The Other Half of Life

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  Finally, as they sailed closer and closer to Germany, it seemed as if people resigned themselves to what lay ahead. Three days before they would be back in Germany, Thomas told Priska it was time.

  That night at 11:45, Thomas waited for her at the Orts-gruppenleiter's door. He checked his watch. How long could it possibly take for Priska to get the keys from Manfred? Five minutes, ten minutes at most? They had gone over what she should say—how she would convince him that she needed the key herself, then arrange to leave it at the end of the hall for him. She'd say he shouldn't come with her because her father was a night owl and if he caught her with him, she didn't even want to imagine what would happen.

  But it had been twelve minutes and there was no sign of her. Thomas silently cursed himself. He would give her five more minutes and then he would go check on her. In his head he saw Manfred pulling her into his room and closing the door behind him. Three minutes, no more. He couldn't wait five. He stared at the second hand on his watch—it went around twice. He couldn't wait any longer. He headed off down the hall, only to run into her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Are you all right?”

  She held up the key. She pressed it into his hand and whispered, “Good luck.”

  This time, he acknowledged, he would need luck.

  As he walked to the door, he thought about the risk he was about to take. But he was determined to get the cane, and he didn't care what happened if Holz woke and caught him. His father was likely dead. He would not be going back to live with his mother, no matter what Priska had said. He would get off the ship in Hamburg and stay there. He would live on the streets until he was picked up and taken away. The best he could hope for might be ending up at Dachau himself and finding his father. Yes, he had little to live for.

  Still, his hand trembled as he slid the key into the lock. It clicked open. The room was much cooler than Thomas's own cabin, a benefit of the ventilation on A Deck, and it was quieter too. Thomas would have to be silent. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Soon he could make out the bed and the Ortsgruppenleiter's shape under the covers. A man with a true injury would likely have his cane by his bed, but Thomas did not see it there. He breathed a silent sigh when he noticed it against the divan. He walked toward the cane, keeping his eyes on it. He reached the divan and bent down for the cane. His hand was on it when Holz rolled over. Thomas froze. Should he grab it and run, or wait to make sure the man was asleep? Holz rolled once more, rustling the bedding. Thomas didn't dare move now. He waited until his heart had quieted ever so slightly in his chest. He could do this. He knew he could. But he couldn't wait much longer. The longer he waited, the more likely he was to reveal himself by coughing or even just by breathing too loudly. Holding the cane close to his body, he crept out and eased the door shut behind him. It was tempting to take a moment to recover himself, but Thomas knew he couldn't waste time. Holz could wake at any moment and find the cane gone.

  Thomas ran to the top deck. He could simply toss the cane overboard, but he yearned to know how to open it and find out what was inside. He checked the very bottom of the cane first—the one place he had not really examined the first time. There was a small groove. It looked as if it could be pried open with a tool. But Thomas had no such tool handy. A ventilation shaft nearby had sharp edges. Thomas positioned the cane against the edge of the shaft and tried to jimmy it open. He was near giving up when, on the fifth try, the bottom of the cane popped off. Just as he had guessed, it was hollow. He wiggled a finger inside. At first he felt only wood, but then his finger caught on something that rustled. Banknotes—he was sure he had been right. But as he slid the papers out, he saw they were nearly transparent.

  He held them up to the deck light. Where he had expected to see numbers, he saw architectural drawings of planes. All the words were written in English. Thomas could make out only a few at the bottom: u.s. air force. It took him a few moments to realize what these documents were—blueprints of U.S. fighter planes. Holz wasn't a thief, he was a spy. Another Nazi spy in America must have smuggled the papers into Cuba and handed them off to the Ortsgruppenleiter, who was taking them back to Hitler.

  But they would not get their hands on them. The thin sheaves tore easily. Thomas ripped them into tiny pieces and threw them overboard. He watched as they fluttered off over the sea before disappearing into the dark. Thomas was about to let the last few pieces go when he heard loud footsteps.

