So far Peter had not been in any hurry. But now there were many more people standing on the quayside in the harbour, waiting to be taken out to the ships, and there were no more ships in sight. The town was empty, but they still stood on the beach waiting. A torpedo boat came past to see if there was still anyone left, and even a U-boat put in an appearance.
Peter went through the empty streets one last time, and then down to the harbour. He passed the football field, which was full of house hold goods: furniture, sewing machines, grandfather clocks, all sorted according to size, as well as a solitary goat tied to a baby’s pram.
Busy Party officials made notes of all these things — how many pianos there were, how many armchairs — and checked up on occasional passers-by: Heil Hitler, what did they think they were doing here?
Soldiers were ordered around. They were given guns. ‘In your own time, quick march!’ they were told, and then they were sent off to fight the Russians. There were even members of the Hitler Youth among them, putting a brave face on it.
Many glances were cast at Peter. Couldn’t that fair-haired boy handle a weapon too? After all, it was a matter of defending the country. Hey, you, come here! It’s a matter of life and death.
Now men, stand up, and let the stormclouds break! Rise up, my friends, the flames send signals out …
No, Peter was rejected. He might have fair hair, but he was still too young.
A rampart of silent humanity stood by the harbour, waiting for a miracle: for another boat to come and take them out to the very last ship lying at anchor in the roadstead: a grey silhouette as if cut from grey cardboard. Everyone was hoping for that miracle to happen for himself alone, and they were all surging down to the water to make the miracle come true for themselves. On board a ship to cross the sea! To Denmark. Perhaps we’ll be lucky? Strawberries and whipped cream, why not?
They stood as if they were lined up for the Last Judgement, awaiting the verdict.
Peter forced his way through the crowd, his microscope under his arm and with his binoculars and air pistol, and he gradually managed to get closer to the front.
‘It’s no use, my dear boy,’ a woman with children holding both her hands told him. ‘You won’t get through.’ But Peter wasn’t giving up, and at last he was on the very edge of the waterside.
One last launch was coming along the quay. It was crammed with people standing close together, the tips of their toes clinging to the side of the craft.
It passed by, its wash creating a semicircle. Then Peter saw Herr Drygalski standing in the boat in his brown jackboots, right at the front beside the sailor steering the launch. At that moment Drygalski also saw Peter. He pointed to him, and said something to the sailor. Sure enough, the sailor steered the launch very close to the quay. Drygalski jumped out, right into the crowd of people — they flinched back, shouting ‘No!’ It all happened very fast. Drygalski pushed Peter into the launch, and stayed behind on the quay himself.
Did he wave to Peter?
Was everything all right now?