I was shaking when I returned to the greenhouse. How did I pull that off? I could easily have gotten myself killed or booted to Stalingrad as more slave labor. Was it my striped “pajamas” and Polizei armband that saved me? That night I had nightmares about my little stunt. I was too close to the end of my journey to be taking such foolish risks.
The next morning I went straight to Ilse’s and told them that no matter what, we were leaving in three days. Neither of them argued. I broke the news to Arthur and Mrs. Novak while eating our usual dinner of ham and asparagus. Arthur was grateful that I had stayed as long as I had, and Mrs. Novak made it clear that I was welcome to stay on, but they both knew I needed to get home. As usual, after dinner we listened to music on the shortwave radio.
Arthur excused himself early. The next day he handed me a letter, hoping that a commendation from the mayor of Wustrow would help with any problems I might encounter on my trip.
The Novaks must have told everyone in Wustrow, because people stopped me on the street or came in the mayor’s office and shoved marks into my pockets.
“Do take it. Money is worthless here. We live on a barter system, but it might come in handy for you.” I ended up with several hundred marks. Well, if I don’t spend it, it might become a collec-tor’s item or at least a souvenir, I thought.
The Novaks’ neighbor, Irma, arrived at the house with tears rolling down her cheeks. Irma had trusted me to lance a seriously infected boil on her neck, which was healing nicely. She gave me a piece of smoked ham and a green striped tie that had belonged to her husband, who was “missing in action.”
Still feeling guilty about my insensitive remarks in front of Mrs.
Novak, and my reluctance to notify the authorities about the rape victims, I took the ledger to the garrison. It also gave me a good excuse to have one last visit with Sonia. She was berating two soldiers like an older sister who had caught her brothers snooping in her underwear drawer. She seemed genuinely happy to see me, which made me ask myself why I hadn’t come around more often.
“Where are you from?” I asked her.
She named a town in Poland. I never heard of it, but to impress her I nodded as if I knew.
“I came here as a so-called volunteer three years ago. Otherwise the Nazis would’ve cut my parents’ food rations,” she told me.
“I suppose this was a quaint, peaceful little town.”
“Not for us. We were treated like dirt and worked like cattle in their fields and as their domestics.”
She asked me what I had in my hand.
“It’s a list of all the rapes that have been reported.”
Sonia shrugged her shoulders. “I was raped, too.”
“Lately?”
“Oh, no. I’m safe now. The word got around that I’m private property. It was a couple of years ago. My complaint went right into the waste-paper basket. He was a Nazi official.”
“Are you going home soon?”
“No. I’m waiting for that bastard to return so I can get even.”
“I wish you success,” I said and dropped the ledger on her desk.
“I promised the women I would deliver this. What you do with it I could care less.”
As I returned to the mayor’s office a group of women milling about in the marketplace caught my eye. They were wearing camp garb, striped uniforms, or civilian clothes with red X’s painted on the back. A few clutched bundles under their arms, most likely clothes and valuables left by fleeing Germans. None of them was older than forty. Seeing a survivor over that age would have been a rare sight, indeed. Approaching the women I heard two of them chatting in French. From their tattoos I knew they had been in Auschwitz.
“Ou allez vous?” (Where are you going?) I asked.
“We’re going to Berlin to be repatriated.”
I asked her my usual question.
“A young girl with red hair named Stella? It’s quite possible.”
The other French woman, who had a distended stomach, grabbed my arm. “Yes, yes, Stella. We left her and some others on the other side of the lake, twelve miles or more from here. We had to make a big detour because there wasn’t any road. You can’t miss the house. It stands all by itself on the top of a hill.”
“Are you sure her name is Stella?”
“I’m certain.”
I asked her three more times. The woman was positive that it was my Stella. I could barely contain myself.
“You better hurry. They’ve been there for three days, and they were all very ill, the poor things.”
As I sprinted to the mayor’s office, she called after me.
“Be careful, I think it’s typhus!”
Typhus! If Stella has typhus and has gone three days without medical attention I would have to fear the worst. But the woman did say “she thought.” It might be influenza.
Arthur had a hard time understanding my German when I excitedly asked what was on the other side of the lake.
“A woman told me there’s a house up on a hill.”
Arthur thought for a moment. “There’s a hunting lodge. I was there once, a long time ago. I don’t think there’s anything else over there. Why?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I told him and bolted out the door.
It was late in the afternoon, and I decided that the quickest route would be to cross the lake. I knew that the owner of one bungalow had a canoe stashed in the reeds. Having watched the man from Arthur’s dock, I also knew he hid the paddle in a nearby bush.
The canoe’s hull grated against gravel as I pushed off. Startled ducks flew off quacking. Looking out in front of me, the lake never seemed so vast. I paddled frantically, struggling to keep a straight course. I was skilled at canoeing, but I had never been so desperate to get to a destination. Muscle fatigue quickly set in, calming my stroke.
For a stretch, the lake was placid and I glided briskly over the glassy surface. Green patches of water whipped up by the wind began to blossom, bucking and bobbing the canoe and threatening to pull the paddle out of my hands. A huge gust came close to stopping me dead in the water. These blasts became frequent, steadily increasing in fury. When my efforts couldn’t keep the canoe moving forward, I threw down the paddle and let myself drift.
I was in the middle of the lake. Black clouds rimmed with gold were gathering above me and had already covered the setting sun.
A screen of opaque grayish rain was over the town. I began to look for a place to beach the canoe. Off to my right was a small island surrounded by rushes and home to a few willow trees. In my haste I had forgotten to take any provisions, but I decided to spend the night on the tiny island without food, then return and make the whole journey again in the morning.
Dead tired, I pushed my way through the reeds and drew the canoe onto solid ground. Great drops of rain began to fall. I gathered up a few willow branches, piled them together for a bed, and put the canoe over me. As the rain beat down I thought of Stella. It had been raining when we were separated. Those showers had mocked our tears, and this storm seemed to conspire against our reunion.
Toward midnight the rain and wind relented and the sky cleared. The moon glowed over the hills. In the distance a few lights shone in Wustrow. Even though I was spent, I couldn’t sleep.