The Far Side of the Sky

by Daniel Kalla

  Franz swivelled his head in alarm. “Why not, Colonel?”

  “They have requested to speak to you alone.”

  “Alone?” Franz gulped.

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Fifteenth floor,” the withered elevator operator announced and the doors opened.

  Their feet sank silently into the plush carpet as Kubota led Franz down the hallway to the corner suite. Is this how a condemned man feels approaching the gallows? The memory of his brother hit him like a club. Oh, Karl!

  At the door, Kubota glanced over to Franz with a supportive nod and then rapped three times. The door opened and a man in a dove-grey uniform bearing the unmistakable lightning-bolt insignia of the SS on his collar stepped out. Apprehension washed over Franz as he recognized the acne-scarred face of Horst Schmidt.

  Ignoring Franz altogether, Schmidt saluted Kubota crisply. “Hauptscharführer Schmidt, sir.”

  “Colonel Kubota.” He returned the salute but spoke in English. “I am escorting my friend, Dr. Adler.”

  Schmidt did not acknowledge Franz. “The Obersturmbannführer is expecting him.”

  Kubota took a last look at Franz before turning and trudging away down the corridor.

  Schmidt snapped his fingers in Franz’s face. “Adler! Come.”

  The white-carpeted, spacious suite was airy and bright, its gilded windows offering an expansive view of the Bund and the Whangpoo. Despite the room’s grandeur, Franz felt as claustrophobic as he had in Bridge House.

  Schmidt marched over to the set of closed doors on the far side of the room and knocked. “Adler is here, sir!” he announced. “Send him in, please,” replied a soft voice.

  Schmidt pushed open the doors and jerked his head in their direction. Franz took a long breath and then stepped into the sitting room. The door closed behind him with a whoosh.

  With the exception of his uniform, now grey instead of black, the man behind the desk looked exactly the same as he had in Vienna, four years earlier. Eichmann! The air left Franz’s lungs.

  Adolf Eichmann studied Franz with cool eyes before he rose unhurriedly to his feet. “Ah, Herr Doktor Adler, so good of you to come.” He extended his arm, not to shake hands but to indicate the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Please, won’t you sit?”

  Mouth sour with acid, Franz lowered himself into the seat. Eichmann motioned to the small bar set up in the room’s corner. “Would you care for a refreshment, Dr. Adler?”

  “No thank you, Lieutenant Eichmann.”

  “Ah, I am actually an Obersturmbannführer now.” He sat back down across from Franz. “A lieutenant colonel. I can hardly believe it myself.”

  Franz, flooded with a mixture of disbelief, anger and dread, simply stared at the man.

  Eichmann nodded to Franz’s sling. “Did you have an accident, Dr. Adler?”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  Eichmann shrugged. “This truly is a gem of a hotel, is it not?” he went on conversationally. “I understand it was built by Sir Victor Sassoon. Do you happen to know the man?” “Not personally, no.”

  “I heard that he scurried out of Shanghai before the Japanese took over. Too bad. I would have liked to meet Sir Victor. I understand he used to be the most influential and successful businessman in the entire city.” He tapped his temple conspiratorially. “Apparently, Sir Victor was quite the lady’s man and a close friend to royalty and movie stars alike. My sources also tell me that he provided generous financial assistance to the Jewish refugees.”

  “I have heard the same,” Franz said, wondering why Eichmann was gushing over a Jewish entrepreneur.

  Eichmann leaned back in his chair. “Recent … ah … injuries aside, Dr. Adler, I understand that you have landed on your feet here in Shanghai.”

  Uncertain how to reply, Franz said nothing.

  “Your family is well?”

  Franz tensed. “Thank you, yes,” he muttered.

  Eichmann continued as though they were two old friends catching up. “I myself still work for the Department of Jewish Affairs. My responsibilities now extend somewhat beyond Vienna.” He laughed softly. “In fact, I’m responsible for all German-occupied territories, which—as you might imagine—covers vast geography and touches millions of lives.”

  Franz had no idea what to make of Eichmann’s feigned friendliness. He forced warmth into his voice. “You sound terribly busy, Obersturmbannführer. May I inquire as to what brings you to Shanghai?”

