فصل 22

alfred

The morning sky draped cold shadows over the dock. Was my beloved Deutschland losing her footing? Was such a thing possible? Lübeck, K?ln, Hamburg. Reports said they were all rubble.

The U.S. Army Eighth Air Force had bombed the harbor a few months prior. More than a hundred American planes dropped steel suppositories exploding into Gotenhafen. The ship Stuttgart was hit and sunk.

They had bombed before. They would do it again. Three air-raid alerts had been established in a tier of severity. I memorized them:

Rain.

Hail.

Snow.

In the event of attack, I imagined I’d fire back into the air, wildly shaking a fist of ammunition at them. In my mind, I scaled such mountains of combat often.

But in the meantime, I employed my keen powers of observation rather than beastly force. The Führer insisted on meticulous record keeping. I had every intention of proving myself worthy of promotion to documentarian. After all, I was a watchman. Noting and repeating my observations only sharpened my mental catalog. My recitations seemed to bother my fellow sailors, but could I really blame them for being jealous of my archival facilities?

I had a secret device. To keep track of the Reich’s racial, social, and political enemies, I had put the Führer’s list to melody. It was easier to remember when I sang it, similar to a child reciting a lesson in song. It was a rather catchy tune:

Communists, Czechoslovaks, Greeks, Gypsies, Handicapped, Homosexuals

—insert breath here—

Jews, Mentally ill, Negroes, Poles, Prostitutes, Russians, Serbs, Socialists

—insert breath here—

Spanish Republicans, Trade Unionists, Ukrainians and

—insert breath for big ending here—

Yu-go-slavs!

The Yu-go-slav finale was my favorite. Three syllabic punches of power. I mentally sang my melody while performing my other duties.

A formal operation was in progress at the port, but specific details had not yet been revealed. Conversations were fraught with nerves and fear. I listened carefully.

“Don’t just stand there eavesdropping, Frick, move! You want to be blown up by a Russian plane?”

“Certainly not.” I balanced the stack of blue life jackets and peeked out from the side. “Where am I taking these?” I asked.

The officer pointed to an enormous slate-gray ship that matched the menacing sky.

“That one,” he said. “The Wilhelm Gustloff. ”