The German Girl by Armando Lucas Correa

Author:Armando Lucas Correa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

It Is Hoped That the Problem of the Hebrews Arriving from European Ports Will Be Resolved Today

Diario de la Marina, Havana newspaper

28 May 1939

Tuesday, 30 May

There are moments when it is better to accept it’s all over, that there’s nothing more to be done. Give up and abandon hope: surrender. That’s how I felt by then. I didn’t believe in miracles. This had happened to us because we insisted on changing a destiny that was already written. We didn’t have any rights, we couldn’t reinvent history. We were condemned to be deceived from the moment we came into the world.

If Leo stays on this ship, so will I. If Papa stays, so will Mama.

Until then, they had only allowed two Cubans and four Spaniards to leave the ship. We’d never seen them on the trip across the Atlantic. They kept to themselves, never speaking to anyone.

If the process of checking our documents continued at that rate, and they let another six people disembark each time, we would have been there more than three months. By then, the swaying of the ship would have finished me off completely.

Through the porthole, Havana looked hazy, small, unreachable, like an old postcard left behind by some visiting tourist. But I kept the glass closed because I didn’t want to hear the shouts from the relatives swarming around the St. Louis in decrepit wooden launches that a wave could capsize. Surnames and first names flew from the decks of our huge liner anchored in the harbor to the frail, hesitant craft below. Köppel, Karliner, Edelstein, Ball, Richter, Velmann, Münz, Leyser, Jordan, Wachtel, Goldbaum, Siegel. Everyone was searching for someone, but nobody found anybody. I didn’t want to hear any more names, but they kept coming back. Neither Leo nor I had anyone to shout our names. Nobody was coming to save us.

On the waterfront avenue, I could see cars speeding along as though nothing were happening: to them, this was just another ship with foreigners on it, who for some reason or other were insisting on settling on an island where work was scarce and the sun destroyed all willpower.

Someone knocked at our door. As always, I shivered: perhaps they had come for Papa. The Ogres were everywhere, even on this island that my mind still could not accept as being part of our future.

Mr. and Mrs. Moser had come to see us. I said hello, and Mrs. Moser, who was bathed in sweat, hugged me. I could see they were on the verge of bursting into tears. Mr. Moser looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“He prefers to die,” Mrs. Moser explained passionately. “He wants to throw himself into the sea. But what about us? What would happen to my three children? We have no home, no money, no country.”

My parents listened to them calmly. Mama stood up and steered Mr. Moser toward a chair, where he bent forward and hid his head in his hands out of shame. Mama felt great

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