  “You may, indeed, Dr. Adler.” Eichmann smiled thinly. “I think you are aware that a colleague of mine—a Gestapo man named Meisinger—took it upon himself to visit the city.”

  Franz shook his head. “He was not sent here?”

  “Yes and no,” Eichmann sighed. “It is true that Reichsführer Himmler did authorize his visit, but unfortunately Colonel Meisinger vastly overstepped his bounds.”

  “He did?”

  “If I might be perfectly frank, Herr Doktor, Meisinger is an overzealous buffoon.” Eichmann exhaled heavily. “He arrived here with all sorts of drastic proposals for dealing with the refugees that were never sanctioned by Berlin.”

  “I see,” Franz said, trying to read between the lines.

  “Fortunately, I happened to be in the Far East, so I can personally sort out Meisinger’s mess.” His voice lowered. “Although, Dr. Adler, few people are aware of my presence, and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

  “Of course, Obersturmbannführer.”

  Eichmann sat up straighter and spoke with excitement. “Putting Meisinger’s idiocy aside, we, in my department, see a real opportunity here in China.”

  “Opportunity?” Franz almost choked on the word.

  “Yes. Before the war, despite the reluctance of other countries, we were successful in facilitating the emigration of hundreds of thousands of German Jews.” Eichmann said it as though the Nazis had to struggle to overcome other countries’ anti-Semitic policies. “Unfortunately, with the war situation being what it is, there is nowhere for the Jews still left in the fatherland to go. You understand that they can’t possibly stay in Germany. Frankly, with war rationing and the natural backlash against them, it’s neither safe nor sustainable for them.”

  Franz viewed Eichmann speechlessly.

  “In every crisis there is opportunity.” Eichmann ran his finger over the brim of the perfectly polished officer’s cap that sat on his desk. “For everyone involved, including you.”

  “Me, Obersturmbannführer? The SS is offering me an opportunity?”

  “I believe so, yes.” Eichmann offered another thin-lipped smile. “For reasons I do not fully appreciate, our Japanese allies hold you Jews in oddly high regard. They have had a long-standing plan to repopulate the occupied territory of Manchuria in northern China—the area that they call Manchukuo—with European Jews. The Japanese feel that your people’s innate industriousness could help spark the economy and productivity of a region rife with natural resources.”

  Franz shook his head. “Obersturmbannführer, do I understand you correctly …”

  “It’s wonderfully simple, Dr. Adler.” Eichmann snapped his fingers. “We need to rid ourselves of thousands of Jews. The Japanese want them. It’s a matter of supply and demand.”

  “For Manchukuo?” Franz said, swallowing his skepticism. “So how would that affect the Jews already living in Shanghai?”

  “Two ways.” Eichmann wiggled his index and middle fingers. “First, we need existing Jews who are already acclimatized to China to help orient what could amount to hundreds of thousands of new arrivals. And second, to be blunt, the führer prefers not to have … ah … scores of Jews representing the German presence in one of the most important cities in Asia. He is concerned how it reflects on the fatherland. You do understand, Herr Doktor?”

  “You would relocate us refugees to Manchuria too?”

  “Exactly! To settle into your own community with the rest of your brethren from Germany.” Another cold-eyed smile.
“You might even think of it as the Jewish homeland you people have sought for so long!”

  Franz gazed down at the carpet. “Obersturmbannführer, may I inquire how you intend to transport all of these European Jews to China?”

  Eichmann shrugged. “Obviously, we would have to reach an understanding with our enemies to guarantee safe passage. However, unless Churchill and Roosevelt’s words of concern and outrage for the Jews are mere lip service, then I imagine they would be motivated to co-operate. It makes us all look a little more … humane.”

  Franz forced himself to look up. “When do you foresee this relocation occurring?”

  “As soon as September. Around the time of Rosh Hashanah.” Eichmann grinned again. “A new beginning to launch the Jewish New Year?”

  Franz forced himself to slow his breathing. “Obviously, you see a role for me in this?”

