The Far Side of the Sky

by Daniel Kalla

  Franz turned the volume back up on the wireless. The bleak news drifted in from halfway across the Pacific. “Pearl Harbor was not the only site of Japanese aggression,” the announcer declared. “They have launched simultaneous assaults on the Wake Islands, Guam, the Philippines, Malaysia and Thailand. The safety of the many American expatriates living in the Far East is uncertain at this time.”

  Esther glanced over to Franz. “Simon …” she murmured.

  She had already lost her husband to one enemy. Franz could not fathom the depth of her worry. “There are thousands of Americans in Shanghai,” he said. “Think of how the Japanese treated the Chinese in Hongkew after the original invasion.”

  Esther’s face blanched. “Oh, mein Gott,” she croaked.

  “Essie, I only mean that the Japanese didn’t arrest them all.”

  “We have all seen how the Japanese treat the locals,” she whispered.

  “Simon will be all right,” Franz insisted. “He is a survivor too.”

  The gunfire and explosions finally quelled after dawn broke. The Adlers maintained their vigil beside the wireless. Hoping to hear news on Shanghai, Franz fiddled with the dial, then tuned in to the most popular local English-language station. The British announcer sounded as confused and frightened as the Adlers felt. “We are told that Japanese marines are storming building after building along the Bund,” the reporter spat out over the static. “The Rising Sun already flies in place of the Union Jack in front of the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank! Good Lord, the Jewel of the Bund has fallen to the enemy!”

  A series of rapid knocks rattled the door. Hannah jumped in surprise. Esther and Franz shared worried glances before Franz rose to his feet and padded to the door. “Yes? Who is it?”

  “Shan Zhou.”

  Franz opened the door to him. Shan’s face was grey. “It’s Ernst,” he said without stepping inside.

  “What about Ernst? Is he all right?”

  “He will not listen to me.” Shan beckoned Franz out with a frantic wave. “You have to see for yourself. Come with me. Please.”

  Franz shook his head. “I cannot leave my family. Not with an invasion going on.”

  “The streets are safe,” Shan said. “The Japanese will not enter the French Concession. Not as long as Vichy France still controls Frenchtown.”

  Franz saw Shan’s point. Japan was unlikely to go to war with the puppet Vichy regime controlled by her ally, Germany. But Franz was not swayed. “Not now, Shan. Perhaps later.”

  Shan looked down at his own hands. “Ernst is going to get himself into trouble. Probably killed.” He looked back up with pleading eyes. “He might listen to you.”

  “Ernst doesn’t listen to anyone.”

  “Please, Dr. Adler, you must try.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At home.”

  “Franz, you had better go,” Esther piped up. “Hannah and I will be all right.”

  Franz hesitated. “You will stay and watch over them?” he asked Shan.

  In response, Shan stepped inside, clasped his hands behind his back and took up a post by the door.

  Franz strode over to the couch. He hugged his sister-in-law and then embraced his daughter for a long moment, kissing her on the forehead. He freed her from his grip and stared into her eyes. “Your aunt is right, liebchen. We are going to be all right. Do you understand?”

  She cracked a brave smile. “Yes, Papa.”

  Outside, for a confused moment Franz wondered if it had snowed, then realized that the streets had been papered with leaflets dropped from the sky. He scooped up a page and saw it was written in English, Chinese and French. “Be advised,” the terse announcement read, “the Imperial Japanese Army will occupy the International Settlement at 1000 hours this eighth day of December. Any persons in uniforms of other nationalities or bearing arms will be treated as hostile. Any persons suspected of resistance will be shot on sight.”

  Franz looked at his watch: 9:05. He took off in a sprint, slipping occasionally on the leaflets. He arrived within five minutes at Ernst’s apartment just off Avenue Joffre. It filled the top floor of a building that housed a furrier and a Russian restaurant on the main floor.

  Unshaven, Ernst wore a black housecoat and pyjama bottoms. “Shan sent you,” he grunted from the doorway.

  “Yes.” Franz stepped inside.

