Chapter Fifteen
“THAT WAS QUICK THINKING, but I will never be able to show my face in the port of Danzig again,” the Captain said, not entirely amused.
“You won’t have to!” Brand said as he emerged from below.
They watched the German boat disappear in the distance until it was just a speck. Half an hour later, when they were certain the gunboat was not returning, they all stood on the deck raising champagne glasses. Jonas stood watch on the bow. “We are safe now,” Brand said. “Except for the British patrol boats,” the Captain countered. Brand swiftly lowered the swastika flag that was hurling in the wind and raised the Danzig flag.
“Welcome the British,” he said as he tossed the Nazi flag into the sea. They all applauded as each of them watched the flag slowly sink into the ocean. Jonas remembered how he buried his flag into the sand on the beach of Sopot. Someday he was going to tell them all the truth about what happened with him and then . . . . Watching as Brand reached for Lucia and softly touched her cheek with his fingertips, he thought, Well, not everything.
“Now for something to eat,” Lucia declared. “Anyone hungry?” A little later she appeared from the galley with a tray of smoked salmon sandwiches, and everyone ate, even Brand, who was standing like a soldier with his binoculars searching the horizon for boats. He told Jonas, that just when everything appears safe, that is the time to become most vigilant. For Jonas, standing next to him on the bow munching his sandwich, the boy saw another picture of his father that day. The man crouching down with a rifle ready to kill the Germans, and now a man who still had the wisdom to be alert, conversing with the Captain, giving him instructions if they were stopped again. Jonas decided he’d do his part and went to the stern of the schooner as he once did on the balcony of his room, although instead of looking for soldiers he searched the horizon for boats. The sea was calm as a lake. Sea gulls encircled them, following their small vessel. If he’d looked harder, Jonas would have spotted a submarine that was lurking behind them. “It has to be a British one,” Brand whispered to the captain, “otherwise we would have been torpedoed already. Don’t tell the others.”
For the rest of the trip Lucia read and Brand played chess with the Prince when he was not on watch. Jonas worried whether Astor was fed and if Uncle Herman was safe. He knew how smart his uncle was. Would he keep his promise to come to America and maybe even find a way to bring Astor?
Four days later as they entered the North Sea, not far from the English coast, Jonas’ efforts were not wasted as he spotted a large ship speeding toward them. “There is a boat coming towards us,” he shouted as he ran to the pilot’s room.
“They can’t be Germans, we are too far west,” the Captain said with assurance.
One hour later, they were stopped at the Skagerrak Peninsula by a Danish ship. They were boarded and then escorted several miles through the North Sea. The British warship St. Thomas met them at the mouth of the Shetland Islands, and they arrived at Southampton the day before the Queen Mary was scheduled to depart for New York.
Captain Kowalsky decided to enlist in the British navy, and Brand presented him with the papers to the schooner, to do with as he wished. A gracious gift for a good and gracious man.
On August 25, 1939, twelve days after leaving Danzig, they boarded the Queen Mary as it prepared to steam toward New York. The first-class deck looked down on the tourist-class section – one of the criticisms heard about this new and very luxurious Cunard liner. Jonas roamed the many lounges of the first-class section, marveling at the expanse of green carpets and the gold inlays on the walls. Each morning as soon as he awoke, he went to the stern of the ship and watched the cabin boys in their smart blue uniforms with the line of white buttons in front being inspected by the headwaiter. They held out their hands to have their nails checked, and their shoes shone brilliantly, like glass.
There were kennels aboard ship, too, and after morning inspection, Jonas watched with an aching heart as the cabin boys took the dogs for their first stroll of the day. He often thought of Astor, wondering if Fräulein Marlow or Cook was feeding him and giving him the marzipan his pet enjoyed so much before bed.
Part of Jonas’ morning routine was to go to the swimming pool on the B-deck and then have breakfast with his parents at eight o’clock. In the evening he again dined with them, but this was always special fun because the Prince also joined in. They were the only first-class passengers who were not dressed in formal wear at dinner. Sometimes they were invited to dine at the Captain’s table, which faced a large mural depicting a rustic wooded scene of a lake and swans with birds alight.
