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A strong hand grabbed Josef by the arm and swung him around. It was a sailor, one of the ship’s firemen, and Josef knew right away he was in trouble. The firemen were big, churlish brutes who were supposed to be on board to put out fires. But lately they’d been walking the decks, harassing the Jewish passengers. They’d been making trouble ever since the Cubans had told them they couldn’t leave the ship.
For three days the St. Louis had sat at anchor kilometers from shore. For three days, while port officials came and went, the Cuban police who guarded the ladder off the ship told the passengers they couldn’t leave today.
“Mañana,” they said. “Mañana.” Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Two days ago, the SS Orduña, a smaller English passenger liner, had arrived and anchored nearby. Josef guessed it was one of the other two ships they’d been racing to Cuba. He and the other passengers had watched as launches went to and from the ship, as the yellow quarantine flag went up and then down. And then the Orduña had lifted anchor and cruised in to
dock at the pier and let off passengers! Why had they been allowed to dock and not the St. Louis? The St. Louis had gotten there first!
Captain Schroeder wasn’t around to ask, and the officers and stewards had no answers for the passengers.
And then today the same thing had happened with the French ship SS Flandre. It arrived, anchored nearby, passed quarantine, docked at the Havana pier, and let off its passengers. Now it was sailing back out to sea.
The passengers on the St. Louis had grown more and more restless, cornering sailors on deck and berating their stewards at dinner. Josef had felt the tension mounting all over the ship, the pandemonium threatening to boil over every time the crew dealt with the passengers. It was as suffocating and oppressive as the 100-degree heat.
Apparently, Schiendick and his Nazi friends had felt the tension too, because that’s when the firemen patrols had begun. It was nothing official, Josef was sure, because the captain hadn’t made an announcement. It was just certain members of the crew who had taken it upon themselves to police the ship like they were all back in Germany.
“For the safety of the Jews,” Schiendick told them, the same way the Gestapo took Jews into “protective custody.”
Another fireman stood beside the one who held Josef’s arm, blocking out the sun. And between them was Otto Schiendick himself.
“Just the boy we were looking for,” Schiendick said. “You are to come with us.”
“What? Why?” Josef asked, looking up at the two big men around him. Josef felt guilty, and he was immediately mad at himself for it. Why should he feel guilty? He hadn’t done anything wrong! But he remembered feeling this way back home too, whenever he passed a Nazi on the street.
In Germany, just being Jewish was a crime. And here too, apparently.
“Your parents’ cabin must be searched,” Schiendick said. “You have a key?”
Josef nodded, even though he didn’t want to. These men were adults, and they were Nazis. One he’d been taught to respect. The other he’d learned to fear.
The big fireman still had Josef’s arm, and he pulled him toward the elevator. Josef couldn’t believe he’d let himself be caught. He’d warned his little sister, Ruthie, to avoid the firemen, who loved to intimidate the children on board, and she’d managed to stay out of their way. But he’d lost himself watching the Flandre sail out of Havana Harbor, his back turned to the promenade, and that’s when they’d caught him.
Schiendick and his firemen hustled Josef down the stairs, and Josef’s stomach sank when they ordered him to open the door to his cabin. Josef’s hand shook as he put the key in the lock. He wished there was some way he could get out of this, some way he could keep these men away from his mother and father.
Otto Schiendick reached down and turned the handle for him, throwing the door open. Papa lay on a bed in his underclothes, trying to stay cool in the stifling heat. Mama sat in a chair nearby, reading a book. Ruthie, Josef was glad to see, was still up at the pool.
When she saw the men, Rachel Landau stood. On the bed, Josef’s father propped himself up, a look of panic on his face.
“What’s going on here?” Mama asked. “Josef?”
“They made me bring them here,” Josef said, his eyes wide, trying to warn her of the danger.
“Yes,” Schiendick said, spotting Josef’s father. “There he is.”
Schiendick and the two firemen stepped inside. Schiendick closed the door and locked it behind them.
“For your safety, this cabin must be searched,” Schiendick said.
“On whose authority?” Mama asked. “Does the captain know about this?”
“On my authority,” Schiendick told her. “The captain has other things to worry about.”
Schiendick nodded, and the two firemen ransacked the room. They swept Mama’s makeup and perfume off the vanity and smashed the mirror. They knocked the lamps off the bedside tables and cracked the washbasin. They opened up the family’s suitcases, which were carefully packed and ready to go to Cuba, and threw their clothes all over the cabin. They tore the head off Ruthie’s stuffed bunny. They snatched the book from Mama’s hands and ripped out the pages, tossing them in the air like ashes from a bonfire.
Josef’s mother cried out, but not so loudly that anyone else would hear. Papa wrapped himself in a ball and threw his hands over his head, whimpering. Josef huddled against the door, angry at his helplessness but scared that if he fought back, he’d only be punished more.
When there was nothing left to smash or scatter, the firemen stood behind Schiendick at the door.
Schiendick spat on the floor. “That’s what I think of you and your race,” he said, and suddenly Josef understood—this was payback for his father’s words to Schiendick at the funeral.
Schiendick snorted dismissively at the cowering man on the bed. “It’s time you had your head shaved again,” he told Josef’s father.
Otto Schiendick let himself and the two firemen out, leaving the door wide open. Josef’s mother slid to the floor crying, and Papa blubbered on the bed. Josef shook as he buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his own tears. He wanted nothing more than to run to his mother’s arms, but
she felt a million miles away from him. So did his father. They were three lonely islands, separated by an ocean of misery.
Of all the things Schiendick and his fireman had broken, the Landau family was the one thing Josef wasn’t sure they could put back together.
“You said if I was quiet, if I stood very still, they wouldn’t come for me,” Papa said. It took Josef a moment to realize his father was talking to him. Josef’s breath caught. His father was talking about the medical inspection. When Josef had scared his father to get him to straighten up.
Papa looked up at him, his eyes red from crying. “You said they wouldn’t come for me. You said they wouldn’t send me back. You promised, and they came for me anyway.”
Josef felt like his father had slapped him, even though Papa hadn’t touched him. Josef reeled. He backed into his mother’s little makeup table, and one of the bottles Schiendick hadn’t smashed rolled off and shattered on the floor beside him. Josef didn’t even jump. He had lied to his father. Betrayed him. Made him think he was back at that awful place. Terrified him all over again. But that wasn’t the worst thing he had done.
Josef had made his father a promise he couldn’t keep.