  As usual, the smell of borscht and something less palatable from the restaurant below pervaded the loft-like space. Along one wall, easels held up various-sized canvases. Franz didn’t even pay attention to the images until he had crossed half the floor. The sudden recognition froze him in mid-stride. “Ernst, you can’t!” Franz instantly understood why the artist had always insisted on advance notice so that he could store his latest work out of sight.

  Ernst flapped his hand toward the paintings. “Two years I’ve been working on nothing else. And now, a week before the debut, that coward, Lawrence Solomon, telephones to say he is cancelling my show.”

  Franz couldn’t peel his eyes off the largest of the oils. In the painting, a Chinese woman who was naked from the waist down lay on the ground with her legs splayed open. She had been impaled through the vagina by a steel standard. The pool of bright blood between her legs was the same red as that of the Rising Sun flag that hung off the standard. Eyes open and face contorted with helplessness, the staked woman held a desperate hand out to the viewer.

  Several other paintings—depicting acts of murder, torture and rape—stood on either side of the central canvas. The images never explicitly revealed the perpetrators, but Ernst conveyed them via symbols such as the Rising Sun and samurai swords.

  Franz grabbed his head in his hands. “My God, Ernst! If the Japanese see these, do you have any idea what they will do?”

  Hands on his hips, Ernst shook his head. “The world needs to see what they have done! If not Solomon, I will find another dealer and gallery willing to show them.”

  Franz gestured to the windows. “The Japanese are here now. They control all of Shanghai.”

  “So what would you have me do?” Ernst asked calmly. “Should I just abandon my convictions? Toss away my principles because it is convenient?”

  “Convenient?” Franz groaned. “Are you trying to be a martyr?”

  A wry smile crossed Ernst’s face. “Why not? Martyrdom is invariably beneficial to an artist’s reputation. Taking the very-long-term view, it would be good for my career too.”

  A cold rush filled Franz. He recognized that, behind the sarcasm, Ernst was not bluffing. “And Shan?”

  Ernst’s face creased with suspicion. “What about him?”

  “Are you prepared to sacrifice him for your art also?”

  “How so?”

  “Do you not think that the Japanese will track down your source and muse?”

  Ernst opened his mouth but said nothing. His eyes clouded with uncertainty.

  Franz shook a finger at the orgy of violence portrayed on the canvases. “This is how they treated Shan’s family in Nanking in 1937. What do you imagine they will do to him now, if they associate him with this … this embarrassment?”

  Ernst paled. “I suppose I never thought about it in those terms.” “Well, you had better start.”

  “Perhaps it’s best if I hide these paintings until—” “Not hide, Ernst. You must destroy them!”

  CHAPTER 32

  “Sunny, have you heard?” Simon uttered in disbelief, even though he had predicted war only the day before. “Yes,” she breathed into the receiver.

  “On our own soil, too!” Simon cried. “Those sneaky sons of bitches declared war by surprise-bombing the naval port! Our poor sailors never stood a chance. I thought the Japanese were supposed to be all about honour and dignity.”

  “Is there any real dignity in war?” she asked.

  “Not the way the Japs fight it.” He exhaled and his tone calmed. “Sunny, are you okay?”

  “I am all right. And you, Simon? Are you somewhere safe?�
�� “Yeah, I’m fine. Just boiling mad is all.”

  “Have you spoken to Esther?” Sunny asked, though she was thinking more of Franz.

  “She’s at home with Hannah.” Sunny sat up straighter. “Not Franz?”

  “He had to go see his artist friend about something or other. But he’s okay. Matter of fact, I’m heading over there right after I hang up.”

  “You will be careful, Simon, won’t you?” “Always am, Sun.”

  “It’s different now,” she pointed out. “They will control the whole city soon.”

  Simon sighed into the receiver again. “Who’s going to look after our refugees now?”

  “You need to worry more about yourself, Simon.”

  “Nah, I always land on my feet. It’s the refugees that have got me troubled. And what will become of the hospital?”

  “The Japanese have controlled Hongkew for years. They have never bothered with the refugees or the hospital. Why would that change now?”

  “The Marines and the Brits used to be just across the bridge in case of trouble,” Simon pointed out. “The Japanese had to be on their best behaviour. Who’s watching them now?”