  Eichmann stood up and walked over to the bar in the corner. “Are you certain you will not join me in a drink, Dr. Adler?”

  Franz shook his head. Eichmann uncorked a bottle of brandy and poured a little into a snifter. He warmed the glass with his palm, swirling it around, before taking a sip. “Our Japanese friends inform us that you are one of the leaders of the refugee community here.”

  “I doubt the other refugees view me as such,” Franz muttered.

  “Ah, such modesty, Dr. Adler.” Eichmann nodded appreciatively. “We certainly see you in that role. And that is why you are here now. There are bound to be skeptics. We want you to help the rest of your community to recognize the opportunity here.”

  He wants me to spread Nazi propaganda. Franz was speechless.

  “I believe that fate has presented a unique opportunity for Germans to help Jews, and vice versa. Would you not agree?”

  Franz found the idea of the Nazis going to such extremes to transport Jews to safety beyond absurd.

  “Well, Herr Doktor?” Eichmann prompted Franz with a wave of his glass. “What do you say?”

  “Chelmno,” Franz blurted.

  The smile slid from Eichmann’s lips. “Excuse me?”

  “Are you familiar with Chelmno, Obersturmbannführer?”

  Eichmann’s pale eyes registered no response. “The prison camp in Poland?”

  “Yes.” Franz swallowed. He knew he was revealing too much, but he couldn’t help himself. “I understand that it’s not a prison at all but an extermination camp. A place where thousands of Jews—women and children included—are gassed every day.”

  “Ach, such rumours,” Eichmann said calmly. “You are aware, Dr. Adler, that there is a full-scale war raging in Eastern Europe?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The struggle is cruel and brutal. I will not mince my words. We have set up concentration camps in Poland. And, yes, executions have been carried out. But indiscriminately? Hardly.” Eichmann waved the suggestion away. “Did your sources also tell you that those chosen for Chelmno come primarily from the Lódz ghetto?”

  Franz nodded.

  “Do you actually believe we randomly choose people to dispatch to Chelmno?” Eichmann sighed into his brandy snifter. “The town of Lódz is the centre of a relentless armed resistance. We have been forced to make examples of the subversives, Communists and others who insist upon stirring unrest. We have found it the best and quickest way to quell an uprising.”

  Though he knew better, Franz found himself wanting to believe Eich-mann’s words.

  Eichmann held out his free hand to Franz. “Besides, we would always distinguish between German Jews and those miserable Poles or Slavs. We would never dream of slaughtering our own population.”

  Franz had a mental flashback to Kristallnacht, watching the Nazi mob beat the old Yacobsen couple to death. And he thought of his own brother, swaying lifelessly from a lamppost with graffiti scrawled across his chest. “Last time we spoke, Herr Eichmann, you informed me that no one can outrun their own destiny.”

  Eichmann squinted at him. “Yes. And so?”

  “I do not believe you have any interest in populating Manchukuo with Jews,” Franz said, aware of the risk he was taking but too angry to care.

  Eichmann’s eyes iced over. “Are you calling me a liar, Adler?” he growled.

  Franz thought of all the pointless pain and loss Eichmann and his kind had caused. My father. My brother! “You are correct about destiny.” His voice rose. “Hitler will not subjugate the entire world. Eventually, you will be defeated. And history will always judge you!”

  “How dare you, schweinhund! I have been more than patient with you!” Eichmann cried as he hurled his snifter at Franz. It flew past his head and shattered against the wall, splattering the brandy.

  The door burst open. Franz looked over his shoulder and saw Schmidt standing in the doorway with a pistol in his hand. “Was is los, Obersturmbannführer?”

  Eichmann shook his finger at Franz and grunted, “This … this Jew scum is calling me a liar.”

  Schmidt steadied his aim, pointing at Franz’s head. “There is only one way to deal with Jews, Obersturmbannführer.”

  Only the thought of his family stopped Franz from lunging at Schmidt. “Colonel Kubota is my friend,” he said evenly.

  “So what?” Eichmann snapped.

  The Luger twitched in Schmidt’s hand.