After dinner, Lucia and Brand went dancing and drank champagne until the early hours of the morning. Jonas liked to play ping-pong and checkers with the Prince.
In the spacious theater he saw a grand American movie, “Robin Hood,” which starred a terrifically dashing Errol Flynn. Jonas understood two words, “O.K.,” and “good-bye.” There were no subtitles, but it hardly mattered. It was wonderful.
Most of the passengers were Americans, returning from Europe, but there were many others – Jewish doctors, lawyers, professors, musicians, and businessmen – who were fortunate enough to have visas and the money for the trip, along with just enough left over to survive for a short period of time in the new land.
Brand’s face still showed traces of the beating he’d received at the Nazi checkpoint. He explained to the few friends they made during the crossing that he had been involved in an automobile accident prior to his departure. For the most part, the family kept to themselves, knowing neither enough English nor feeling quite comfortable speaking German with some of the other passengers.
Brand paced back and forth on the deck, becoming bored and impatient with the long voyage. They were traveling 25 to 30 knots per hour, and with the weather holding out – it was absolutely splendid – they would arrive in New York on the seventh day, as scheduled. The long hours made him feel remorseful, anxious. Were it not for the cheerfulness and optimism of Lucia, he would have fallen into a deep depression.
“You saved our lives,” she told him each day. “If you had not planned so carefully we would all be dead. Remembering even those taxes,” she said admiringly. “Brand, you are remarkable.”
“And you are too generous. I almost destroyed all of us because I was crazy enough for a very long time to think that we could stay and survive. Wishful thinking, stupid and dangerous! It was simply good fortune that the German bastard tried to kill me and we were forced to escape. God in heaven, the irony of it all! I only hope your crazy brother is on his way out soon as well. Dear man, he should be leaving with your family by the first week of September.
“We lost so much,” Brand continued. “If I had only listened to Anspach and left five years ago, we would have no worries, none at all.”
“Don’t worry. We have plenty of money sewn in our clothing,” Lucia said. “And my smart husband will be a millionaire again in America. It won’t take long!”
Brand knew differently. There were desperate times ahead. America was still in a depression, and Roosevelt’s economic program was not really working; certainly it was not the hailed miracle everyone hoped for. But they were, after all, alive and together. The money was really trivial. Still, it was hard to believe they would never return to their beautiful home and everything they loved. Brand had some contacts with the coal people in the United States, but he was without any substantial support; and, he knew just a few words of English. It would be a tough road for them, starting over.
“I heard,” he told Lucia, “that in New York they have special names for people like us, names like ‘Greenhorns,’ and that they don’t really like foreigners. I never in my life felt as insecure as I do now. How in the hell are we going to live?”
The fourth night out at sea, the last night of August, began with a warm breeze and spectacular stars. There was a soft glow from the huge moon, which lighted up the deck. The Prince, Jonas, and Brand met
on the port side of the A-deck at midnight for a special ceremony. It was the Prince’s birthday, and with a special bottle of champagne, partly secured with the dollars that had been sewn into their traveling clothes, they toasted him and then they toasted America. Arms around each other, they hugged and kissed, even danced. They were off to new lives in America. The name thrilled them even as much as what awaited understandably unnerved them.
“And now, dear Prince,” Lucia asked, “what will we call you in America?”
“I will change my name to Roosevelt or Rockefeller. In America, everyone changes names,” the Prince said, and they all laughed.
“But what will you do in America?” Brand asked in a voice reflecting the evening’s champagne consumption.
“America loves a prince. I will be the Prince of New York, and will be toasted by the rich. The Morgans and Vanderbilts will seek me out!”
Brand knew the Prince was now as poor as he was – unless he had the good sense to send money ahead of him. He wondered if he would search out the family of his dear friend Bill, much-missed and never a day forgotten, and pay his respects.