  What we have seen so far is their best behaviour? The night of her father’s murder flashed to her mind. “Why would they care about a group of German Jews?” she asked.

  “They’re not Germans anymore. Hitler revoked their citizenship.” Simon snorted. “Besides, the CFA is still feeding and housing almost ten thousand refugees. Even if the Japanese leave us alone, where will we come up with the dough to pay for it?”

  “Why will the CFA stop paying now?”

  “All our cash comes from a few established Jewish families like the Sassoons and the Kadoories or the Joint Distribution Committee. Those Sephardic families are all Brits. The JDC is a Jewish relief organization based out of New York.” He sighed once again. “One thing’s for sure: the Japanese won’t let money continue to flow in from the enemy.”

  Sunny saw his point. Ten thousand mouths to feed. A hospital to stock.

  “We’ll find another way,” she said.

  “Yeah, after all, isn’t necessity supposed to be the mother of something or other good?” Simon chuckled grimly. “Once I check on Essie, I’m going to head on over to the hospital.”

  “I will meet you there,” she said.

  “No, Sunny. You stay put until things are more settled.”

  “I’m just another Chinese in a city teeming with them, Simon. How much worse could they treat us?” she said with far more certainty in her voice than she felt.

  “At least wait for me to call and tell you the coast is clear. I hear they’re marching up Nanking Road as we speak.”

  “Oh, no!” Sunny squeezed the receiver. “My housekeeper, Yang! She insisted on going out for supplies this morning. She was heading to Nanking Road.”

  “She should be okay. It’s only a parade, that’s all.”

  Sunny checked the clock. Yang had been gone for over two hours. The tiny woman was so terrified of the Japanese that she had not ventured into Hongkew once during its four years of occupation. What if Yang panics and tries to run from them? She might make herself look guilty!

  Outside, a canopy of grey clouds darkened the sky. Only a few people scurried along the sidewalk. The ground was still dry, but the streets were littered with the aerial-dropped leaflets. The damp breeze sent a few sheets cartwheeling down the road like tumbleweed.

  The Buick was parked at the curb, but it took Sunny a moment to spot Fai, who uncharacteristically already sat behind the wheel. “Fai, please take me to Nanking Road,” she said as she climbed inside.

  Fai’s head snapped in her direction. “Missy, the dwarf bandits are on Nanking Road!”

  “So is Yang.”

  Without another word, Fai started the ignition. Normally, the traffic would have been bumper to bumper by this time of the morning, but the roads were so deserted that Fai could have driven into the oncoming lane without fear of hitting another car. One street before Nanking Road, they ran into a barricade formed by two military vehicles parked askew across the intersection. A Japanese soldier levelled a machine gun at their windshield, while another chopped his arm up and down, indicating for Fai to turn the car around.

  Fai screeched the tires in his hurry to back away from them. As soon as he had spun the Buick around, he looked over his shoulder. “No good, Missy. We go home now.”

  Sunny shook her head. “Drop me off at the corner.”

  “Missy …”

  Sunny shot him a look that silenced him. He eased the car over to the curb and let her out. The sky had darkened even more with the imminent threat of rain. Pamphlets swirled at her feet. Sunny steeled herself with two deep breaths and then headed for Nanking Road. She veered off the main street and ducked down an alley until she found a path between buildings that took her out to Nanking.

  She heard stomping feet and rumbling vehicles before she even reached the sidewalk. A crowd lined the street, but the parade was unlike any she had ever witnessed. The air was thick with tension. Aside from a smattering of pro-Japanese cries, the crowd was quiet. There was not a child to be seen.

  Columns of armed Japanese soldiers and sailors in dress uniform trooped along the street, eight abreast, in near-perfect synchrony. Their eyes were unblinking and their faces blank. Numerous tanks and other vehicles rumbled along interspersed between them. The Rising Sun flag flew everywhere, hanging from the sides of buildings and poking out through the windows.

