“Straighten your back,” Priska instructed Günther. “Look this way. Your face closer to mine. Now go—”
And off they went, jerking down the deck. Thomas laughed loudly so they would hear him and remember they weren't alone.
A few times back and forth and they were moving more smoothly.
“Now we go to the end, and you dip me and kiss me,” Priska announced.
Thomas froze. Günther was going to kiss Priska? Just like that? He had the urge to run and cut in. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He was the one who was supposed to kiss Priska. He felt she was doing the same thing she had done with Manfred—encouraging Günther's attention even if it wasn't the kind she wanted. He wondered if she didn't have feelings for him after all, or if, for some reason, she enjoyed creating a kind of love triangle like the one she had talked about in Mazurka.
The music inside the ballroom stopped and the crowd clapped. Thomas felt a wave of relief that this would put an end to their dancing, but Priska and Günther kept going just the same. A new song started. It wasn't a tango but that didn't seem to matter to Günther. He danced Priska to the railing and tipped her back. Priska's hair swung as she leaned her head back. Her eyes were wide—perhaps she hadn't expected Günther to follow through.
Thomas felt words sticking in his throat. But it was too late. Günther leaned in and kissed her, loudly enough that Thomas heard the puckering sound. He didn't want to be caught looking and turned away.
Günther pulled Priska upright, and they walked back to Thomas, swinging hands and laughing.
“Well done” was all Thomas could think to say.
Priska grabbed her skirt and curtsied. “Why, thank you,” she said, letting out a nervous laugh. She turned to Günther and held out her hand, entreating him to bow. Thomas clapped as Günther swept his arms out and dipped his head in a dramatic bow worthy of a stage actor. Thomas wished it had only been a charade.
Günther's father pushed open the door to the deck and startled upon seeing his son. “You should be in bed,” he said. But he was smiling and looking beyond them. He pointed into the dark night sky. “Look.”
They moved to the railing. There, in the distance, was a faint beam of light.
“What is it?” Günther asked.
“A lighthouse on the Bahamas. We're really almost there.”
Priska was unusually quiet. Thomas looked at her instead of at the lighthouse, wondering what she was thinking and feeling. The night was balmy, but she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold.
Finally Günther's father said, “Come, Günther, your mother and I are turning in.” He put his arm around his son, and as they walked away, he added over his shoulder to Priska and Thomas, “You should be in bed too.”
Günther looked back at Thomas and Priska before following his father.
After they had gone, Thomas said to Priska, “You're quiet.” It wasn't like her not to care about the lighthouse. He would have expected her to be jumping up and down.
Priska turned to face him. The wind had wreaked havoc on her hairdo, and her curls fluttered wildly again. Her eyes were bright, even in the dim light. “I wanted you to dance with me, not Günther.”
“Then why did you ask both of us?”
“I'm not sure.”
“If you wanted to dance with me, then why did you—” Thomas tripped over the words he meant to say. Saying out loud that Günther and Priska had kissed would only make it more real.
“Kiss Günther?” Priska said. “I wanted to make you jealous. But he wasn't actually supposed to kiss me. You were.” She dropped her gaze to the deck.
“It worked,” Thomas said. “I was jealous.” He stood there, feeling as if the space between them was much larger than it was. Priska had said she wanted to kiss him. This was his chance. He was so close to her, yet he couldn't bring himself to do, or say, anything.
“Thomas?” Priska said.
“Yes?”
“Now is where you kiss me.”
She closed her eyes. Thomas stalled, looking at her. Her face was upturned, as it had been in the theater when Max kissed the beautiful young actress. Thomas breathed in, felt his heart pumping in his chest. He leaned closer and then stopped. Priska opened her eyes.
“No. I'm not going to kiss you. Not like this, when you just kissed Günther.”
In the flickering light of the ship's lamps, Thomas saw tears in her eyes.
She said, “Don't you ever do anything rash? Something you regret later on?”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “You know I do.” Although what he regretted most was what he hadn't done.
Priska looked away from him, out at the lighthouse again.
“I'm sorry,” Thomas said.
She said softly, “I am too.”
Chapter Fourteen
The ship was quiet the next day as people stayed in their cabins packing and readying themselves for their new lives. Thomas had little to pack. It would have taken him even less time to arrange his garments in his suitcase if he hadn't come upon the letter he had received from Walter back in the Cherbourg harbor. He studied the handwriting for far too long, wondering if he and Walter would have more in common than their pen manship.
Later he wandered around the ship, which seemed ghostlike for its emptiness. He didn't see Priska once all day and decided to dine in the tourist-class salon that evening. He wondered if in not kissing her, he had made a mistake he would regret forever, yet he knew it wouldn't have felt right.
The ship's Klaxon sounded at four o'clock the next morning. Thomas climbed down from his bunk, dressed quickly, and returned to the tourist-class dining salon. He sat at one of the rows of long wooden tables. Like many of the people around him, he only picked at his food. He knew that the others had little appetite from the excitement of arrival, whereas he was anxious both about seeing Priska and about whether they would be allowed to disembark.
At first the dining hall was unusually quiet, but soon people were leaning close and whispering. The whispers turned louder.
