Josef wished he was invisible.
Once the rest of the passengers discovered who had jumped overboard yesterday, everyone stopped to tell him how sorry they were. How everything would be all right.
But how could it be all right? How could it ever be all right?
Josef stood at the rail on A-deck where his father had jumped. Down below, the sea was no longer empty. It was dotted with little motorboats and rowboats. Some carried reporters shouting up questions and trying to get pictures of the ship. Other boats offered up bunches of fresh bananas and bags of coconuts and oranges. Passengers on C-deck tossed money down, and the fruit was passed up the ladder by the Cuban policemen guarding the top and the bottom. Lately, though, the boats were full of relatives of people on board. Mostly men, they had come ahead to Cuba to get jobs and find places for their families to live.
One man brought the same little white dog every day and held it up for his wife to wave to.
The boats with relatives came close enough for their families to yell back and forth a little, but they couldn’t get any closer. Thanks to Josef’s father, a handful of Cuban police boats now surrounded the St. Louis. They kept the rescue ships at a distance and watched for anyone else who tried to
jump to freedom.
Or death.
At night, the Cuban police boats swept the hull with searchlights, and the St. Louis’s crew members, on the captain’s orders, patrolled the decks on suicide watch.
“Evelyne, there he is! There’s Papa!” Renata cried. She stood a few paces away from Josef down the rail, trying to point out one of the little rowboats to her sister.
“Where? I don’t see him!” Evelyne whined.
Josef was more interested in the small police boat that had navigated its way through the flotilla and was pulling up to the St. Louis. Any time they had a visitor now it was cause for conversation, and soon word spread throughout the ship that the boat had brought the Cuban policeman who had saved Josef’s father.
Josef ran down to fetch his mother and sister, and together they hurried to the social hall, where a group of passengers and crew gathered to give the Cuban policeman a hero’s welcome. They parted for the policeman, cheering and slapping him on the back and shaking hands with him as he went. It was the first time he had been back to the ship since jumping overboard to save Josef’s father, and Josef and his family strained to get a good look at him over the heads of the other passengers. Josef’s mother cried and put a hand to her mouth, and Josef felt a surge of affection for the policeman. This was the man who had saved his father’s life.
The policeman seemed genuinely flattered and surprised by all the attention. He was a short, stocky man with olive skin, a wide face, and a thick mustache. He wore blue pants, a gray shirt with epaulets on the shoulders, and a matching gray beret. Around his waist was a leather belt with a nightstick and holster hanging from it.
His name, they were told, was Mariano Padron.
Captain Schroeder arrived to thank Officer Padron on behalf of the passengers and crew. Josef felt a ripple of tension spread throughout the room. Josef had seen the captain less and less as the hot days of waiting at anchor dragged on, and he wasn’t the only passenger who had noticed. But they were there to celebrate Officer Padron, not badger the captain about why they were still on the ship. The mood became happy again when the policeman was presented with a gift of 150 reichsmarks that had been collected from grateful passengers. Officer Padron was stunned, and so was Josef—150 reichsmarks was a lot of money, especially for people who might need that money later to pay for visas and entrance fees. Officer Padron tried to refuse the money, but the passengers wouldn’t hear of it.
“I was just doing my job,” Officer Padron told the audience through a translator. “But I will never forget this. I will never forget any of you.
Thank you.”
The passengers applauded again, and while many of them turned their attention to the captain to ask him for a status report, Josef and his mother and sister pushed forward to talk to the policeman.
Officer Padron’s eyes lit up at the sight of Josef’s mother. He said something in Spanish, and the passenger who had spoken for him in front of the crowd smiled and translated his words.
“Señora! Your father was a thief?”
Josef’s mother frowned. “A thief? My father? No—I don’t understand.”
“Your father, he must be a thief,” Officer Padron said through the translator. “Because he stole the stars from the sky and put them in the señora’s eyes.”
Josef finally understood—it was some kind of compliment about how pretty she was. His mother smiled politely but impatiently. “Officer Padron, what about my husband?” she asked. “Is he all right? They won’t let me go ashore and see him.”
The policeman took off his hat. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. Señora Landau, yes? Your husband is alive,” he said through the interpreter. “He is in the hospital. He has been … ” Officer Padron said something more, but the translator frowned. It was beyond his limited Spanish. Officer Padron could see his confusion, and he pantomimed what he meant by turning his wrists upside down, closing his eyes, and lolling his head back like he was asleep.
“Sedated,” Mama said. There was pain in her voice. Josef knew she blamed herself. The whole reason her husband was gone was because she had been sedated and unable to stop him.
Officer Padron nodded. “It’s not good,” he said through the interpreter.
“But he will live.”
Josef’s mother took both of the policeman’s hands in her own and kissed them. “Thank you, Officer Padron.” She spoke in German, but the policeman seemed to understand. He blushed and nodded. Then he spied Ruthie half hidden behind her mother’s skirt and knelt down to her. He put his policeman’s beret on her head and said something in Spanish, and she smiled.
“He says you’re the policewoman now,” the translator said. “He will be the criminal. You must catch him!”
Officer Padron led Ruthie on a merry chase around the room, Ruthie squealing. Josef’s mother laughed through a sob. It was the first time Josef had heard her laugh or seen her smile in months.
Officer Padron let Ruthie catch him, and he plucked the hat off Ruthie’s head and put it on Josef’s head, speaking in Spanish again.
“He says it’s your turn,” the translator said.
“Oh, no,” Josef said. He waved a hand to make sure the policeman understood. He wasn’t in the mood for fun and games, and besides, he was too old for that kind of thing.
Officer Padron tapped Josef’s chest with the back of his hand, urging him to play.
“He says he is the passenger,” the translator said. Officer Padron raised himself up in mock anger and spoke in Spanish. “You! Señor Policeman!” the translator said. “When will we leave the ship?”
The happy mood suddenly disappeared. Josef and his family and the translator all looked at each other awkwardly. Officer Padron had only meant to mimic what everyone asked him all the time, but the question made Josef sag. It felt like they were never getting off this ship. Officer Padron realized his mistake immediately and looked anguished at having brought it up. He nodded in sympathy. Then, in unison, he and Josef spoke the answer all the Cuban guards always gave:
“Mañana.”