Devotion(61)

I lifted the knife from my hand and watched as the wound evaporated.

And then I saw that, though I held the blade, it remained on the table.

There was horror in that.

I placed my hand into a pitcher on the table and felt cool water. I pushed it over. The pitcher rolled and spilled an evanescence of liquid, and when I looked, I saw that the real pitcher remained upright.

You have gone mad, I told myself. This is madness. And I sank to my haunches and pressed my face to my knees. My body shook.

And then the toddler who had been upon the floor crawled through me. I saw her plump hands reach for a dangling blanket, and they moved beyond the boundaries of my skin and I felt nothing but a vague discomfort, a pressing.

I let her crawl through me. I sat on the floor and wept in fear and confusion, and I saw my tears lift in vapour as they dropped from my cheeks. I sat there a long time, crying as people moved around me and through me, finding their places at the trestle table, saying grace and eating. I wept and rocked as they murmured, broke bread, swallowed.


I did not rise again until my tears were done, hanging like a cloud over my head. It was five o’clock. I knew this because hot water was called and there was movement from the berths as people rose to drink their tea. I ran my hands over my face, stumbled to the trestle and sat down, and those I knew from Kay blew on their mugs around me. I looked at their faces and said their names, and no one looked at me, no one responded.

I heard someone mention my mother. They were worried about her, they said. I turned and saw Magdalena rise from the bench, saw Elize Geschke pass her a cup. I followed Magdalena as she made her way to my parents’ bunk, hopeful uncertainty filling my stomach. Surely, they would recognise me. Surely, if I spoke their names again and again, they would eventually hear my voice.

Mama was on her side, curled around Hermine, who slept against her stomach, mouth open and cheeks red. My mother’s eyes were closed.

‘Johanne?’ Magdalena peered inside the bunk. ‘Johanne, would you like some tea? There is sugar in it.’

Mama stirred, attempted a smile. ‘No, thank you. I’m resting now.’

Magdalena perched uneasily on the side of the bed. ‘It’s been three days. I know you’re not drinking enough.’

Mama did not respond.

‘I’m not leaving until you drink this tea, Johanne.’

Mama rose onto her elbow then and reached for the tea. She took a small sip and winced.

‘Too hot?’

‘Very sweet.’

‘You need the strength.’ Magdalena watched Mama with careful eyes. ‘All of it.’

I watched Mama drink, her hand held beneath her chin as the liquid spilled. Hermine’s face pulled in waking distress, contorting in the silent beginning of a wail. Mama passed the mug back and lay down again.

‘Are you going to feed her?’ asked Magdalena, nodding at my sister.

‘Give her to that woman from Klemzig.’

‘Johanne, you need to feed your daughter. Come, now.’ I had never heard Magdalena speak so softly, and I realised that she loved my mother. She was trying to be gentle.

‘I will feed her soon. I’m just . . .’ Mama placed a hand over her face. ‘I’m just so tired.’

‘Shall I get Heinrich?’

‘No, no. He’s with the captain. Trying to sort out all this arguing. All this . . .’ She waved her fingers in the air. ‘This trouble with the doctor.’

I stepped closer. ‘Mama? Can you hear me?’ My voice sounded small.

Hermine was crying loudly now. People were turning from the trestle to look. I saw them glance at one another.

‘Well, then,’ Magdalena said, and she set the mug on the floor and picked up my sister. I moved out of the way as she stood, hoisting Hermine on her hip. ‘There now, little one. We’ll get you fed.’

‘Thank you.’ Mama spoke from under her hand.

‘Rest, then,’ said Magdalena. ‘If that is what you need. Sleep some. God be with you.’

Hermine’s wailing tapered off as Magdalena bustled down the rows of berths and passed her to a ruddy-faced young woman with light-brown hair. I did not recognise her. The woman looked surprised and then, as Magdalena gestured in Mama’s direction, sympathetic. She untied her blouse and set Hermine to her breast. I could see her own baby’s chubby leg hanging over the edge of her berth in sleep.

‘Mama?’ I sat down where Magdalena had been and placed a hand on my mother’s shoulder. I could feel her body lift and fall in breath. ‘Mama. I’m here. It’s Hanne.’

She did not respond.

‘Mama?’ My voice strained. ‘Please. I’m here, Mama. Look at me!’ She did not move. I was as air to her.

Anguish made my mind roil so that I could not grasp any single thought, could not think clearly. I returned to the bow. I did not know where else to go.

Anna Maria was asleep in Ottilie’s bunk, knees folded into her stomach, mouth open in exhaustion. I climbed in with Thea and eased myself under the blankets.

She stirred, lips moving. ‘Stay.’

I sat up, not trusting that I had heard her speak. ‘Thea? Are you awake?’

Her eyes were closed.

‘What did you say?’ I asked.

‘Stay.’

Relief lifted in me. I did not imagine it. She knew I was there. ‘Thea,’ I whispered. ‘Thea, Thea!’ I drew close to her and remained still, until all I could hear was her heart. I stayed there until I could feel the vibration of that dark pump in my chest, until I could imagine that her heartbeat was my own, and then I kissed her forehead. I did not care who might see me; I kissed her for my own comfort. To keep my own fear at bay.