“Did you hear?” Oskar said to Thomas. “We've anchored outside the harbor. Apparently there's some problem.”
“Some people have false passes,” a woman sitting across from Thomas replied. “Those people are holding us up and putting those of us who paid good money for our passes in jeopardy.” She narrowed her eyes at Thomas, as if she knew him to be one of the offenders.
“No, I heard it's something about the ship's documents,” Herr Kleist bellowed at the woman. He ripped off a huge bite of sausage with his yellowing teeth. “Something about the crew.”
Thomas pushed his plate away. Rumors have some truth to them. What little appetite he'd had was gone. He remembered how his mother had pressed him to eat the morning he boarded the St. Francis. He hadn't been able to eat then either. If they weren't allowed in, she would be devastated. All she wanted was to see him safe. And Priska—Thomas couldn't even imagine how upset she would be. It would turn her whole happy world upside down.
He left the gossip of the dining room to go on deck. It was still mostly dark out. He had hoped to find the ship inching along but it was anchored, and he could make out the lights of Havana in the distance.
Thomas walked across the deck, navigating around the deck boys with their mops and buckets. He went to the entrance to the first-class dining hall and looked in. There were the Affeldts. His heart stuttered as he saw Priska. Thomas had expected her to be wearing her frilly white dress. But she was wearing a navy dress he'd never seen before. It hung a little slack on her frame, and Thomas wondered if it was her mother's. Still, she looked grownup in it. It suited her far better than the child's dress. She was so pretty the way she brought her fork delicately to her mouth. To the lips he'd almost kissed. What if he had missed his chance? Looking at her, he had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to protect her, to make sure everything turned out all right.
Professor Affeldt spotted him and waved him over.
Thomas was a
ware of every step he took, and equally aware that Priska was not looking at him.
“Have you eaten?” Professor Affeldt asked him.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “I was up early with the Klaxon.”
“Have you heard we're not allowed any further into the harbor?” Marianne said.
“It's just a health check,” Priska said, finally looking at him but somehow still not acknowledging his presence. She spoke matter-of-factly, as if she were answering a question in school. “We saw the Cuban doctor come on board. He needs to make sure we're all healthy before we can be admitted.”
“Sit with us while we finish up,” Professor Affeldt said. “Then we're going to get in line so we can be one of the first on Cuban soil.”
“All right,” Thomas said, and sat down. He glanced over at Priska but she had turned away from him again.
Usually Thomas would have been annoyed at having a doctor shine a light in his eyes, jab a wooden stick nearly down his throat, and question him about diseases he might have had. But the doctor was Cuban, not German, and Thomas just wanted to finish the checkup. They were supposed to have their passes stamped immediately after, but they were told to wait. A launch pulled up and Priska and Marianne ran to look at it. Thomas followed and reached them as the launch nestled alongside the ship.
“We heard a launch could be taking us to shore instead of the ship's going all the way into the harbor,” Priska informed him, again with an air of indifference.
Three uniformed men climbed out and made their way onto the ship. A steward met them and shepherded them in the direction of the first-class dining hall, which had emptied of the breakfast crowd.
Marianne said, “It doesn't look like it's going to take us in.”
“Be quiet,” Priska snapped at her. “What do you know? You're just a child.”
Priska turned with a huff. As they followed her back to Professor and Frau Affeldt, Thomas wished he could explain to Marianne why Priska was being so mean. But he actually wasn't sure if it was because of him or because of what was happening.
“Cuban officials just arrived,” Priska informed her parents.
Frau Affeldt draped her hand over her eyes. “What more could possibly need to be done before we get off this rotten ship?”
While most everyone else aboard seemed to have gained weight and improved in overall health and complexion, Thomas thought she looked thinner than when they had left Hamburg.
Professor Affeldt waved a hand. He didn't look at any of them as he said, “Just logistics. Paperwork.”
Thomas glanced out toward Havana. Now that the sun had come up, he could see the palm trees with their fronds like giant umbrellas, and houses in such unlikely colors as pink and light blue. They were like nothing he'd ever seen before. He tried to imagine walking the Cuban streets, taking in all the new sights, smells, and sounds. He tried to imagine where Walter lived and what kind of food he ate. But it looked so different from any home he knew that it was nearly impossible to do.
“If we need to wait a little longer, we'll wait,” Professor Affeldt said. “We are good at waiting.” He sighed deeply. “Perhaps too good.”
By midmorning, the Cuban officials who had come on board started processing papers.
Thomas and the Affeldts hurried to be at the front of the line that soon snaked all around the deck. Around them everyone waited in silence. Lisbeth shushed Margot, as if talking might somehow jeopardize their chances of getting off the ship. The only sounds were Spanish words, the rustling of papers as the officials looked over documents, and the thwump of the stamp. As they came closer to the table, Thomas noticed how Priska's eyes were drawn to the stamp itself. She held her pass firmly between her thumb and palm. When it was her turn, he saw that her hand was shaking as she held out the pass. Once it was stamped, she hurried away. Thomas reached the table and held out his passport and landing card. He looked at the big red “J” on his passport. If they did get off, perhaps soon he could get a new one, without the “J.” The official raised his stamp and pressed it down on the landing card. Thomas felt a prickling sensation travel up his spine.
