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Paris, France—April, 1943
Horst came home late, as he had for several weeks. His clothes were disheveled. He headed for a bottle of schnapps, which had become his routine. “I’ll get your dinner from the oven,” said Frieda. She put little Rebecca down on a blanket with her stuffed rabbit toy. She felt nothing toward the baby. She’d come to think Horst was pathetic. But, most of all, she’d come to hate herself. What had she become, just to be safe? She was going through the motions, pretending to be Horst’s ersatz wife. Maybe she would be better off deported.
Frieda had already eaten, but she sat at the table so Horst could vent out loud while he ate. “Most of the shipments I arranged for defense of the coast never arrived. The General blames the Resistance, but it’s as though someone in our own Army is deliberately stopping my orders or rerouting the trains. The Allies will take North Africa within a matter of weeks. Once that happens, they will invade the continent, maybe Italy, maybe France, maybe both. The Americans are an unstoppable force, and they will eventually take Germany. I must get you and Helga out of Europe.”
Frieda was shocked out of her disinterest. “Out of Europe? Where out of Europe?”
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe South Africa, maybe South America. Somewhere not involved in this damn war.”
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HORST DROVE THROUGH the night while Frieda and Rebecca slept in the back of the car. He had to shout at the guards to let him through the border, into Spain. They soon deferred to his rank and his orders which showed he was in charge of shipments coming from Spain into France. It was cloudy and windy when they reached the docks at Bilbao. Horst found that he was able to communicate in Spain by speaking French and using exaggerated gestures. This enabled him to find the correct dock.
Horst bought some pintxos from a street vendor. These were little slices of bread, each with a slice of fish, and topped with a vegetable sauce. Frieda wondered what it would have been like if she were just a tourist exploring the city. Horst handed Frieda two tickets. “Here are your tickets to Lisbon for that ship over there. He handed her two more tickets. These are your tickets from Lisbon to Rio de Janeiro aboard the ship Serpa Pinto. Once you reach Lisbon, you should be safe from the SS, but be careful. You’ll be able to find German-speaking people at the port. You should find a bank here and change your Deutchmarks to escudos. You’ll have to change your money again when you reach Brazil.”
Frieda looked sad and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. “What will I do in Rio de Janieiro?”
“I want you to go to the town of Marica, on the coast. There is a large German community in that town. You’ll be able to find work there. It’s small enough I will find you again, but it might be another year until I can come. I love you, my dear.” Horst hugged and kissed Frieda and Rebecca, then he walked away. He did not look back.
Frieda asked around, mainly by using gestures, and she was able to find a nearby bank. She exchanged her Deutchmarks for escudos. Then, carrying Rebecca, her valise, and her handbag, she made her way to the fishing port and searched for someone who spoke German. She was guided to the Harbour Master’s hut, where she found a short, rough-looking man who spoke some German. “I want to sail to England. Any kind of boat. I have escudos.”
The man looked her up and down and asked, “Jew?” Frieda froze, but then slowly nodded. The man gestured for her to follow. Walking along the dock, they made their way to a very rusty fishing vessel. The man indicated for her to wait, and he walked up the gangplank and into the wheelhouse. When he returned, he said, “Thirty thousand escudos.”
Frieda shook her head and acted as though she was going to cry. The man looked her in the eye and said, “Fifteen thousand.” She sighed with relief, nodded, and turned around to take out her money, unseen. When she started to hand it to him, he shook his head. “Go there.”
Trying hard to keep her balance, Frieda struggled up the gangplank. She went to the door of the wheelhouse, and held out her money. A middle-aged man nodded and politely took her money. He gestured for her to follow. The man carried her valise down the hatch and she carefully followed down the ladder with her baby and handbag. The man spoke to a young deckhand and handed her off. The deckhand led her down a series of passageways, and gestured for her to stop. He knocked on the side of the passageway, knock, knock-knock. Then he pulled on some brass fittings and a section of the wall came away. He gestured for her to climb in.
There were two young men and a young woman in a small compartment. It smelled of cold dampness, oil, and sweat. The deckhand secured the hatch. Fortunately, there was an electric light in the space. The woman motioned for Frieda to sit next to her, on the deck. As she was sitting down, the boat swayed a little and she fell forward, jostling Rebecca who started to cry. The woman took the baby while Frieda got settled. The young men passed down Frieda’s valise and bag.
“Do you speak English?” asked the woman. She handed the baby back to Frieda.
“Nein, nur Deutche.”
“Papieren, bitte?” asked the woman. Frieda handed the woman her identity paper.
“Ah, a Jew,” said the woman in English. “Well Frieda, you’d better start learning English. That’s what you’ll need starting tomorrow.” The woman put her hand on her chest and said, “My name is Phyllis. What’s your baby’s name?”
“Rebecca.”
Using gestures, Phyllis said, “Frieda, this is Alwyn and this is Danny. They are British fliers who were shot down.” Frieda nodded an understanding.
Rebecca started to fuss, so Frieda prepared to breastfeed her. The wide-eyed young men shyly looked away and Phyllis laughed. “That’s what they’re there for, lads. Remember that!”
The boat’s engines started up, and a strong vibration filled the boat.
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ONCE THE BOAT GOT FARTHER out to sea, it began to pitch and roll dramatically. Danny ran to a bucket just in time, and vomited. The smell was overpowering in the small compartment. When the baby finished nursing, she gave a great burp and fell right to sleep. Frieda fell asleep soon after.
Some time later, Rebecca’s cries woke Frieda. The others were asleep. Frieda relieved herself in one of the buckets, then nursed Rebecca. She could hear men shouting to each other and winches operating, up on the main deck. She heard hatches opening and what she assumed were fish being loaded into the hold. The ship’s rolling motions were more consistent and, after a while, she found it relaxing, along with the vibration of the engines.
One of the fliers woke up and used his bucket as privately as possible. When he was done he turned to Frieda and asked, “Where are you from?”
Frieda thought she understood, so she said, “Berlin. She gestured for him to say where he was from.”
“I’m from Wales.”
Frieda repeated the word,” but her W sounded like a V, “Vales.”
Alwyn chuckled and said, “Wales,” emphasizing the W sound.
Frieda tried again and said, “Oo-ales,” and they both laughed. Suddenly, they heard a lot of loud radio chatter from above. There was shouting, then a very loud woop, woop sound. The boat slowed. Alwyn roused Danny and Frieda gently shook Phyllis.
Alwyn said, “I think we’ve got company.”
Phyllis looked at Frieda and put her finger to her lips to gesture quiet, then she pointed to Rebecca who was still sleeping. There were loud footsteps on the deck. Then in the passageways. There was shouting in German as the boat was searched. Rebecca started to cry, so Frieda put her coat over both their heads.
The hidden passengers were sweating with fear and trying not to breathe too loudly. The hold hatches on the main deck were winched open and closed. The Germans were shouting louder, trying to communicate with the boat’s captain, but he didn’t understand them. After about twenty minutes, which seemed like an eternity to the hidden passengers, they heard the Germans leaving the fishing boat. Their boat motored away. Everyone sagged with relief.