  He turned to see Holz running toward him, no longer feigning injury.

  Thomas braced himself for the impact of his body, or a punch, but Holz grabbed Thomas around the throat and pushed him up against the railing. The wood bit into his back and Thomas heard the top rail groan under the pressure. He felt it give slightly behind him. Holz pushed harder.

  Thomas gripped the Ortsgruppenleiter's hands with his own, clawing for air as the man shouted at him. Holz squeezed harder and Thomas was certain he would die. He tried kicking his shins, but he felt like a small dog trying to jump up on someone. The world around him started to go fuzzy.

  When Kurt had punched him, Thomas had been almost grateful for the pain. He had wanted more and would have had his fair share of bruises if Priska hadn't pulled him away. All along on the voyage, Thomas had been inviting danger with his smart remarks. Only now he didn't want any more of it. Before, he had wanted to suffer, perhaps as his father had, as he had let his father do. But now he wanted the pain to stop. He would do anything to live through this. A quote from Goethe ran through his head: It is easier to die than to endure a harrowing life with fortitude. He did not want to take the easy way out.

  But no one else besides Priska knew what he was doing, and he had told her to stay in her room. He had involved her too much already. Thomas stopped struggling, hoping to conserve any strength he had left.

  The lack of oxygen made him not trust the next image he saw—that of Manfred rushing upon them, tearing Holz from Thomas and throwing him to the ground. Thomas slumped down against the railing. He gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. His throat ached and his chest burned.

  Manfred shouted at the Ortsgruppenleiter, “This man is one of our passengers.”

  “He's a Jew,” Holz said. “His life will be over soon enough.”

  He came at Thomas again. In the split second that Thomas had to process the fact that the attack was resuming, he realized his best chance was surprise. He gathered every last bit of energy inside him, and as the Ortsgruppenleiter reached for him, Thomas jumped up, slamming him in the stomach. The blow must have knocked the wind out of him because Thomas now had him against the railing. Manfred rushed forward just as Holz was coming back to himself, gasping for air. Manfred landed a hard punch, and all of a sudden there was a loud cracking sound. It took Thomas a moment to understand that it wasn't bones breaking but the railing giving way. The Ortsgruppenleiter fell backward, and before Thomas or Manfred could even think of reaching out for him, he disappeared and they heard a splash below.

  At first Thomas was certain that people would hear Holz's screams, but it was only moments later that the cries were fainter. Moments after that, they could no longer hear anything but the sea. Even if they had wanted to throw him a life ring, Thomas didn't know how they could have acted fast enough to reach him. Manfred and Thomas were left staring at the water.

  The only noise besides the engine was Thomas's labored breathing. He fell to his knees, from pain and exhaustion, and from shock at what had just happened.

  “Thomas?” Manfred said. “Are you all right?”

  Thomas swallowed, his throat throbbing. He tested his voice. “Yes,” he managed. His voice was hoarse but usable.

  Thomas tried to return to breathing normally, but it was impossible to take anything more than shallow breaths. Manfred waited with him, and after a while Thomas tried to stand. They both stared at the broken railing.

  Manfred said, “I'll tell the captain the truth. That it was an accident.”


  Manfred sounded calm but he paced the deck. Thomas moved to where the Ortsgruppenleiter had fallen over and looked down, but there was nothing to see but water.

  “Why should I trust you?” he asked, although he knew he really had no choice. If Manfred wanted to pin Holz's death on him, he easily could. Keeping the Ortsgruppenleiter from killing Thomas was one thing, but killing the Ortsgruppenleiter was another entirely. Manfred certainly hadn't meant to kill him, and he could be in a lot of trouble from very high up in the Nazi Party if he were blamed for his death.

  Manfred walked toward him. Thomas glanced back at the railing, realizing he had unknowingly put himself in a vulnerable position. Manfred was only a few steps away from him. All that separated Thomas from the sea below was the splintered rail. How hard would it be for Manfred to push him overboard?