Next he went with the Affeldts to the top of the gangway. Another launch motored toward them. Priska held hands with her father and Marianne.
Marianne pointed to the launch and stood on her tiptoes to see it better. Everyone around them inched forward, waiting for instructions. But no instructions came. Instead another Cuban official boarded the ship and pushed his way through the crowd. “Move aside,” he barked.
“What's happening?” Priska asked, her face scrunched up.
“Excuse me, sir,” Professor Affeldt called out after the official, who kept going.
“Why aren't we getting off?” Priska said.
Thomas tried to console her by saying, “It must be more paperwork,” but she turned from him as if she hadn't even heard him.
No one wanted to give up their place in line, even though it became clear they weren't disembarking soon. A few minutes later the official came back, followed by the three other officials who had come aboard earlier, the ones who had stamped the passes. All four promptly climbed back into the launch and set off for shore. Only one official remained, a heavyset man who stood at the top of the ladder with his arms crossed.
“Wait!” Priska cried. “Where are they going? Come back!”
Herr Kleist elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. He was waving his passport and yelling, “Don't leave, don't leave!”
“What is the meaning of this?” Professor Affeldt asked the remaining official.
He answered in Spanish. Thomas couldn't understand a word of what he was saying, and the sickening feeling inside him was growing. People continued to push to the front and bombard the official with questions, but the answers became shorter. Finally it was just one word: “ntild;ana.”
“What do we do now, Vati?” Priska said.
“We wait,” he said again. This time his voice sounded tired.
“Here?”
“For a while, anyway. We don't want to lose our place in line.”
By midday the sun was beating down on the deck. Herr Kleist took off his jacket and loosened his tie. Lisbeth, her belly stretching the fabric of her dress, shielded Margot from the glare of the sun. Frau Rosen fanned herself with her hand. Another ship, half the size of the St. Francis, pulled up and anchored nearby. Thomas read the name on it: Arrieta. Passengers lined its decks, craning their heads to get a glimpse of the city.
“What's that?” Herr Kleist said, pointing.
“Looks like another liner,” Frau Rosen replied.
Herr Kleist pulled at his collar. “Another liner? From where? They better not get off before we do.”
Thomas saw Priska's shoulders sink. Her cheeks looked sunburnt.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“I'm just hot.”
“You need to get out of the sun.”
“I'm not leaving this very spot.”
Thomas took off his hat and offered it to her. “At least put on my hat.”
Priska let him set it on her head. She closed her eyes.
He sat down next to her. “You can't be mad at me.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, you're the one”—he lowered his voice— “who kissed him. Second of all, you said if you could, you'd go through life without any arguments.”
“Well, I guess I was wrong,” she said.
Thomas opened his mouth to ask which part she had been wrong about—kissing Günther or going through life without arguments—when Herr Kleist yelled, “They're getting off!”
Thomas jumped up. Priska stood too, teetering on her feet at first. The passengers on the Arrieta were indeed filing off onto a launch. Frau Rosen screamed. Lisbeth started crying, huge sobs that shook her whole body, even her enormous belly.
Professor Affeldt climbed up one of the masts so he was above the panicked crowd. “Listen,” he yelled out over everyone. He waved his arms, t
rying to get their attention. “Listen up! Screaming like this will not advance our cause! Do you want to get off this ship?”
Lisbeth wiped her face on her sleeve. Margot clutched her doll to her chest.
Jürgen said, “Quiet! Listen to the man!”
Herr Kleist fell silent and the rest of the crowd settled too. Professor Affeldt continued, “This could be a good sign. Others are being admitted. Hopefully we will be next. Above all else, we need to stay calm. Remember, there are many people who think we Jews are animals. We need to behave in accordance with all measure of the law. We need to show them the refined and civilized people we are.”
Frau Rosen spoke up. “He's right. We must stay calm.”
“By asking our questions politely, we will find out the situation at hand,” Professor Affeldt added.
The captain had come on deck and was listening to Professor Affeldt. Thomas wondered if he would be threatened or upset by Professor Affeldt's taking charge of his ship, and if he might order him to stop immediately. But Professor Affeldt finished of his own accord and stepped down, at which point the captain asked to have a word with him on the bridge.
Professor Affeldt walked off with the captain. Be hind him, Herr Kleist ranted, “Where do they think they're going?”
“Enough from you!” Frau Rosen snapped.
Herr Kleist scowled but he kept quiet while they waited. Thomas watched Priska, wondering how long she could stay mad at him and whether he would ever get the chance again to kiss her. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her lips were a flat line, as if to say she would stay angry for a long while.
When Professor Affeldt returned, everyone rushed to gather around him.
“What did he say?” Oskar asked.
Herr Kleist wiped at his watery eye. “Yes, you must tell us.”
Professor Affeldt motioned for them to calm down. “The captain is forming a passenger committee to serve as a liaison between himself and the passengers, relaying information so as to cut down on the questions and confusion. He has asked me to be on the committee.”
The Other Half of Life Page 11