he could smell sour beer on his breath. Fingers grabbed at his hair. Just before seizing Werner, however, the fellow slipped, falling flat in a mud puddle.

  “You silly clown,” his friends called out and stopped to pull him up. Werner kept running, fast as possible, and no one followed.

  Far down the road, he finally stopped, his lungs aching. His teeth were clamped shut. There was a damp patch on his pants where he’d peed. And his hands still trembled. What if the soldier had grabbed me? Werner thought. What then? A pistol shot to his head, his body thrown in the bushes. Things like that happened, he’d heard. No one would ever know – not his father or the lady waiting for him in America.

  Werner could barely walk another twenty minutes. His body ached; every muscle was stiff. Finally, however, he found a little shed. Jerking open the wooden door, he collapsed on the soggy hay next to two sheep and three lambs. He curled next to the woolly beasts and breathed in their dank warm smell. Bits of hay stuck to his hair and jacket, but he knew the animals didn’t care how he looked.

  He tried to ignore the groan in his stomach; even thin soup from the orphanage would have tasted good that night. Yet how proud Father would be that he had made it so far.

  Chapter Five

  Hamburg, at last. Rows of red brick buildings, narrow streets, churches soaring skyward, dozens of shops. Years ago, Werner had come to the city with his family. He had gazed eagerly at the automobiles, stores and crowds of people. His hand had rested securely in Mutti’s hand.…

  Now huge red banners with black swastikas were draped across every building. Nazi soldiers with guns stood on nearly every corner. As he passed, one soldier eyed him sharply and shouted, “Where are you going?”

  Werner froze. “I…I’m going to my grandmother’s house.”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed, his grip on his gun tightened. “What about school? Today’s a school day, isn’t it?”

  What day was it? Sunday, Monday, Wednesday? Werner’s mind went blank. “A school day, yes,” he stammered. “But Grandma is sick. I must go see her.”

  The soldier grunted and waved him on with his gun. Werner walked quickly. Time was running out. Three days had passed. Where was the S.S. Hansa? What if he missed it? How could he return to Father and say he had failed?

  Fortunately his nose led him there. He caught a strong whiff of sea – a sharp, salty odor. In a few minutes, he reached the pier. One giant ship after another was lined up, with scores of dockworkers loading cargo.

  “Where is Pier 37?” He asked an old guy with a scraggly grey beard, leaning on a barrel. “Whatcha want to know for?” the man replied. “You ain’t going nowhere yourself, are you?”

  Werner shrugged. “No particular reason. Just heard it’s a great ship to see.”

  The old man scratched his skimpy beard and pointed down the wharf. “Thar’s the Hansa; it ain’t far.”

  A minute later, Werner stood gazing up at the ship. The Hansa stretched up three stories, and seemed a city block long. Like Noah’s Ark, this vessel could hold all the pairs of creatures God wanted to save. Only now there were people, hundreds, seeking safety.

  All around him men and women were hugging, kissing, and crying - both the ones leaving and the ones left behind.
Werner longed to see a friendly face, someone saying goodbye to him. For a moment, he pretended a slight man blowing his nose into a white handkerchief was Father. A little girl squeezing a doll was Bettina. But it wasn’t true; he was alone, totally alone.

  That was the moment he first saw her. A slender girl, ten or eleven, dressed all in purple. A purple wool coat trimmed in black fur, purple leggings, and a little purple cap topped by a black furry ball. Her fragile heart-shaped face was framed in thick dark curls. With pale skin and startling dark eyes, she was the most perfect-looking girl he had ever seen. Except she was crying; tears soaked her cheeks and dripped from her chin.

  The girl clung to a tall handsome man in a heavy dark wool coat. He looked like a wealthy lawyer or banker. The girl clung to him like a young monkey, afraid of falling from a tree. “Mein Vater,” she cried again and again. My father.

  The tall man tried to comfort his daughter. “Anika, darling little Anika, mein Schatz.” He knelt down and hugged her. “I will follow soon. Don’t worry, my darling little girl, you will see me in America very soon.”

  Why, those were the very words that his father had said to him! That he would follow, that he’d come soon to America. Was it true? Would they both come?

  Of course they will, thought Werner, if I do what I need to do. Go first, get a foothold in the new country and write. Then Bettina and Father will surely follow. Werner turned and started up the gangplank.

  But he was only halfway up when a giant ugly man in a sailor’s uniform blocked his path. The sailor had a flat round face with a squashed nose. “Du Schnottnase! Du Dreckstück!” He gave Werner a rough push. “Where do you think you’re going, you snotty-faced dirtbag! Trying to sneak past me!”

  The boy pulled out his ticket and tried to stick it in the man’s face. But the sailor ignored the papers and starting pushing him back down the gangplank. “Who do you think you are? I see by your dirty clothes you are no better than me. You won’t get on board. You won’t get past me.”