  Sunny scanned the crowd but saw no sign of her housekeeper. Suddenly a group of marching sailors inexplicably caught her eye. She scrutinized the rows of passing men, able to make out little more than their profiles. Anxiety gripped her as she sensed something familiar about an approaching sailor, the nearest in his row. Could it be Father’s killer?

  Sunny’s breath caught and her stomach plummeted. The rhythmic slapping of boots on pavement matched the pounding of her heart. The conflicting urges to lunge out at the sailor and to flee nailed her feet to the ground.

  As the sailor passed before her, Sunny focused on his face. His lip bore no scar. He was only a look-alike. But it was still two or three minutes before her breathing steadied and her legs responded again.

  She forced herself to concentrate on Yang. She scanned the faces of the parade observers again, without sighting her. Sunny realized her housekeeper could be anywhere, possibly even home, but she was not ready to abandon her search. She slipped out of the lineup and began walking westward, stopping every hundred feet or so to scour the crowd.

  Two blocks later, she spotted Yang, planted dutifully along the parade route. The woman’s gaze was frozen on the passing soldiers. Sunny touched her shoulder and Yang’s head flinched as she turned with a start. Her eyes were huge and, through Yang’s thin coat, Sunny could feel her housekeeper’s bony frame trembling. “Everything is going to be all right, Yang,” she soothed. “I am taking you home now.”

  Sunny led the petrified woman by her still shaking arm toward the car. As soon as Fai saw them, he yanked open the back door. Sunny guided Yang into the back seat and closed the door after her.

  Fai motioned frantically toward the road. “Missy, we hurry! Go now!”

  “Take Yang home, Fai,” Sunny said. “I’m going to walk to the hospital.”

  Fai shook his head urgently. “Better if you come too. Missy, please, now …”

  Sunny shook her head and turned away. “I will see you at home.”

  She wove through the alleys and side streets to the Bund. In their ever-present white armbands, the feared Kempeitai military police patrolled the major road, allowing only vehicles that sported the Rising Sun flag to pass. The symbol was everywhere. Sunny felt disoriented and heartsick at the sight of the grand European-style buildings, which she had known her entire life, flying huge Japanese flags. She even spotted several swastikas hanging from windows.

  Franz, oh Franz! She knew he had to be consumed with worry for his
daughter. Are you thinking of me too?

  Sunny hurried on to the Garden Bridge. Although the soldiers were everywhere else, for the first time in four years, the bridge itself was unguarded. The sight deepened her despondency. No longer did she live on the fringe of the Japanese rule; she was trapped fully within it.

  Sunny felt almost relieved to be back in Hongkew, where existence under the Japanese boot had been a way of life for so long that it felt familiar. She hailed a rickshaw and arrived at the hospital just as the clouds finally burst. Her hair was dripping wet by the time she squeezed through the front door.

  The corridor was deserted. As she passed the laboratory, she saw Max Feinstein sitting on a stool, staring at the wall beyond his microscope. His face had aged decades in the past year, but Sunny had never seen him looking so downcast. “Dr. Feinstein, is everything all right?”

  “Fine, yes, thank you, Sunny,” he mumbled.

  The abject resignation etched into his face stopped Sunny from prying further. “Are any of the other staff here today?” she asked.

  Max shrugged. “I saw Berta earlier. And, of course, Dr. Adler is on the ward.”

  Anxious to find Franz, Sunny began to back out of the room.

  “What were we thinking, Sunny?” Max muttered without looking up. “Did we really believe we could outrun Hitler? How foolish! He was bound to catch up with us.”

  Sunny wanted to reassure Max that the Japanese were not the Nazis and that, at least in Hongkew, nothing had changed. She could tell from his expression that her words would have no impact, but she tried anyway. “It will be all right, Dr. Feinstein. You will see.”

  Sunny stepped into the hallway, rounded the corner and almost slammed into Franz. “I thought I heard your voice!” he cried.

  His eyes were sunken and cheeks unshaven, but his face lit with a smile that warmed her heart. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He folded his arms around her. “Everything is better now. And you?”

  “Better, too.” Sunny relaxed, feeling so much safer in his arms.

  She leaned into the embrace. The stubble on his chin scratched her cheeks. “Oh, Sunny,” he breathed.