by Daniel Kalla
The thought faded as Sunny saw the gentle curve of the Cathay Building ahead of her. Despite Shanghai’s general dilapidation, the grand building—a fusion of Gothic and art deco design styles—gleamed as brightly as ever, sunlight reflecting today off its gilded motifs.
Sunny slipped in through the ornamental copper doors and hurried across the lobby to the elevator. As the car rose higher, so did her trepidation. She rarely visited Jia-Li at her home; her best friend often hosted clients there. Sunny had never before arrived unannounced, but today she had no choice. The whole neighbourhood had lost telephone service again. Besides, word had swirled through the ghetto that the Japanese were closely monitoring the phone lines. Few were willing to risk discussing anything on the line, especially any matters that could be construed as remotely sensitive.
Sunny stepped off at the ninth floor and approached Jia-Li’s flat at the end of the hallway. She rapped three times on the door, then paused and tapped four times. Their signal.
A few seconds passed, long enough for Sunny to wonder whether Jia-Li was out or indisposed. Then the door opened a crack. “Are you alone?” Jia-Li whispered.
“Yes.”
The door opened wider and Sunny stepped inside.
Wearing only a black silk robe, Jia-Li greeted Sunny with a hug. Beneath her jasmine perfume, Sunny detected a trace of sweat and something else. Assuming that she had interrupted a client’s visit, Sunny wriggled free of her friend’s embrace and back-pedalled toward the door. “I am sorry to surprise you, ba˘o bèi. I will come back later.”
Jia-Li reached for Sunny’s forearm, pulling her back. “What is this foolishness, xiăo hè?”
“Honestly, it is no inconvenience,” Sunny said. “I’ll return later. When you are more available.”
Jia-Li glanced down at her short robe and then looked up, suddenly understanding. She cleared her throat. “Oh, Charlie is home with me. We, um, slept in late this morning.”
The two friends stared at each other for a moment before breaking into simultaneous laughter, which soon evolved into a fit of giggles. “Perhaps Charlie would have been safer staying with that refugee family after all,” Sunny choked out between laughs.
“He might have gotten more sleep,” Jia-Li joked.
A clopping noise drew Sunny’s attention. She turned to see Charlie, shirt untucked, making his way toward her. The sound of his crutches against the wooden floor reminded her of hoof beats. “Nice to see you, Soon Yi.” He smiled without a trace of self-consciousness.
Jia-Li wiped a happy tear from her eye and then locked elbows with Sunny. “Come, sit with us. I’ll make tea.”
As they settled themselves, Sunny shared the news about Yang. It led to another hug and more giggles of relief. The women sat down side by side on the couch, while Charlie eased into the room’s sole wingback chair. Sunny noticed how empty the apartment was. On her last visit, it had been filled with decorative objects: paintings, sculptures, rugs and ornaments, including a massive gilded candelabrum and an ornately painted Ming vase. Sunny wondered if Jia-Li had hocked her possessions to help support the Adlers with “loans” that they would never be able to repay.
“As you can see, xiăo hè, I have uncluttered somewhat.”
Sunny squeezed her hand. “All your beautiful decorations, ba˘o bèi . . .”
“Were out of style anyway. I think it looks better this way. Better feng shui.” Jia-Li looked over to Charlie with a loving grin. “Besides, none of my vases stood a chance with my one-legged rhinoceros stampeding about.”
He laughed. “I am still light as a feather. Even on only one foot.”
Despite his gauntness, Charlie looked more robust than he had on Sunny’s last visit. “You are feeling stronger, Charlie?” she asked.
He flexed his elbow. “I could lift you both with one arm.”
“You have done enough lifting for one day.” Jia-Li laughed and this time Charlie reddened slightly.
Jia-Li’s joy was contagious. Sunny was also relieved that, unlike on her previous visits, Charlie had yet to mention his impatience to return to his troops. As though reading her mind, he leaned forward in his chair and said, “I still intend to get back to my men, but priorities have shifted.”
Sunny looked from Charlie to Jia-Li. “So I see.”
“No, no,” he said. “I mean the Flying Tigers.”
Jia-Li eyed Charlie warily, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“The American planes?” Sunny asked.
“Exactly!” He almost jumped out of his chair with excitement. “They crossed overhead on their way to the river again this morning. I counted them as they flew home. They did not lose a single fighter.”
“So American planes will keep him in the city,” Jia-Li said to herself as she lit a cigarette. “At least something will.”
“You know how important this is, precious,” Charlie said. “It means the war is coming to Shanghai.”
Suddenly uneasy again, Sunny asked, “Hasn’t the war been here since the first bomb fell on Hongkew?”
