On a Cold Dark Sea(31)

The tears Sonja had managed to hold in earlier came flooding down her cheeks. “I can’t swim.”

“The life belt will hold you up,” Anna said. “I’ll help you.”

Their scramble up the crane hadn’t gone unnoticed, and other third-class passengers began coming over the railing. Like crabs making their way to higher ground at high tide, they scuttled toward the stern.

Emil crouched down, bracing his back against the rail to counteract the increasing slant of the deck. “We only have to hold on a little longer,” he said. “Until a rescue ship comes.”

Anna remembered the talk about Marconi and hoped it was true. A deck chair slid past them, and Sonja’s tears swelled into sobs.

I can’t tell her it will be all right, Anna thought. No kind words could blot out the horror of what was to come. Her legs ached with the effort of holding herself upright. All she could do was squeeze Sonja’s shoulders and tell her the words pounding through her like a heartbeat: “Josef is waiting for us. Think of Josef.”

Emil’s foot was braced against Anna’s, his weight pushing her down. She watched as the nose of the ship slipped into the water. Below deck, dishes were breaking in a distant clatter. But Emil’s voice was steady as he told them the safest way out was to meet the sea on their own terms. To jump into it before it pulled them in.

Anna’s assent was more of a sigh than a word. She was on her knees by then, with Sonja collapsed beside her. Her hand was numb from the effort of holding on to the rail. And then the pressure was eased, as Emil grabbed hold of Anna with one arm and Sonja with the other. Sonja curled her face toward her lap, but Anna watched the water inch relentlessly forward as the Titanic slid gently into its grave.

“Now!” Emil shouted.

They careened down the deck, splashing into the sea in a tumble of limbs. The cold shot through Anna in a burst of pain; she wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Sonja floated beside her, eyes enormous in the moonlight, with Emil close behind. It was impossible to take in the enormity of what was happening: the drowning ship, the detritus floating around them, the shouts that shattered the peace of the arctic night.

“The lights,” Emil gasped, his breath forming a cloud of smoke.

The cold was slowing Anna’s thoughts as well as her movements. She saw an intermittent glow amid the crush of objects that surrounded her and tried to figure out what it was. A firefly? An angel? Then she remembered—as if in a dream—what Emil had said about the lifeboats. The gleam in the distance was a lantern.

Anna tried to block out the screams of the passengers still clinging to the railings, fighting to hold on to a ship that would soon abandon them. She reached down, willing her numb legs to obey her mental commands. She kicked off her boots—thank God she hadn’t tied them!—and pulled up her skirt, tucking the hem into her life belt. She pushed at the water with her palms, firm and steady, just as Papa had taught her. Slowly, painstakingly, Anna swam.

But Emil couldn’t keep up. He was holding on to Sonja, whose shivering lips were emitting a low, constant whimper, and his frantic movements weren’t pulling him forward. He’d never be able to drag Sonja far enough.

It took all the strength Anna had to think, let alone speak.

“I’ll get the boat.”

Her lips felt heavy, and her cheeks were stiff; the words came out jumbled. But Sonja looked grateful—she even attempted a smile—and her effort strengthened Anna’s resolve. Anna was dimly aware of crashes and metallic groans as the Titanic ripped apart, but she didn’t look back. The air around her exploded with a roar, and the ocean surged from the impact. Salt water cascaded up and over her, and she was pulled down and around, dizzy with horror, her lungs shrieking for air. She was seven years old, in the lake, drowning. Then her head bobbed out of the water, buoyed by her life belt. She gulped in the frosty air, its chill searing her throat.

Sonja was screaming, her cries joining hundreds of others in a chorus of terror. She and Emil had been swept away by the waves, and Anna watched as they struggled to return to her side. Emil was holding Sonja, and he was breathing too hard, and Anna wanted to tell him to conserve his strength, but she couldn’t move her lips. She searched desperately for the light, and when a heavy mass careened into her, she didn’t even flinch when she saw it was a dead man, his face crushed to bone and blood. The sight came back to her years later, in nightmares, but in that instant she was immune to such horrors. All that mattered were those who were still alive.

Emil’s face was flushed, his hair—for once—smoothed flat across his forehead. He looked so much older, as if each minute since they’d left the ship had aged him a decade. He was trying to tell her something, and Anna nodded as if she understood. She wished he would stop trying to talk; it was costing him too much effort. A gentle swell pushed him forward, and Anna could hear the rasp in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

On the edge of her field of vision, Anna caught a flicker of light. She twisted her head toward it and thought she saw the outline of a person. A sailor, holding up a lamp.

“They’re coming,” she called out to Emil. “The boat is coming.”

Sonja lay slumped against Emil’s chest, her head across his shoulder. Had she been hurt? Anna knew she was their only hope for rescue; she had to keep kicking and moving her arms, even if she could no longer feel them.