Page 8 of The Girl with a Secret
Another step, and then another, and then her heel caught on the carpet, and she let out a rush of surprised breath.
The man looked up, and Rosa saw the naked fear on his face before his mouth twisted into an ugly snarl.
“So, you’re a sneaky little spy as well as a dirty Jew,” he sneered, slipping the pen quickly into his pocket.
“I don’t thinkI’mthe spy,” Rosa retorted before she could think better of it.
The man closed the space between them in three long strides and then, his meaty hands on her shoulders, pushed her up against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of her, her head slamming back. Dazed, Rosa could only stare at him, shock giving way to terror as he brought his face near to hers, his breath hot and smelling of onions.
“You’d better be careful, my little Jewess,” he said, stepping even closer to her so his body was pressed up against hers. Rosa could feel the length of his thighs and the jut of his hips against her own, and her stomach swirled in rebellion. “Not that being careful is going to help you now,” he added thoughtfully. His hands moved from her shoulders to her throat, his thumb pressing gently on her windpipe, yet hard enough for her to feel it and let out a choking sound.
Please…She almost begged him, but she bit the word back before it escaped. This odious man would relish her begging and then being able to reject her pleas. Rosa forced herself to stay silent, even though her whole body was icy with terror, and with the man’s thumb on her windpipe, she struggled to breathe.
“You know Cuba doesn’t want you, don’t you?” he continued, pressing his thumb a bit harder, so Rosa let out an inelegant, gurgling gasp. “Oh, they might pretend they do, and we’ll go through all the rigmarole of acting like you’re getting off this ship, but trust me, my little Jewess, youaren’t.”
With a mocking grin, he thrust his hips, grinding into her own, and a pathetic, mewling sound escaped Rosa before she clamped her lips together.
The man chuckled softly. “Too bad I don’t like Jewesses,” he told her. “You could have seen what arealman can do.”
He stepped back, eyeing her consideringly, while Rosa, unable to stop herself, pressed one hand to her throat. Her heartwas thundering, and her vision swam. She felt as if she could slide right down to the floor in a trembling heap.
“Schiendick!” someone called out, walking briskly down the corridor. “What are you doing? You are wanted on deck.”
“Remember, I’m watching you,” the man—Schiendick—told her, and then he walked off with the other member of crew.
Rosa’s legs trembled and, for a second, she did almost slide to the floor before, on shaky legs, she forced herself to straighten.
Her mind was whirling with what Schiendick had said—you aren’t getting off this ship—and also what she’d seen. Had he been going to hide something in that pen? It had certainly seemed like it, which made her wonder, with a thrill of incredulous terror, that he was part of the Abwehr, Germany’s spy network. Could the Abwehr be here, right here on the ship…?
Or maybe, Rosa told herself rather desperately, she was being ridiculous. He was just a petty little thug of a man; maybe he’d simply been fixing his pen.
Rosa scrunched her eyes shut, wishing she hadn’t witnessed a thing, because already she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do about it—if there were Abwehr on the ship along with Gestapo, it did not bode well for the fortunes of the passengers… at all.
Rosa didn’t want to believe it, not when they’d finally arrived. And yet…
No.She wouldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t let herself. Schiendick couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. Straightening, smoothing down her skirt with hands that trembled slightly, Rosa walked back down the corridor, her head held high.
Even so, Schiendick’s ominous words echoed through her.We’ll go through all the rigmarole of acting like you’re getting off this ship, but trust me, you aren’t…
CHAPTER 5
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity, a haze of exhaustion. They all had to line up in the social hall for a medical inspection; the health inspector’s gaze barely flicked over each passenger as they walked past. There were no forms to fill, no boxes to tick. It was, Rosa feared, simply a charade, the rigmarole that Schiendick had suggested, to make it seem as if they had some chance of getting off this ship.
Still, so many hoped. Fishing boats bobbed in the sea alongside theSt Louis, some of them selling fruit to the passengers, others carrying passengers’ relatives eager for a glimpse of their loved ones. The excitement grew, and then fell again, as the hours passed with no news.
In the late afternoon, a German woman and her two children were allowed to disembark, sending people into a frenzy of expectation, only to subside again when no one else’s name was called.
“Why them and not us?” Hannah demanded, her voice rising to a near-wail as she clutched Lotte to her.
“It will be our turn soon, Hannah,” Rachel said quietly, laying a hand on her arm. “Why shouldn’t it be? We’ve come this far, and heaven knows we can’t stay on this ship forever.” Shesmiled, as if inviting them all to share the joke, but only Sophie smile weakly.
Can’t we, Rosa wondered, but chose not to say. If the Cubans didn’t want them, just as the Germans hadn’t… who would take them? Where would they go?
She kept these questions to herself, but she saw Sophie shoot her an uncertain glance, and knew her friend was wondering about the nature of her unhappy thoughts.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she forced herself to say, injecting a bright note into her voice. “Today was bound to be a bit of a muddle. We’ll have news tomorrow.” Rosa saw how her friends seemed relieved at her words; somehow she’d become the unofficial leader of their little group, perhaps because her father was on the captain’s passenger committee, and so she had more information than most. In any case, she felt the unwanted responsibility keenly; she needed to keep everyone’s spirits up, her own included.
As dusk fell, Rosa left her friends and went back to her cabin to change for dinner. They would not be disembarking today. She felt too tired to be anxious now; if anything, she felt no more than a weary resignation. Slipping inside, she saw her mother was in bed, asleep, her mouth agape, her dark hair spread across the pillow and her limbs akimbo. Her father sat at the desk, staring out of the porthole with narrowed eyes as he smoked furiously, the filter of his cigarette glowing an angry orange every time he sucked in a breath.