“That battle was lost years ago. Our incompetent generalissimo wasted half his army trying to defend the city without adequate air support.” Charlie motioned to the ceiling. “Now, with the help of the Americans, we can finally turn the tide against the Rìběn guı˘zi.”
Jia-Li turned to him dubiously, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “You don’t mean us, Chun? Surely not.” It was the first time Sunny had heard her use his Chinese name.
“I do.” He nodded enthusiastically. “From inside the city, too. No longer out in the countryside.”
“But how can you help the American planes, Charlie?” Sunny asked.
“The Rìběn guı˘zi can only move troops and supplies in and out of the city via the river or the railway,” he said.
Jia-Li sat up straighter. “Then why can’t the Americans bomb those?”
“So far, they have sent only fighters. No bombers. I suspect the Allies have not yet gathered the air power for such a mission.” Charlie shrugged. “Regardless, we can reach the railway terminal just as easily as any bomber. And the Japanese transmitter is in Hongkew. Right outside the ghetto.”
“Reach them how?” Jia-Li nodded in the direction of his crutches. “Besides, what would you use to blow up the terminal or the transmitter?”
Charlie’s grin only widened. “Fireworks, if need be.”
“Charlie, you are in no condition for that,” Sunny said. “You are still recovering from—”
Jia-Li leapt to her feet. “This is nothing but fantasy!” she cried, waving her cigarette wildly. “You see yourself liberating Shanghai. A hero. The same way I imagine myself as a wife, and even a mother someday. A woman of virtue. Not what I really am: a glorified wild pheasant.”
Charlie stared at her, his smile tempered but not gone.
Jia-Li dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing his hand in hers. When she spoke again, her voice trembled. “The truth is we are both damaged beyond repair. You and I . . . we are only dreaming, Chun.”
* * *
As Sunny walked through the International Settlement, she reflected on Jia-Li’s outburst. Her best friend was smitten to a degree Sunny had never seen before. Pleased as she was for Jia-Li, Sunny worried over the risks of this new romance. Not only could Charlie be gone or lost in an instant but Jia-Li would remain in grave danger every moment that she spent with him.
As Sunny crossed the Bund and entered the Public Garden, her mind turned to the real purpose of her trip out of the ghetto.
Wen-Cheng was sitting on the same park bench as always, holding a newspaper in front of his face. A quick look around her confirmed that no one else was in the gardens. Sunny dropped down onto the far end of the bench.
“How is Franz?” Wen-Cheng asked without lowering the paper.
“Better.”
“What about him?”
“Have you found him alternative accommodations?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“With Jia-Li.”
Wen-Cheng nodded. “And you, Soon Yi? How are you?”
“I am no longer . . . comfortable.”
Wen-Cheng turned a page but said nothing.
“Our contact—the old man,” Sunny continued. “Do you know much about him?”
“He was a friend of my father’s. Before the invasion, he was involved with the municipal council.”
“That must be how he knew Kubota. The colonel used to work in the mayor’s office.” Sunny nodded to herself. “I knew they must have had some kind of previous relationship. You can tell by the way he speaks about him.”
Wen-Cheng eyed her momentarily before turning back to the newspaper. His voice took on a sudden urgency. “I warned you: once you commit, there is no way out.”
Sunny felt a heavy weight descend on her shoulders, but she could only nod.
“You feel a debt of loyalty toward the colonel. I understand that.” Wen-Cheng exhaled. “But it is not up to you or me to decide such things. We are like . . . soldiers. We must do as we are told. Otherwise it will become very dangerous for us.”
“How can I simply—” Sunny detected movement out of the corner of her eye. Her pulse raced as she watched the old man in the grey Zhongshan suit limping down the pathway toward them. He moved at a leisurely pace, stopping every few yards to stare at the weed-riddled lawn.
Sunny knew that the old man and his network were not the enemy. The members of the Resistance were risking so much—their lives and those of their loved ones, too—to liberate her city. She admired their bravery and selflessness, but at that moment, all she wanted was to see the old man turn and walk away forever. By the time he finally reached the bench, Sunny’s mouth had gone dry.
He stood with his back turned to them, holding his arthritic fingers interlocked behind his back. “Soon Yi, we need you to set up an appointment with Colonel Kubota.”
“An appointment?” Sunny shook her head. “I cannot do that.”
The old man stood absolutely still. “Cannot or will not?”
“I cannot get in to see the colonel,” Sunny said, remembering what she had practised saying earlier that day with Franz. “I already tried, last week.”
“Oh?” The old man turned slightly in her direction. “And why were you trying to see the colonel?”
