by Daniel Kalla
The soft strains of a cello floated to Sunny from the ballroom. It reminded her of Lotte. Sunny had written the other woman a heartfelt letter of apology but never posted it. Even if it had cleared Japanese censors, Sunny knew it was not the right way to apologize. She had intended to do it in person but Lotte pre-empted her, arriving unannounced one morning only days after Sunny had accepted Franz’s ring.
Sunny blushed deeply as she led Lotte into the sitting room, but nothing about the woman’s demeanour suggested the least trace of hurt or betrayal. On the contrary, she exuded a sense of lightness that Sunny had never seen in her before.
“Lotte, it is so decent of you to … to drop in,” Sunny stammered. “I was intending … er … to come see you this week.”
“No need.” Lotte smiled kindly. “I only wanted to express my very best wishes for Franz and you.”
Sunny did not know what Franz had told Lotte when he broke off their engagement, but her sincerity was beyond a doubt. “Lotte, I feel so badly about what happened. I—we—never intended this … or to hurt you in—”
Lotte reached out and squeezed Sunny’s hand. “I understand what it means to be in love. Honestly, Sunny. It has worked out for the best. Franz and you were meant for each other.”
“Oh, Lotte.” Sunny leaned forward and wrapped her in a hug.
“I am very happy for you both.” Lotte wriggled free of the embrace, appearing slightly embarrassed. “Truly, Sunny.”
Jia-Li appeared at the doorway, snapping Sunny out of the memory. “Everyone is seated, xiao hè.” Her friend winked. “Franz has waited long enough, don’t you think?”
Sunny reached for the small bouquet of colourful peonies on the desk.
The flowers lay beside her parents’ wedding photo, which she had brought with her to the hotel. She lifted the frame to her lips, kissing the glass before placing it back on the desk and following Jia-Li into the hallway.
The corridor’s thick carpet and textured wallpaper showed no sign of wear, but Sunny had spotted other indicators—burned-out light bulbs in the chandeliers, empty vases in the lobby and cracked mouldings—reminding her that even the grandest hotel in Shanghai was suffering under Japanese occupation.
“Are you nervous?” Jia-Li asked over her shoulder.
“No.”
“And why should you be, xiao hè?” Jia-Li laughed as she thrust open the door to the tea room.
The cello’s melody grew louder. Sunny was touched to see Lotte seated in the corner, softly playing Mouret’s “Rondeau.”
Franz stood at the front of the room beneath the white cloth canopy that resembled the traditional chuppah of a Jewish wedding. At the sight of her, he broke into a beaming smile. Sunny resisted the urge to race down the aisle to him. She waited for Jia-Li to walk several paces before she took her first deliberate step.
With only twenty-four guests present, the ballroom seemed relatively empty; a striking contrast to Esther and Simon’s wedding two months before. Between Esther’s widespread popularity and Simon’s exalted status among the refugees, so many people had turned up that the synagogue couldn’t hold them all. Sunny had insisted on a smaller wedding but, regardless, the guest list would never have rivalled the Lehrers’. After General Nogomi’s surgery, rumours had swirled among the Jewish community that Franz was a Japanese sympathizer. Franz never complained, but Sunny sensed his hurt.
Sunny scanned the room. In the front row, Hannah, who sat between Esther and Yang, wore a light-blue dress with navy trim that her aunt had sewn. Hannah had recovered quickly from her brush with death. In the past six months, she had burst into adolescence. Now as tall as Sunny, the girl had grown gangly and slightly awkward, but with her large eyes, delicate bones and inner grace, she was destined for beauty. Turned in her seat, Hannah flashed Sunny a broad grin and welcoming wave as she began walking down the aisle.
Berta, Liese and Max all sat together with their spouses in the fourth row. Fai and his wife sat across from them, beside Jia-Li’s mother. A few seats away, Sunny’s two nursing friends from the Country Hospital, Meredith Blythe and Stacy Chan, sat side by side, while a small man in a three-piece suit sat alone in the fifth row. It took Sunny a moment to recognize him as Hermann Schwartzmann.
