فصل 44

joana

Where had they all come from? This endless stream of humanity clogging the small field road—did they suddenly crawl out of a hole? Had they been waiting in the forests as we had? Young women, elderly grandparents, and too many children to count. They dragged sleds, drove carts with mules, and walked with belongings slung over their backs in sheets.

A little boy and his sister straddled an ox, gripping a frayed piece of rope tied around the animal’s neck. “Please, Magnus, hurry!” coaxed the little boy, thumping his heels into the ox. His sister’s thin ankles were exposed and black with frostbite.

“Let me help you,” I called to them, but they didn’t hear me. He slapped the ox and trotted away. A few carts, with well-rested horses, clucked by us quickly, leaving only a glimpse of the prominent family name painted across the back of the carriage. Some people were tired, despondent, others panicked and full of terror. An old man with a wooden leg thumped back and forth across the road, clutching his temples and announcing to everyone who passed, “They shot my cow.”

Eva lumbered through the crowds, badgering people for information and updates. “Which way did you come from? What have you heard?”

Reports were that Germany was buckling. Although they had finally allowed people to evacuate, for many it was too late.

“Joana!” Eva called out to me. “This one here is Lithuanian.”

I made my way through the mass of people to the old woman.

“Labas,” I said. “Where are you from?”

“Kaunas,” she said. “And you?”

“Bir?ai, originally. I’ve been gone for four years. But my cousins are from Kaunas. How are things there?”

She shook her head, barely able to speak. “Our poor Lietuva,” she whispered. “We shall never see her again. Hurry child, keep moving.” She patted my arm and walked off.

What was she talking about? The war would end. We would all go home.

Wouldn’t we?

• • •

The temperature plunged well below zero. I thought of the warm fire back at the estate and the cold bodies upstairs in the beds. As we left the property I had taken one last look. I couldn’t shake the image of the upstairs corner window, pierced with a bullet hole and covered in blood. Zarah Leander’s voice lived in my head, whispering the words, It’s not the end of the world.

I hoped she was right.

The wandering boy and the shoe poet marched in front of our cart. Poet entertained the boy by assigning shoe types.

“That one there, he has narrow feet. We would put him in an oxford. But that man, the one with the short boots, he’ll have a heel bruise within the next kilometer. We’d put him in a loafer, to be sure. You know, Klaus, if you can’t get a fingerprint, you would do just as well to get a foot draft from a man’s shoemaker. It will tell you more than an identity card.”

I stood next to Ingrid, whose eyes were bandaged. She insisted on walking and gripped the rope that hung behind the wagon. Emilia sat nestled in heaps of bundles on the back of our cart, her pink hat a blink of color among the endless blacks and grays. Emilia’s eyes stayed fixed on the German boy who walked behind me, his cap pulled low over his eyes. I slowed my step and allowed him to catch up to me.

“Ingrid thinks we’ll reach the ice tomorrow. She smells the coast,” I told him.

“We should try to reach the ice tonight,” he replied.

“Everyone will be exhausted and it will be too dark. We won’t see a thing.”

“Exactly. If it’s dark, the Russians won’t be able to see us. We’ll be open targets during the day. Sort of like we are now,” he said.

I hadn’t thought of that.

“The ice will be stronger at night, when it’s colder,” he whispered. “Look at all these people. When they march across the ice, it will weaken it. They shouldn’t be carrying so much baggage.”

“It’s precious to them; it’s all they have left. Just like that pack of yours. It seems pretty important to you.”

He said nothing.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”

We trudged on in silence. I stared down at the icy road.

His breath was suddenly close. “The girl. She doesn’t have papers.”

Papers.

He was right. Emilia had no identity card. I had forgotten that. Germany required all civilians to legally register and carry documentation that contained our name, photograph, nationality, race, birth, and family details. The regime then assigned identifiers on the cover of the cards. My identity card said Resettler, indicating that Germany had allowed me to repatriate from Lithuania. We were required to show our identification to any official or soldier who requested it. Our papers determined our fate.

I looked up at her, balanced in the bundles. She smiled and gave me a small wave.

Emilia had no papers.

No papers, no future.