Free Threads and Flames by Esther Friesner

man’s body. “Whatever the captain decides, it will be a dreadful fate for the child either way.”
    â€œNo,” Raisa said, gripping Brina. “He can’t do that to her. I won’t let him!”
    â€œAh, that’s easy to say,” the crewman replied. “But to do—”
    â€œI won’t let him!” Raisa repeated even more forcefully, though she had no idea how she was going to stop the captain. All she knew was that this was something she could not allow to happen.
    â€œYou’re a good, brave girl,” the young man said, admiration in his eyes. “If it all depended on courage alone, I’d feel sorry for our captain, going up against you.”
    â€œIs that where you’re taking us?” Raisa asked, her heart beating faster. “To see the captain?”
    The young man gave a short, sharp laugh. “He has better things to do. One of the ship’s junior officers will question you and report his recommendations about the child to our captain. That friend of yours is already there, the one who notified us about the dead—about this child’s mama.” He patted Brina’s golden curls again and clicked his tongue. “So young, and alone. Such a great misfortune.”
    The ship’s officer was waiting in a small, unoccupied second-class cabin. He sat stiffly in a wooden chair with Zusa standing nearby, fidgeting. His eyes glittered coldly when he saw Raisa and Brina; his mouth became small and hard as a chip of flint. The young sailor who had brought Raisa and Brina into his presence snapped to attention and gave the man a smart salute that was returned brusquely, followed by a long, intense burst of German. While Raisa’s escort was responding to this, she moved next to Zusa. The two girls exchanged wary looks.
    â€œWhat’s he been saying to you?” Raisa whispered, nodding at the officer, who was still involved in conversation with the crewman.
    â€œHe wants to know about Brina’s family,” Zusa hissed back. “Whatever happened—if it was just a terrible slipup or if maybe her mother had a reason to bribe someone to let her and Brina aboard with irregular documents—this man isn’t going to let his ship or his company take the blame. They’ve gone through her mother’s things. They found no mention of any relatives or family friends and they’re mad as wet cats about that.”
    â€œWell, that’s because if they can’t turn her over to someone in New York City, they’d have to pay to—”
    Abruptly, the ship’s officer snapped his head in Raisa’s direction and bellowed at her. The crewman translated: “He says you are to keep quiet unless you have something you want to say to him.”
    â€œI was only telling—” Raisa began.
    Again the officer shouted at her and the translation came: “He says that if he wanted to listen to a lot of dirty Jew-chatter, he would filthy his boots on the doorstep of one of your damned synagogues.” The young crewman spoke as if his words were saying something as simple and self-evident as The grass is green or The sky is blue . There was no hint of shame or apology in his voice or his expression.
    Raisa’s face burned. She took a long, deep breath and wished she could let it out as a stream of fire. What did we ever do to them? Brina whimpered and squirmed in her arms.
    All at once, Zusa spoke up, addressing the ship’s officer directly in German. He looked dubious, but with a lift of his eyebrows and a faint nod, he beckoned his translator to bend close. The two men conferred in inaudible murmurs until at last the young sailor turned to relay the essence of their conversation.
    â€œHe begs your pardon, miss,” the translator told Raisa with a broad grin. “He was unaware that you and your friend here are not Jewish. He thought he heard you speaking in that tongue, but clearly he was