  “You and I are not so different,” Manfred said.

  Thomas could feel the breeze off the water behind him. “How so?” He imagined Manfred would say that he too loved Priska, but instead he said, his voice scratchy, “No one here knows my mother is a Jew. I am a Jew.”

  At first Thomas thought this must be some kind of trick. But when he met Manfred's gaze, he knew the man was sincere.

  “I ran away from home when I was your age and got a job on this ship. The crew became my second family, a happier family than I had left behind. At first I thought I would someday tell them where I came from, but as things worsened and the hatred for the Jews grew, I knew I couldn't risk telling.”

  “No one knows?” Thomas asked.

  “The captain knows.” Manfred smiled, acknowledging that it was most unusual that the captain should know and not care. “He's taken me under his wing. He made me captain's steward to protect me. Now you know my secret too. And now I know why Priska wanted the key. I knew she didn't lock herself out. Some inane story she told me.”

  “But you gave it to her anyway?” Thomas said.

  “She needed it for some reason. That was good enough. I knew she wouldn't do any harm.” Manfred paused and then asked, “What was it that you threw overboard?”

  Thomas looked at Manfred, gauging whether to tell him. He had just saved his life and admitted that he was a Jew. What more could Thomas want? But he was still keenly aware of the broken rail at his back. “Blueprints of U.S. planes. He must have picked them up in Havana.”

  Manfred nodded.

  “Did the captain know the Ortsgruppenleiter was a spy?”

  “Yes. But not until he was already on board the ship; otherwise the captain would have quit. I imagine this is his last voyage—mine too.” Manfred stepped back and Thomas was able to move away from the hole in the railing. He realized he was shaking all over.

  “Will you be all right?” Manfred asked.

  “Yes,” Thomas managed. “Thank you.” Those two words didn't seem like enough for what Manfred had done for him. But it was hard to be grateful to someone about whom Thomas was still unsure.

  Manfred started to walk away, but he stopped and turned back. “I didn't think you would sacrifice that pawn.”

  “I didn't sacrifice it,” Thomas said. “I lost it. Sometimes that's all you can do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When he climbed out of bed the next morning, his throat still throbbed, which was the only way he knew he hadn't dreamed up everything that had happened. Thomas did a quick wash and comb, appraising the damage to his neck. It was bruised and swollen, and he wrapped a wool scarf around it before heading up.

  On deck, the bright light of the sun stung his eyes. He felt woozy and off balance. He stood gripping the railing, hoping to come back to himself somehow. He was still not feeling much better when Priska ran up to him.

  “What happened? There are all these stories going around … an accident … did Holz really go overboard?”

  Thomas nodded. He preferred to talk as little as he could, given the pain in his throat.

  Priska brought her hand to her mouth. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  She seemed to know that there was more to the story and that he would tell her everything in time. That she needn't rush him.

  “Just tell me one thing: Were you right about the money?”

  He shook his head. “They were plans. Blueprints of U.S. planes. I threw them overboard. Priska, he was a Nazi spy.”

  She smiled. “I can't believe it. And you got rid of the plans? You're a hero! And, Thomas, we're not going back to Germany! France, Belgium, Holland, and England have agreed to take us. Every last one of us on board. The Joint brokered a resolution. We've been saved!”

  Thomas was still too dazed to really comprehend the news. He tried to understand it all—he would not be reunited with Walter, but if he was lucky, he would find a new life somewhere else. He thought about how Priska had said he could live with them. Maybe he would, after all.

  For the remainder of the voyage, the ship came back to life. There was dancing, singing, joking. They played the usual deck games and even had a giant game of tug-of-war. Thirty-five days after they had left Hamburg, they docked in Antwerp. The representative from the Joint who had brokered the resolution came aboard to help decide which countries the passengers would go to.

  Thomas and Priska went to the social hall and stood outside the closed doors, looking in through the window. Soon Paul and Claudia came out. “I did the best I could,” Paul was saying to her.