Garbed in robes specific to their faith, two elderly officials stood at the front of the room facing Franz and Simon. Rabbi Hiltmann, the uncle of Golda, wore a yarmulke and a white prayer shawl around his neck. Sunny’s eyes misted over at the sight of Reverend Anderson, the stooped octogenarian who had been her minister for her entire life.
Her heart thumping faster with each step, Sunny arrived at the edge of the canopy. Lotte’s music died away. Jia-Li moved aside to take her spot beside Sunny, while Simon stood on the far side of Franz.
Franz looked younger and happier than she had ever seen him. He extended a hand to Sunny. She fought back tears as she joined him under the canopy.
Rabbi Hiltmann held his hand out to the minister. “Reverend Anderson, as this is a second-generation wedding for you,” he said in heavily accented English, “please …”
“What the rabbi says is most true,” the reverend said in a tremulous voice. “I was honoured to officiate at the wedding of our beautiful bride’s parents. Too many years ago for almost anyone—especially this old codger—to remember.” He exhaled. “Ida and Kingsley Mah were two special souls. Idealists, they were. Brave enough to defy many naysayers for the sake of love. Tragically, their lives were cut far too short, but their happy marriage gave us the lovely Soon Yi. And I am delighted to be a part of this—as Rabbi Hiltmann pointed out—second generation of Mah weddings. How delighted her parents would be.” He sighed. “Sunny and Franz also face many challenges in these particularly narrow-minded times, but I believe they are strong enough to overcome everything that lies in their path.” He laughed at himself again. “Dear me, this decrepit old minister seems to be confusing a wedding ceremony for a sermon.”
The rabbi clapped the other man on the shoulder. “You speak only wisdom, my friend. Please continue.”
Franz squeezed Sunny’s hand tighter as Anderson fumbled with his reading glasses and flipped open the service book in his hand. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …”
Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach as Sunny listened to Anderson read the vows. Respectful of the Jewish tradition, he stopped before asking the pivotal questions and allowed the rabbi to catch up in Hebrew. The two spiritual leaders merged the ceremonies seamlessly, as though joint Christian and Jewish weddings were the rule rather than the exception.
Anderson turned to Sunny with a gentle smile. “Soon Yi, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband to live together after God’s ordinance in the Holy Estate of matrimony?”
Sunny turned to Franz and drank in his loving gaze. “I will.”
“Wilt thou love him, in sickness and in health and—forsaking all others—keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” Her voice caught.
The reverend turned to the rabbi. Hiltmann rhythmically chanted a short prayer in Hebrew. Then in English he said, “Do you, Franz Isaac Adler, take Soon Yi Mah to be your wife?”
Franz took her other hand in his. His eyes glistened. “I do.” His voice was husky.
The rabbi nodded his approval. “Do you promise to love, cherish and protect her, whether in good fortune or in adversity, and to seek with her a life hallowed by the faith of Israel?”
“Yes, I do. Always.”
The two spiritual leaders shared a look, and then the rabbi laughed. “You first, Reverend.”
Anderson grinned. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The rabbi echoed the declaration in Hebrew.
Simon placed a cloth-covered wineglass on the floor in front of Franz. “It’s all yours,” he whispered. “Don’t miss! It’s bad luck.”
Laughing, Franz stomped on the glass. Sunny’s heart leapt.
The rabbi turned to
Franz with an exaggerated shrug. “Well, is this not what you have been waiting for all this time, Dr. Adler? You may kiss Mrs. Adler now!”
CHAPTER 43
JULY 19, 1942, SHANGHAI
Franz slowly slid his arm out from under Sunny’s waist. As soon as she shifted and stirred, he stopped and left his hand where it lay beneath her.
Sunny stilled. Franz was tempted to kiss her awake to make love again but decided it would be selfish after they had stayed up so late talking, laughing and exploring one another’s bodies. Besides, he loved to watch her sleep. He was contented just to stare at the nape of her neck—his favourite place to kiss—and the curve of her supple back. He considered the best angle to photograph her and realized that, for the first time since Hilde’s death, he was eager to focus his lens back on a living subject.
