The Other Half of Life

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  “From Faust,” Thomas said. He had to acknowledge that the name might suit her. Gretchen was the one woman whose beauty Faust would sell his soul to the devil for.

  Priska nodded. “Thankfully, Mutti insisted I be named after her favorite aunt and not a woman who kills her illegitimate child, goes insane, and is condemned to death! My favorite books are Gone with the Wind and The Good Earth. Here my father is a professor of German literature and I love American books!” Priska looked up at the moon again. “By the way, what are you doing on deck so late at night?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Couldn't sleep.”

  “And you don't have anyone to worry if you're not in bed.”

  Thomas looked away. He was well aware he didn't have anyone to care for him, but hearing it so plainly stung nonetheless.

  “I just mean it was easy for you,” she said quickly. “I had to wait until Marianne was asleep and then tiptoe out. Luckily she sleeps like she eats, like an elephant.” When Thomas didn't reply, she asked, “Did you like having dinner with us?”

  “It was very nice of you to invite me,” he answered. He didn't think he could tell her that being with her family made him miss his own even more.

  Priska blinked but she continued to hold his gaze. The wind blew her hair around her face. “I can't wait till the pool is up, can you?”

  He paused before asking, “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Be so happy all the time.”

  Priska glanced at the sky. The moon had slipped behind a cloud. “I guess …,” she began, but Thomas heard voices and he stopped listening to her. He turned his head toward the voices so she would understand that he was trying to listen in.

  A man asked, “How many ships?”

  “What is it?” Priska whispered to Thomas.

  “Shh,” he told her.

  Another man answered the first. “Two. They both left at about the same time we did, but they're smaller and faster. If they get there first, the quotas for Cuba might be full and then who knows what will happen. We'll likely be stuck dragging these Jews back to Germany.”

  Thomas heard footsteps coming toward them. He took Priska's hand and pulled her behind a ventilation shaft. The men walked by. He recognized one of them as Kurt, the officer who had tried to keep him off the first-class deck.

  “This is no ordinary tourist cruise, that's for sure,” the other officer said to Kurt. He was dressed in the same Nazi Party uniform as Kurt.

  “Not when we're asked to treat swine like royalty,” Kurt answered. “I don't care what the captain says, it'll be quite a feat if I can keep looking at them without spitting.”

  Thomas glanced at Priska; her face looked pinched, as if she were wincing. He was almost glad to overhear their talk. It confirmed what he had known from the start—that they were on a ship with a crew composed of their greatest enemies and that arriving safely in Cuba was not a guarantee.

  The men continued across the deck, their voices fading. Thomas realized he hadn't let go of Priska's hand. He quickly released it.

  “See,” he whispered. “Everyone acts like we're in the clear. But you heard them, you heard what they said.”

  “So they don't like us,” she replied. “After we dock in Cuba, we won't ever have to see them or another Nazi again.”

  Certain that the men were gone, Thomas came out from behind the ventilation shaft, and Priska followed him. “What I don't understand is why the charade? Why not just treat us like they did back home?”

  Priska pushed her hair back from her face. “Vati says it's the captain's orders. He heard that the captain doesn't believe in any of the laws and as long as it's his ship, he won't have us treated differently than any other passenger. Vati says he isn't even a Party member.”

  Thomas clucked, still unconvinced. “I think I'd rather be treated poorly—then I'd know where I stand. And now there are two other ships. Like those men said, what if we get to Cuba and they're over the quota numbers?”

  The moon had peeked back out, and it shed enough light for Thomas to see Priska's hair bounce as the wind blew it against her shoulders. Even her curly hair seemed carefree, not like his mother's heavy, straight hair.

  “Other ships are going the same way. I don't see why that's a problem,” she said. “We have landing permits. That means we are permitted to land. We don't need to be worried about quotas anymore.”

  Thomas remembered how his mother and father had worried constantly about quota numbers. They spent hours discussing how many Jews every conceivable country, from Switzerland to Spain to South Africa, would possibly take.

  Thomas sighed. “If it's not a problem, then why were they talking about it?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Right,” Thomas said, “you don't know.”

  Chapter Four

  Thomas was determined to learn his way around the ship, to etch a permanent map of it in his mind. He imagined someday drawing it out for his mother or father to see. He knew this was just a fantasy, that it would likely never happen, but he let himself imagine it anyway. He walked from bow to stern, from starboard to port, from lower deck to upper. He found out that the first-class cabins were closest to sea level— and also farthest, he noted, from the droning of the engine. The best rooms opened straight onto the deck. Thomas passed men and women taking their daily constitutional or relaxing in lounge chairs. A man whizzed by on roller skates, nearly knocking Thomas over. At the stern was the smoking room, where mostly men chatted over coffee and played cards. Everyone on the ship seemed busy doing something normal—no one seemed concerned with whether they would make it to Cuba.

  On the sports deck, Thomas saw a group playing shuffleboard.

  “Thomas!”

  He heard his name and lifted his head, coming out of his own thoughts. It was Priska, shuffleboard cue in one hand, waving to him.

  He had just assumed that after he had been short with her the night before, she would have decided that he wouldn't be a good friend. But there she was, waving like he had never snapped at her in the first place.