  “Colonel Kubota is an honourable man,” Franz said. “How do you suppose he will view my cold-blooded murder at the very meeting that he delivered me to?”

  Uncertainty crept into Schmidt’s eyes, and he glanced over to his superior for direction.

  Eichmann glared at Franz with hatred beyond reason. The room went still. Time froze.

  Finally, Eichmann snorted. “There is nowhere left to run, Adler. And when the time comes, destiny and I will both be waiting.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Franz and Sunny sat silently on the couch. He looked down and studied her slim perfect fingers, which were interlocked with his. The edge of the envelope in his pocket poked against his thigh, but he was not ready to hand it over to Sunny.

  Franz had written the letter to Hannah as soon as he returned home earlier in the day from the Cathay Hotel. As he wrote, he appreciated how conflicted Schwartzmann and, especially, his father must have felt as they penned missives intended for posthumous reading. He sprinkled the letter with random thoughts and advice on career, relationships and the keys—as he saw them—to finding contentment in life. Franz finished, in the same way his father had, by stressing his incredible pride in and love for his child. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he signed the letter.

  Oh, liebchen, to hold you one last time.

  “You really think the refugee leaders will believe Eichmann?” Sunny asked.

  “People hear what they want to,” Franz sighed. “Eichmann is offering them the illusion of a new, secure life. A reunion with loved ones left behind in Germany. Think of poor Max. It might be too good to resist.”

  “You said he was targeting the Jewish New Year. That means we still might have a month or more to come up with a way out.”

  “Or maybe, in light of my outburst today, he will speed up his plans.” Franz massaged his temple. “The Kempeitai could come for me any time. Colonel Kubota cannot protect me from them. He admitted as much.”

  Sunny sat up straighter. “Then come away with me!”

  “And get you killed? Never.”

  Sunny pulled her hand free of his and turned on him angrily. “In only a month of marriage, we have already been separated twice. I cannot bear it again. I won’t!”

  “Sunny …” Franz reached out to her, but she leaned away from him. “No, Franz! This is my decision, not yours. And I will stay with you whatever happens.”

  Franz dropped his hand to his lap. “And Hannah? Who will care for her?”

  “Yang and Jia-Li will.” She shook her head. “I love Hannah, but my place is here with you.”

  Franz felt lost. He loved Sunny too much to let her die for him. Heavy-hearted, he rose from the couch. “T
hen I will have to leave you.”

  Sunny jumped to her feet. “No, Franz!”

  “I have to,” he murmured.

  “No, you don’t. We can go into hiding together.” “Eichmann, Tanaka …” He shook his head. “They will hunt us down.” “I know every inch of this city, Franz. They will never find us. I promise.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand. “I cannot let you take that chance.” She nuzzled her face against his hand. “And Hannah?”

  “What about her?”

  “She has no mother. She has a permanent physical disadvantage. And she has been thrown into a family of strangers and a foreign culture.” Franz released her chin. “Sunny, I think of little else.” “She needs her father, Franz.”

  He grimaced. “You are not suggesting that we take her on the run with us?”

  “Not right away, no,” Sunny said. “The war can’t last forever. Circumstances change. If we can survive this storm somehow—even if it takes years—then she will get her father back. At least she will have that hope. Don’t take that away from her by surrendering.”

  Franz felt his conviction weakening. “And what of the other refugees?”

  “There is nothing left you can do for them.”

  “And Esther and Simon?”

  She grabbed his hand. “We can take them with us!” “Could we?”

  “Of course. We cannot leave them here.”

  He had run out of arguments. Remembering his father’s stubborn unwillingness to leave Vienna, Franz realized that he might be repeating Jakob’s mistake. Sunny was not going to leave him. Their martyrdom would not mean anything to anyone. “Very well,” he said.

  Sunny’s eyes lit and her jaw dropped. “You mean it?”

  Franz smiled tenderly. “Yes, darling, I will run away with you.”

  She enveloped him in a huge hug and kissed his face wildly.

  He pulled free of the embrace. “We need to leave right away.”

  Sunny kissed him one more time on the lips. “I will pack a bag for us.”