  “How's it going in there?” Priska asked as she chewed on a fingernail.

  “Nine hundred people is a lot to sort out,” Paul replied.

  “Where do you hope to go?” Priska asked.

  “I have relatives in France,” Claudia said.

  Priska looked at Thomas. “We don't care where we go as long as Thomas is with us.”

  Claudia assured her, “They said families would remain together.”

  “Your father will try his best,” Thomas said.

  “The countries are fighting over the people with the most favorable U.S. quota numbers,” Paul explained. “That way they won't be a burden on that country very long because they'll soon be going to America.”

  Thomas and Priska walked back out to the deck. Günther, Ingrid, Marianne, Jakob, and Hannelore were huddled together.

  “Any news yet?” Günther asked.

  Thomas shook his head.

  Ingrid suggested they play shuffleboard to pass the time, but no one wanted to. Finally, around five P.M., a voice came over the loudspeaker: “The passengers who will disembark in Antwerp in preparation for transfer to elsewhere in Belgium and Holland have been decided. If your name is one of those called, please go to the dining rooms to have a light dinner. You will be disembarking in two hours' time.”

  Thomas froze, listening intently to the names as they were called. He told himself not to get his hopes up. Most likely he would not be with her. But then he heard Priska's voice in his head, telling him to have faith.

  “Blanka Rosen, Siegfried Adler, Pauline Einhorn … Emil Affeldt, Flora Affeldt, Priska Affeldt, Marianne Affeldt …”

  Thomas glanced at Priska.

  Marianne said, “What about Thomas?”

  “Shh,” Priska warned, holding a hand up to silence both of them.

  Thomas stood still, numb all over. With each name, his hope diminished. When the list was finished, his name had not been called.

  “We're leaving,” Priska said, her face blank.

  Marianne burst into tears and ran to Thomas. He wrapped his arms around her. “We'll see each other again soon. This is just for the time being. We'll meet in America.” Thomas couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth—promises he couldn't guarantee. He met Priska's eyes over Marianne's head. She mouthed his name.

  Thomas patted Marianne on the back. “Your father will be looking for you two. You need to have dinner. You can't travel on an empty stomach.”

  “I'm not hungry,” Marianne said.

  He forced a smile. “You? Not hungry? That will be the day!�
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  On the way to the dining hall, Priska walked close to Thomas. He smiled at her. He was holding it together for her and for Marianne too.

  “There you are,” Professor Affeldt said, walking to ward them. He looked from Priska to Thomas. “I'm sorry. I tried.”

  “I understand,” Thomas said.

  “Did you try everything, Vati?” Priska asked. “You said he was our cousin?”

  “Yes, of course, but, darling, you don't know how lucky we are that these countries have agreed to take us in the first place.” He reached out to her but she turned away from him. Professor Affeldt continued, “No one is going back to Germany. They've assured us of that.” He sighed and then said, “We should go eat.”

  Priska looked at Thomas. “I want to spend this last hour with you.”

  “Of course he'll join us,” Professor Affeldt said.

  “No,” she said, still facing Thomas. “I want to be on deck with you. I want to be alone with you.” Thomas couldn't help but notice how Priska's alliances seemed to have shifted.

  “All right,” Professor Affeldt said. “I'll see if I can take something to bring with us in case you get hungry later.”

  Priska took Thomas's hand and they walked to the railing overlooking the quayside. Below, deck boys carried luggage down the gangway.

  “I can't believe I'm getting off,” Priska said. “It felt as if we'd be on this ship forever, and now in a matter of hours it's all over. I know I should be happy, but where will you be sent? How will I know? How will we find each other again?”

  Thomas heard a strange calmness in his own voice as he answered, “We'll write to each other once we're settled.”

  Priska's voice was near panic. “But how will I know where you are? And who knows where we're going exactly?”

  “We just have to trust that somehow we'll find each other again.” Thomas raised his eyebrows and smiled. “We have to have faith.”

  “Don't make fun of me,” she said.