  He walked over and stood with a few of the other players. “Your turn,” said the girl Priska was playing with. She had brown hair and her face was covered in freckles. Before Priska took her shot, the girl whispered something in her ear that made Priska laugh and shout, “Oh, Ingrid!”

  Thomas was content to watch, but a boy who looked about his own age said, “We're playing teams next. You can be on my team if you want.”

  “I don't play,” Thomas said. He wondered how they could have formed what seemed like a tight-knit group in just over a day.

  “You mean you don't know how?” the boy asked. “It's not hard.”

  Priska pushed the disk with the cue. The disk landed in one of the marked boxes and the boy called out, “That's ten points off!” He turned back to Thomas and explained, “That's the only one you don't want to get it in.” He wiped his hand on his pants and then offered it to Thomas. “My name's Günther.”

  “Thomas.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He smiled, revealing small, straight teeth. His hair was thick, which made his skullcap sit funny on top of his head.

  In the next round of the game, Priska landed in a high-point triangle. Marianne clapped. She stood on the side with another young girl Thomas soon learned was Hannelore. Both girls wore short pants with socks pulled up to their knees. Ingrid knocked Priska's disk out of the triangle with her turn. “Sorry,” Ingrid said, grinning.

  Priska tossed her head and stuck out her tongue at Ingrid. The match continued. By the end, Priska had won.

  “Now it's boys against girls,” Priska announced, looking at Thomas.

  “You sure you won't play?” Günther asked Thomas. “It's easy to catch on.”

  “No thank you,” Thomas replied.

  “Come on,” Priska cajoled.

  Thomas shook his head and Priska stuck out her lips in an exaggerated pout. A part of him did want to join in. A part of h
im wanted to laugh with them, to not care about whether he knew how to play or not. It was as if chess had ruined him for casual games in a way. He took everything too seriously.

  “Well, it's me and Jakob, then,” Günther said.

  Ingrid's younger brother's face lit up and he went to join Günther.

  On the first round Günther landed in a high-point triangle, and then Priska sent the disk flying past in the hope of knocking him out of the way.

  “She was out to get you, Günther,” Ingrid said.

  Manfred came by and must have witnessed the shot, because he called to Priska, “You need a lesson!”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.

  Priska shrugged. “It's fun like this.”

  “But it'll be more fun if you knock all the boys out of the way.” He moved onto the court. “You need to push more from your body, not just use your arm.” He stepped toward her. “May I?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he took the cue.

  Günther eased off to the side. Ingrid followed. Moments before, Ingrid had been giggling, but now her face was serious. Marianne and Hannelore stood quietly on the side too.

  Manfred demonstrated how to use more body than arm strength, knocking Günther's disk on the first try. Thomas wanted to tell Manfred he was doing nothing but ruining what had been a fun game. Manfred placed the cue back in Priska's hands. Then he put his hands on her waist. Heat rose up Thomas's neck. He thought of the way the waiter's eyes had traveled to Priska's chest and lingered there. He too would surely have loved any excuse to touch her. Thomas hated how the Nazis could touch and take whatever they wanted.

  “Like this,” Manfred said. “Turn your shoulders to face where you want to send the disk. Yes, good. Now pick up your eyes from the disk and use your body to push ….”

  “Oh, I see,” Priska replied, offering what Thomas hoped was a fake smile. She stood upright and stiff. “Thank you.”

  “You'll be winning in no time, showing all these boys who's in charge!”

  He stepped back and the playing tentatively resumed. But still no one smiled or joked.

  Thomas expected Manfred to leave but instead he came over and stood next to him. There was that heat again— Thomas wondered if his face was as red as it felt. The foot of space between them seemed much too little, but before Thomas could move away, Manfred came even closer. He elbowed Thomas gently. It would have been a harmless, chummy gesture among friends. But to Thomas it felt like a subtle statement of power—only Manfred could elbow Thomas. Thomas could never have elbowed Manfred.

  Manfred said in a quiet voice, “She's very beautiful, isn't she?”

  Thomas followed Manfred's gaze to Priska. He swallowed, trying to tame his anger. He remembered a knock at the door of the print shop, a Nazi officer questioning his mother, looking her up and down. Thomas had watched, knowing his father, who was hiding in the back room, would risk his life if he came out. Thomas often wondered what would have happened if the officer had tried to do anything to his mother. Would Thomas have moved to stop him? Would his father have come out, no matter what the consequences?

  Thomas looked up to see a man wearing a Nazi uniform coming toward them. He was tall and heavy-set, with a stubby nose and dark rings under his eyes. He limped ever so slightly and walked with a cane. Thomas thought it strange that a Party officer who used a cane would be on board a ship. Didn't you need legs of steel?

  The man stopped and saluted Manfred. “Heil Hitler. Is everything all right here?”

  Manfred straightened. “Yes, sir.”

  The man hesitated a few moments before leaving. Soon after, Manfred nodded at Priska and the rest of the group.

  “Well, enjoy yourself,” he said, and headed off.

