Anyone who had spent more than a month in Portugal knew of the secret police and their brutality. It was rumored they had been trained by the Gestapo in their torture techniques. As kind as the Portuguese people were to the refugees, the PVDE could be just as cruel. Merciless with their rules, pedantic with the details, and swift with the execution of punishment. When people entered prison, they did not always come out, and even the ones who did had terrifying tales to tell.
She suppressed a shiver and addressed the officer in Portuguese, asking if there was a way to register the mother and child now and provide their names later or if there was anything she might do to prepare for their arrival. She intentionally omitted the details of how they were coming and how she knew of them. The PVDE was supposed to remain impartial to either side in the war, maintaining Portugal’s claim of neutrality. Not everyone followed rules, however, and it was not uncommon to find some siding with the Allies and still others with the Axis.
The man sighed in irritation at a question he apparently considered idiotic.
“When they come, you make sure they register here.” His expression was stern. “They come every month, or we will go to them.”
Ava smiled sweetly in the face of his bald threat. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”
The only other place she could think to probe about for ideas or information she had somehow overlooked was the JDC. As she hopped on the tram, her mind worked through everyone she had ever met in DC and how they might offer some aid. She hadn’t been one for making scores of close friends. She didn’t have many acquaintances as it was. And certainly, none that were in positions to provide backing in a situation like this.
She’d learned that early on when trying to find a way for Lamant to get his transit visa to America.
The tram deposited her at her stop, and she walked the rest of the way toward the familiar white building, enjoying the heat of the sun on that crisp January day. Children chased one another about in a game of tag while their parents held cups of coffee and tea, engaged in their dismal low-toned conversations. The faces changed from time to time, but the situations were always the same. Adults waiting for the little ones to be distracted before whispering their fears to one another.
What if a visa didn’t arrive in time and the PVDE came for them? What if a boat ticket couldn’t be obtained and they had to start the process over again? What if the money ran out? What if Germany attacked Portugal and they had nowhere to go?
The worst of it was that there were no answers for any of those questions. There doubtless wasn’t an answer for Ava either, but she wouldn’t give up without getting advice from the person most likely to know all the loopholes in the crazy, shifting visa system in Portugal.
Ethan tossed the towel he’d been wiping a table with over his shoulder. “Ava, how did you know to come?”
She chuckled, good-naturedly. “Because you always need extra hands.”
He shook his head without humor, and that was when she noticed his eyes were red rimmed.
“Ava…” Her name tore from him in a ragged, wounded way that sent a warning charging through her.
“What is it?”
He blinked and a tear dropped to his cheek. He swiped it away. “It’s Otto.”
“Otto?” Her blood went cold. “What’s happened?”
“Ava…he…”
She stared at Ethan, her heart gripped with fear. “He what?”
“He took his own life.”
Everything around her froze in that moment. She remained still, stunned, her mind grappling with the enormity of such news.
“Why?” she whispered as the questions rushed forward. “When? How?”
Ethan pinched his forefinger and thumb over his eyes and sniffed. “He was found this morning, an empty bottle of morphine tablets by his bed with a note.”