The three weeks since their wedding had been a whirl of passion. His sexual reawakening was more gratifying and intense than even he had expected. They quickly felt at home in one another’s arms.
But apart from their joy, the world around them seemed to be going to hell. The threat of internment hung over foreigners in Shanghai like a guillotine’s blade. The war news was disastrous, with seemingly nonstop losses and setbacks for the Allies in Europe, North Africa and the Pacific. Depression ran rampant among the refugees, and suicide was all too common. Yet, Franz felt blessed. Not only had his daughter returned to him from the brink of death but he was surrounded by family, deeply in love and, while most others were unemployed, still able to practise surgery.
With the surreptitious aid of Colonel Kubota and Hermann Schwartzmann, Simon had managed to keep the refugee hospital functional. Franz was still not certain whether or not Kubota was behind the late-night drop-offs, but every month new shipments of vital medical supplies had arrived. And so did Schwartzmann, with his envelopes full of cash.
Franz fought the urge to run his fingers along Sunny’s perfect shoulder blades. He smiled to himself, remembering how close he had come to never discovering this bliss. He would be forever grateful to Lotte for her strength of character. He recalled the evening, almost six months earlier, when he first told Lotte the truth.
Esther and Hannah were still recovering from cholera in the hospital, leaving Franz and Lotte alone in the apartment. Hands folded on her lap and expression neutral, she listened as Franz fumbled to explain his feelings for Sunny. By the time he finished, Lotte’s eyes were dry. She actually appeared relaxed. “We should probably announce the breaking off of the engagement,” she said pleasantly.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”
“May I ask you a rather private question, Franz?”
“Certainly, Lotte.”
“Our relationship?” Her gaze fell to her lap. “Did my aunt put you up to it?”
Franz rose to his feet. “Lotte, you are a lovely and wonderful woman. I saw that the first time we met. However, working so closely with Sunny—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “I need to hear the truth. Please, Franz.”
“Your aunt did encourage me, yes,” he muttered. “Of course, I was glad to—”
“And did this encouragement include any consequences?”
Uneasy, Franz stalled. “Consequences? I am not sure I understand.” “For example, did my aunt threaten your position with my uncle in any way?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, indirectly …”
Lotte eyed him intently. “Did Clara threaten to have Hannah removed from school?”
“I … I …” he stammered. “How could you know?”
“Because I have lived with that woman for most of my life!” Lotte spat with uncharacteristic bitterness. “I know how she thinks.”
“Clara was only looking out for you. For your long-term security.”
“Hardly!” Lotte scoffed. “Oh, Franz, this never had anything to do with you. Or even finding me a nice Jewish doctor.”
“No? Then what?”
She exhaled softly. “For years, Clara has tried to prevent me from marrying Bernard.”
“Bernard?” He frowned in thought. “The Swiss man we met in the café?”
“Yes, Bernard Leudenberger.” She smiled as she spoke his name. “I should have told you long ago. Forgive me. Like you, I felt too intimidated by Clara.”
“There is no need to explain.” Franz chuckled. “To me, of all people.”
“But I want to, Franz,” Lotte said. “Bernard and I grew up on the same street with few other children our age. We were best of friends. After my parents died, I moved in with Clara and Samuel while Bernard went off to school in Switzerland. As soon as he returned, he came for me.” The colour left her cheeks, and she shook her head. “When Clara heard that we were in love …”
“Bernard is a Gentile, isn’t he?” Franz asked with sudden insight.
Lotte nodded. “Clara calls him a Nazi because he is of German origin. But it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Bernard is the gentlest man I have ever met.”
It all made sense to Franz. “So Clara bullied you into our relationship too?”
“Yes.” Lotte swallowed. “She said I would be considered a Nazi sympathizer.
That I could never attend shul. That I would have no friends. That I would become an outcast, without a home or a job.” “Why did you allow this, Lotte?”
She buried her face in her hands. “Bernard’s family threatened to disown him too. They don’t want him to marry a Jew—or a Catholic, for that matter—any more than my aunt and uncle want me to marry a goy. Bernard’s father manages the Shanghai office of the Uberseebank. He could easily have his son dismissed from his job there as a currency trader. We would have nowhere to go and nothing to live on.”