  Bothered again by the ship's vibration and Herr Kleist's snoring, Thomas went back to the upper deck that night. He was grateful for the fresh air and relative quiet. If the ventilation shafts on the top deck actually fed fresh air to the lower decks, it most certainly didn't reach Thomas's cabin. He breathed deeply, clearing his head.

  People came and went: a couple holding hands, a group of young men, including Thomas's bunkmates Oskar and Elias. The night before they had come to bed long after the deck lights were extinguished, smelling of cigarettes and alcohol. Even once they were in their bunks, they talked in passionate yet hushed voices about Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht. They spoke of Luxemburg's last words before she was executed for being a founding member of the Communist Party, how she had predicted that the masses would indeed bring a revolution to Germany. Thomas had lain awake listening, reminded of the many nights he'd listened to his parents and their friends in heated discussion. Sometimes they had argued about how best to fight Hitler's regime. Someone would speak up in favor of a plan for sabotage or inform them of rumors of a putsch against Hitler, but Thomas's father always said they could never overthrow the Nazi Party without help from outside forces.

  At every noise Thomas hoped he'd look up to find Priska. But why should she come up to the top deck again? They had made no promises to meet. He hadn't even been particularly nice to her. Thomas scratched at the top wooden rail. The wood was almost spongy. From the outside the ship had looked flawless, but up close he saw that the salty air took its toll. He had just about given up on Priska and was considering going back to his cabin when he saw her walking toward him.

  “I was wondering if I'd find you up here again tonight,” she said.

  She joined him by the railing and looked down at the sea. “I asked my father about the other ships. He said it shouldn't be a problem, but I could tell it made him nervous. When he's nervous, he never looks me in the eye. He just doesn't want me to worry. Have you heard anything else?”

  “No, it's been quiet up here. If we really want to find out anything, we have to go looking.”

  Priska drew back from the railing. “All right. Where do we look?”

  He hadn't really meant for her to join him, and he hadn't even been serious about investigating at all, but now he felt compelled. And at her words a shot of adrenaline rushed through him, like when his mother and father would talk of an operation. After his parents gathered information, they figured out ways to get it to government officials in other countries whom they had managed to contact. They usually asked someone who was new to the group to carry the information. That way, if the person was caught and tortured, he or she would have only so much knowledge to reveal. Thomas had always wished he could take part. He imagined elaborate scenarios where they would need a kid to go where adults couldn't.

  Thomas said to Priska, “We would need to go where the crew are. They're the ones who will know about the other ships.”

  “Maybe the dining room,” Priska suggested. “They'll be cleaning up.”

  “We can try it for a start.”

  The last guests were trailing out of the dining room, commenting on the savory dessert of California peaches and raspberry ice cream.

  A young couple passed by them. “They're newlyweds, Paul and Claudia,” Priska told Thomas. Paul had his arm around Claudia. Claudia leaned against him as they walked. “They're always holding hands or kissing,” Priska continued. “Don't they make a handsome couple?”

  Thomas shrugged. “I guess.”

  Priska stared at them as they walked away. She laid her hand across her heart and sighed. “Look how in love they are.”

  The tables inside the dining room had all been cleared and looked strangely bare. The only noise came from the staff chattering and dishes clanging. Thomas and Priska slipped inside and stood near the door to the kitchen. Thomas leaned forward and peeked through the round window in the door. He could see the cups and bowls hanging in a line from hooks on the ceiling.

  “Some of these Jews didn't touch their food,” a man said. “I thought they were supposed to be greedy, the type to lick a plate clean.”

  “That's only when it comes to money,” another replied, and they both laughed.
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  Thomas glanced at Priska, who shook her head. The talk continued but it was mostly about everyday things: family, girlfriends, the weather.

  After a few minutes Thomas and Priska exchanged another look, and then Priska leaned close and whispered, “What's next?”

  Thomas motioned for Priska to follow him. Back out by the stairwell, he stopped. “We need to go where the real crew is. The ones who sail the ship, not the ones who scrub the dishes.”

  “Like to their sleeping quarters?”

  “Exactly,” Thomas said. He had explored what he could of the ship, but the crew's quarters and engine room were off-limits to passengers, and he had no idea where they slept. He felt sure that their nighttime expedition had come to a close and was surprised by Priska's response.

  “I know where they sleep. My mother and I were looking for the beauty salon and we got terribly lost.” She looked at him, waiting for his answer.

  “Let's go,” he said, feeling as if he had to live up to her expectations.

  As they headed down the stairwell, Thomas wondered if Priska was as short of breath as he was. For a moment he thought of his parents again, and he imagined them coming to him late at night, telling him they needed him for a very important, dangerous mission. He would need to go to England and deliver information to Neville Chamberlain himself. Would he have been too scared to do it? How could he have when his chest felt tight even now?

  Priska led and Thomas followed. He watched her back, waiting for her to suddenly stop and tell him she'd changed her mind. She could say she was worried her parents might come to check on her and notice she was gone, or that Marianne might wake up and find her missing.

  But soon they were down in the bowels of the ship, standing in the dimly lit passage outside the crew's quarters. The air smelled of sweat, mildew, and machine oil. They heard laughter and then what sounded like men playing cards. It was hard to make out their words from the far side of the passage.