“I could never live in Danzig again,” Brandenberg said. “I am no longer the Prince of Danzig. Danzig is dead.” By now, his speech was also becoming heavy, syrupy.
Jonas had never even seen his father or the Prince drunk. They swayed back and forth, singing German songs, recalling good times in much happier days.
The next morning, day five of the voyage, was September 1, 1939. The air was chilly. Brand and Jonas were playing shuffleboard on the A-deck, waiters in uniforms were serving hot bouillon. Lucia was lying on the chaise lounge, buried under many blankets. The Prince was again in a drunken stupor.
Lucia bought some clothing for them all at the fashionable shops aboard ship. With her own sparse collection of clothing, she felt uncharacteristically unstylish alongside the elegantly dressed ladies. But never had her jewelry sparkled so brilliantly.
There was a strange silence – a lull – on this voyage, despite some shenanigans, because so many of the travelers were still traumatized from what had happened to upend their lives. Every one of them had a story to tell. There was grief, and there was thoughtful and prayerful gratitude, too, that they had been among the lucky ones.
Perhaps most of all there was a sense of wonderment and love. In their hearts they loved this haven called America before they had even stepped on the soil of that blessed land.
The loudspeaker suddenly bellowed. Everyone expected that, as usual, there would be an announcement about the gala events planned for the evening.
“Attention, attention, this is the Captain. I have an urgent message for us all.”
Consternation gripped the passengers. This was not what was expected. Also, there were rumors of U-boats in the area, and stories of ships being torpedoed. Brand instinctively looked for the nearest lifeboats and jackets, and was already preparing himself for the next calamity.
“It is with a sad heart that I must inform you that as of five this morning, the German training ship, Schleswig-Holstein, is in Danzig harbor bombarding and demolishing the city, and that General von Runstedt and his divisions have marched into Poland. England and France, who have guaranteed the independence of both Danzig and Poland, have declared war on Germany. We are not in any foreseeable danger, but we are heading full steam for New York. The wind is at our stern, and we should be able to make and maintain better than thirty knots. I will keep you informed when I have more information. Thank you. God save the King! And God bless us all!”
The passengers on the deck were silent, stunned, and then came the outpouring of tears, laments, and sobbing. Lucia was beside herself with worry, thinking of her family in Warsaw. Had Uncle Herman been able to get to them? Jonas’ thoughts raced to Astor and his governess. Astor surely would be smart enough to hide. For each on board, there were personal thoughts and fears. Another war!
The Prince, almost always loquacious, now stared out at the sea, a peculiar look on his handsome face. From this point on he remained mostly in his cabin, skipping all his meals. Only at night in the glow of the misty moonlight could he be seen on deck, walking slowly, like a ghost. The mood aboard had turned to one of despair. The orchestra no longer played. Brand tried to engage his old friend in conversation, but the Prince only looked at him dumbly, as if in a delirium from his drinking, which now became constant. His fetish for immaculate appearance ended with shocking abruptness. Unshaved, unkempt – a man in a trance cast by the Devil himself – Prince Brandenberg repeated only one sentence: “I should have stayed behind.”
On September 3, 1939, before dawn, the Queen Mary slowed its engines. It was met by Moran tugboats, which majestically escorted the Queen into New York harbor. The air was cool, thick with fog; and there was a stench of dead fish, oil, tar, and smoke. The water was calm.
The decks were crowded with staring passengers, trying to see through the fog as the first light of day lit the horizon. Brand was standing next to Lucia, and Jonas climbed on the small captain’s deck, a forbidden deck, and waited. From there he could see the gray dark horizon, the shore, and look down on the people below. The ocean liner’s captain was stunned by the impudence of the young man from Danzig, no more than a boy, really, but he was impressed, too.
“Let him be,” he said to his chief engineer. “He needs the moment. He will never have it again.”
Brand, failing to see their friend, said to Lucia, “I better wake the Prince. He shouldn’t miss this. He is probably still drunk, or hung over.”
