فصل 55

joana

My hips and back ached from sleeping on the cold stone floor. I had woken in the middle of the night and imagined I saw the German standing above me in the dark. When I blinked he was gone and I realized it was a dream.

I was concerned about his wound. That’s what I told myself. But the truth poked at me. Why was I looking for him? His wound was healing well; he was stronger than most. I was embarrassed to admit it: I wanted to see him again, not to evaluate his wound but to discover his name, his mission, and why he had taken the drawing from my suitcase. Ingrid said he was a thief, but she thought he was stirred to know me, not to hurt me. I wanted to believe her. The war was full of brutality. Were there any nice young men still out there?

“He’s probably here somewhere.” Ingrid smiled. “Watching.”

I had glanced around the crowded cathedral many times the night prior, wondering if she was right.

“Joana,” whispered Ingrid, reaching for my hands. “The Russians draw nearer each day. Without you . . . I can’t bear to think what would have happened to me.”

“We just need to cross the ice,” I assured her. “We’re close. The crossing point is only a short walk down the hill.”

We gathered our belongings. Ingrid spooled the soft scarf from the German soldier around her neck.

Emilia smiled at me behind red lipstick as we left the cathedral.

What a group we were. A pregnant girl in love, a kindly shoemaker, an orphan boy, a blind girl, and a giantess who complained that everyone was in her way when she herself took up the most room. And me, a lonely girl who missed her family and begged for a second chance.

• • •

We were among the first to cross. The expanse of ice looked enormous. “Fifty meters between each group,” instructed the soldiers. “We must not stress the ice all at once. Hurry.”

How could we hurry? The walk was kilometers long and the ice was slippery.

“Let me go first,” said Ingrid, her eyes still bandaged. “Alone.”

“Absolutely not,” I told her. “We’ll go together.”

“I’ll go with Ingrid,” said the shoe poet. “My walking stick can test more than soles.”

“No,” insisted Ingrid. “If I’m alone, I’ll truly feel the ice. I’ll let you know if it’s sound. Then you can bring the cart along with the others.”

Ingrid walked several meters out onto the ice, eyes bandaged, hands in front of her. She took a step and stopped, listening.

She took another step.

The sun made its first appearance, throwing light onto the lagoon. The ice in front of Ingrid was red, frozen with blood. She advanced, then snapped her foot back, as if sensing the stain. She stood perfectly still and breathed, alone on the frozen water. She took a careful step forward, over the icy blood. She took a few more steps, leaving at least twenty meters between us. I could not bear to see her, bandaged and by herself. I walked out to join her.

“I’m coming, Ingrid.”

“Yes, the ice is strong,” she called. “Come along.”

I stepped toward her. The rest of our group advanced slowly, carefully, yet desperate to move quickly across the jaws of ice.

Ingrid’s body suddenly stiffened. Her back arched. “No!” she screamed. “Go back!”

Our group retreated. I was too far out to return quickly. And then I heard them: Russian planes strafing overhead. Desperate refugees on the bank erupted in terror. Soldiers dove into snowbanks. I dropped facedown onto the frozen surface. The sun brightened, shining through the ice to reveal the horror below. A dead horse and a child’s mitten glared at me from beneath the frozen glaze. I closed my eyes, choking on the gruesome images.

High-pitched whizzings flew by my head, cracking and popping. Bullets tore through the ice. Frozen shards peppered my coat as screams filled my ears.

The firing ceased. I opened my eyes. Streaks of blood surrounded a solitary hole in the center of the ice.

“Ingrid!” I screamed.

Ingrid was gone.

Her gloved hand suddenly appeared, reaching out of the black water.

I crawled toward her.

Her hand bobbed and grasped frantically at the edge of the ice.

“Ingrid!” I wailed.

The ice broke.

The hole in the ice spread farther, sending a deep crack running directly toward me. Ingrid’s hand flapped desperately.

A pair of hands tightened around my ankles. I began sliding backward along my belly to the frozen bank.

“Let me go!”

The gap in the ice widened. Water rolled toward me. Panicked screams roared from behind. “It’s all cracking!”

Someone pulled me away. I tried to free myself, to fight my way back across to Ingrid.

“No!” I pleaded. “Ingrid!”

I looked out toward the dark watery hole. Ingrid’s frantic hand suddenly went slack. Her fingers softened, slowly curled, and disappeared beneath the ice.