The end of the war in Europe had just been declared as Maria’s funeral was organised in Berlin. Mercifully, it was held at a different church than the one in which she had been married. Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial was, in any case, almost completely destroyed from bombing.

A thin and weary-looking figure slipped into the church, among the last few people to arrive. She unassumingly took a seat in the back and looked around her at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Janina didn’t really know how she had survived the death camp. Luck, she supposed. As soon as she had been liberated and had seen the ruined city she was freed into, the former housekeeper decided that she wanted no more of the place and had gotten a ticket on the next boat to New York City. She had a cousin there and he would help her.

She would have already left had it not been for an article in the newspaper about Maria’s death and her husband’s disappearance. With little information about the witnesses, it said that her body had been identified and taken to a morgue in Switzerland until her family had been informed. They, of course, had it immediately brought back home for burial. Janina felt a sense of duty after reading the news. She couldn’t leave without first paying her respects to a good friend.

When the service ended and guests her allowed to approach the casket before burial, Janina bravely began to walk up the aisle. She prepared herself for the possibility of being recognised by the family.

The smooth oak coffin was surrounded by a sea of flowers and candles. Nestled in the red velvet lining, dressed in a long white night-gown as if she were asleep in bed, was Maria. She had been cleaned up, her wounds were stitched, and she nearly looked alive.

Please don’t blame yourself for what happened to me, Maria, Janina said in her mind. I know you never bought into the hatred.

She turned from the coffin to see the Schweitzer family staring at her with unreadable expressions on their faces. No one knew just what to say.

Janina spoke first. "I...I wanted to say goodbye..."

Frau Schweitzer caught her completely off guard as she suddenly embraced the willowy woman fiercely.

"Oh God, forgive us, Janina," she sobbed, "please forgive us; we were wrong..."

Janina began to cry herself and returned the embrace gratefully. "Oh, Luise..." Herr Schweitzer stared at the floor, embarrassed and ashamed at how anti-Semitic hatred had manifested itself. The von Reichters had already been devastated enough by their son’s criminal charges and disappearance. But still they got up to stand by their in-law’s side in sympathy.

Rudi turned away from the scene in disgust. If it weren’t for Janina’s kind, his sister and nephew would still be alive. His brother-in-law would be safe. Yet here was his family apologising to her! Where was their loyalty to the Reich?

And whose side will they be on at my military trial? He wondered in horror, throwing a glance at the American GI who was assigned to him.

Maria was buried in a quiet, shady cemetery plot close to the graves of her ancestors. Her tombstone was made of pale marble, with twin cherubs in prayer sculpted at the top to guard her. There was a double inscription on the face. It was often partially obscured by bouquets from the family, and also from an increasing number of Berlin camp survivors who had heard sad rumours that Maria was the girl who had brought them food years before. They were always saddened further by the words on the stone:

* * * * * *

The group of crew members talked and laughed among themselves as they made their way to the mess hall. The sun had just begun to set and the starboard deck was glowing in the golden light.

Squinting in the brightness, one of the workers caught sight of the two passengers the captain had taken on at Genoa, and pointed them out. His friends, in high spirits as it was dinnertime and the end of their shifts, loudly greeted the men as they passed by. The younger, blond one was amiable enough and waved, but the older one with black hair eyed them with silent contempt.

"Honestly, Krumens," von Reichter remarked without eye contact when the workers had gone, "there’s no use in being familiar with them if you don’t even speak the same language."

"But Herr Doktor, maybe they could teach us -"

"The Spanish lessons can wait. We have a great deal of time." He turned and stood at the railing, light catching the monocle he had taken to wearing in place of glasses. Krumens understood that the conversation was over, and presently returned to his cabin.

Von Reichter tried to stop himself as he felt tears forming in his eyes again. It happened at all times of the day lately. A memory of her smile, or her voice, or the way her hair smelled - Maria would suddenly fill his mind and he was helpless against the pain. The world was such a cruel place.

One day I will change all that, he vowed. One day the world will answer to me.

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