The cabin was in total disarray. Bottles of champagne were strewn on the floor, soiled clothing covered the room, and an empty ceramic bottle was on the bed, opened, a few crystals of cocaine still clinging to its sides along with a tiny silver spoon. The bathroom was empty; the cologne bottle uncorked and drained.
The Prince’s cabin was located on the starboard side. Near the railing Brand spotted a familiar silk robe, neatly folded, a pair of blue velvet slippers, and a scarf with the embroidered Brandenberg crest.
A shaken Brand stretched his body over the railing and gazed emptily at the still sea so far below. And for the first time since he himself was a boy, Brand Kruger’s body convulsed with tears.
“Prosit, Prince. Rest in peace. Europe is gone forever. You’ve taken her with you.”
The deadly stillness was broken by the jubilant playing of “Liebestraum” by the orchestra as the ship slipped slowly passed the Statue of Liberty. The Lady was thrilling. The foreign passengers stood gazing at it wide-eyed; some cried, others applauded, but not one head turned away from the sight of this magnificent symbol of freedom.
Then, as the sun rose on the horizon, an apparition.
Suddenly Jonas saw the magic city of tall buildings rising up from the sea like some great silvery ocean monster.
From his privileged perch he watched the Queen being nosed into the dock as burly men scurried about, tugging at the massive lines that secured her.
“All refugees and passengers not holding American passports will now depart from the A-deck for customs inspection. Please have your passports ready,” came the announcement.
“So now we are refugees.” Brand looked up to the heavens and said a silent prayer.
Jonas found Brand and Lucia in the long line that led down the gangplank. His face was sparkling with excitement.
A red-cheeked Irish customs inspector met them at the bottom of the gangplank: “Welcome to the United States of America. Let’s see your passports, and get your luggage please.”
He pointed to the huge pile of luggage on the pier, where the porters in their blue uniforms were waiting for their tips.
Brand said, “No luggage. Only what we are wearing, and this satchel.”
“Where is the Prince?” Lucia asked, worried.
“The Prince is not coming. He was delayed. We will meet him another time,” Brand said softly.
There was so much noise and distraction coming from the
pier that Jonas did not hear his father’s words. He smiled because he understood something that the porters were yelling:
“O.K., O.K., O.K.”
The End
AUTHOR’S NOTE
AS I SIT IN MY MEDICAL OFFICE HOLDING THE SCULPTED PIECE of coal the employees of Baltic Kohlen gave my father, I think that truth, indeed, is stranger than fiction.
I wrote Twilight in Danzig as a novel because most of the principals had died and much of the documentary evidence is lost – and because I was so young at the time. (I was born in 1930, six years later than my fictionalized self, Jonas.) But all the main characters in the story are real, with two exceptions and one important omission. The young American, Bill Harrington, and Jonas’ friend Gerhardt are my creations. And I left out my older brother Leo, a successful attorney in New York, because of our difference in age.
Since this is a novel, I have taken poetic license, but most of the events in the story are founded on fact, and the dates of historical events are accurate. My parents were fabulously wealthy and owned priceless art, including paintings by Edvard Munch, the whereabouts of which are currently unknown. Fräulein Marlow did secretly enlist me in the Hitler Youth, but some other details of her life, including an affair with Brand Kruger, are invented. My father did survive an attack from the Red Army after World War 1 and did know Albert Speer and Rudolf Hess. He did shoot a Gestapo agent and our family did escape by boat through the Baltic Sea. I did suffer what is called brucellosis (a kind of undulant fever) and was taken by a private train car to Berlin for treatment by the impressive doctor. And I may indeed have the dubious distinction of being the only Jew Hitler touched after 1934.
I still have in my possession a photo of myself as a boy with my beloved Astor, (see cover and picture inside).
Sadly, my Uncle Herman and most of my mother’s family perished in the death camps during the War.
As how I fared in the New World, well, that’s another story…
Twilight in Danzig Page 22