“Lotte, there must be something to be done. I know a German diplomat who might be able to help find work for Bernard.”
She looked up at him with a small smile. “Sunny is indeed a fortunate woman.”
“Perhaps not as fortunate as Bernard.”
Lotte’s expression stiffened. She grabbed Franz’s hand, her grip cool and firm. “Do not worry about Hannah. I will not let my aunt threaten her position at the Jewish school.”
“How can you stop her?”
“Clara may sit on the board, but she exaggerates her influence. I still work at the school. And I do have some say.”
Lotte’s words proved prophetic. When the Jewish school finally reopened in late January, no one questioned Hannah’s enrolment. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Franz never returned to his post at the Country Hospital, so the security of his job became irrelevant. And, in the weeks and months that followed, Bernard and Lotte began to appear together in public. In the end, Clara’s threats turned out to be empty.
Sunny rolled toward Franz and pulled him back to the moment with a soft kiss. “What time is it?” she murmured.
“Early.” Franz kissed her back. “Go back to sleep.”
She yawned, stretched and kissed him again.
He pressed his lips harder to hers. “It’s never too early, is it?”
“Never with you.” She ran the tips of her fingers lightly down his bare chest.
Franz woke again to find sunlight leaking around the blinds. His watch read 8:14. The room was already warm. By late morning, it would be unbearably stuffy.
Franz rose and headed to the kitchen. Hannah had not yet risen, but Yang was already standing at the stove, steaming something in a large pot. A delicious aroma wafted through the room. “Good morning, Yang.”
She nodded in her unsmiling way. Other than Sunny, only Hannah seemed to be able to dent the woman’s stony exterior. Yang had beamed the day she discovered that Hannah was fluent in Shanghainese. Ever since, the two of them had spent much time chatting while the tiny woman cooked all kinds of treats for the girl.
A soft knock drew Franz’s attention. He opened the door to Simon. Franz knew that Hannah would be pleased to see her uncle. As much as his daughter enjoyed living at Sunny’s hous
e, where she had her own bedroom, she missed her aunt and uncle, who now lived in their old flat on Avenue Joffre.
But Franz saw at a glance that there was nothing social about Simon’s visit. His expression was dark and his eyes unusually grave. “What is it?” Franz demanded. “Is Esther all right?”
Stone-faced, Simon nodded. “I need you to come meet someone.”
“Right now? Who?”
“Aaron Grodenzki.” The name meant nothing to Franz. “Just come, Franz. Please.”
Outside, Simon explained further. “Grodenzki showed up out of the blue. He told his story to Chaim Adelman, who sits on what’s left of the CFA committee. Chaim summoned an emergency council meeting last night. Several refugees were invited. Reuben was there too.”
Whether or not the Reubens were the source of the collaborator rumours concerning him, Franz knew that they had perpetuated them. He found himself shunned by former friends at the temple and excluded from meetings. Franz had tried to defend himself, but the gossip fed on itself. His marriage to a woman outside his religion and race only compounded his isolation.
Franz and Simon arrived at the small Russian café a few blocks from Franz’s old apartment. Franz immediately noticed the haggard man sitting alone in the corner. He was hunched over and clasping a coffee cup in both hands. A jagged scar ran across his forehead. At first glance, Franz thought that Aaron Grodenzki was middle-aged or older but soon realized that the man was still in his twenties. Struck by Grodenzki’s skeletal appearance, Franz didn’t notice his mangled hands until he reached the table. Grodenzki’s left hand was fingerless beyond the knuckles, and he had only a thumb and part of a forefinger on his right.
Grodenzki studied Franz with suspicion. “You were not there last night.” His German was tinged with a Polish accent.
“Some people think I co-operate with the Japanese,” Franz said.
“Do you?”
“Only when they threaten my family,” Franz said. Grodenzki accepted the explanation with a shrug. “Aaron, tell Franz about the place,” Simon encouraged. “Chelmno.”