“To stop my husband from being flogged,” Sunny lied. “I went to his office and begged the guards to allow me in. I waited outside for hours, and when the colonel finally came out, he just breezed past me and got into his car. He did not even acknowledge me.”
The man shrugged slightly. “Perhaps if you are calmer when you return.”
“It won’t make a difference.” Sunny willed indifference into her tone. “My stepdaughter was caught smuggling cigarettes into the ghetto. My husband is persona non grata with the Japanese. I doubt the colonel would see me under any circumstances.”
“Sunny is right,” Wen-Cheng said from behind his newspaper. “Perhaps it would be better to revise the plan.”
The old man just turned his head and gazed out at the river. The breeze blew a few blades of brown grass across Sunny’s feet. Her heart thumped as she waited for his next words.
“I had assumed you would be more resourceful, Soon Yi,” the old man said with a small sigh. “Considering how the Japanese mistreated your illustrious father, I thought you would at least be dedicated to our cause.”
“I am dedicated,” she insisted. “Those savages killed my father. They whipped my husband. I would do anything to be rid of the Rìběn guı˘zi.”
“Then you will find a way to meet with the colonel,” he said sharply. “This week.”
Sunny went cold. “And if I cannot?”
The old man looked skyward. “The battle lines have long been drawn, Soon Yi. All that is left is for you to decide exactly where you stand.”
Chapter 35
Franz leaned back in his chair and immediately regretted it. His back stung as though someone were digging their nails into the open wounds, but he bit his lip and fought off the pain. Hannah was watching.
“Can I get you anything, Papa?” she asked as she hopped to her feet and headed toward the kitchen.
“I am not an invalid, Hannah.”
How quickly the roles are reversed, he thought. A year and a half earlier, he had hovered day and night over his daughter’s bed as she fought a cholera infection that had nearly proven fatal. At the time, he had been cognizant of her every movement; even the smallest suggestion of discomfort launched him into action. Now, it was Hannah treating him as the patient.
His daughter had changed; there was no denying it. Even through her moodiness earlier in the spring, she was still his little girl and, though she didn’t seem to realize it at the time, needed him as much if not more than ever. But this was different. Franz was proud of her sudden maturity, but there was more to it—a burgeoning independence. And he didn’t yet feel ready to let go of the child in her.
“There are still a few leaves left, Papa.” Hannah lifted a small teapot. “I can steep more tea for you.”
“One more cup and I will sweat green.” Smiling, he leaned forward to take the pressure off his searing back. “How is school, Hannah?”
“Same as ever”
“And with Freddy . . .”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I do not speak to him.”
“Perhaps he is not as much to blame as you think.” When she didn’t reply, Franz added, “His father should never have involved either of you with those cigarettes.”
“Freddy knew what he was doing.”
Franz would never trust the boy again either, but he was willing to defend him if it helped protect Hannah’s feelings. “People do desperate things in desperate times, Hannah-chen. Especially if they believe they are doing it for their family.”
“I have seen Freddy for what he really is.” Her expression was stoic and her eyes clear.
The door opened and Sunny stepped inside.
One glimpse told Franz how upset she was. He turned to Hannah. “Your aunt will be home soon with rice. We will need hot water for dinner.”
Without a word, Hannah grabbed the rusty pot off the counter and headed out the door.
As soon as she had left, Sunny plunked down beside him and took his hand in hers. “I met the old man from the Underground.”
Although her tone was emotionless, Franz sensed her anxiety. He sat up straighter and leaned back into the chair, hardly noticing the pain. “Was it an ultimatum?”
“Perhaps. I am not sure.”
“And what does that mean for you? For us?”
She held up her free hand, then let it drop to her side.
He nodded to himself. “I will speak to Wen-Cheng.”
“No, Franz. He is as helpless as we are.”
“He got you into this.”
“I did that myself.”
“I blame him!” Franz suddenly found an outlet for all his indignation—toward the Herzbergs, the Underground, the Japanese and even Sunny. “Why did Wen-Cheng ever come to the refugee hospital?”
“To help.”
Franz squeezed her hand so hard that she had to tug it free. “For no other reason than you, Sunny. He came for you.”
“You are not thinking clearly.”
“Nonsense. I have known it for months. Perhaps you are the one whose perspective is clouded.”
Sunny cocked her head. “Franz, are you accusing me of something?” she asked softly.
He could not let go of his anger. “Wen-Cheng could have volunteered anywhere. To
help with his own people. He is from Shanghai, after all. Instead, he chose a German Jewish refugee hospital. Why?”
“He knew that we worked there.”
“We?” Franz grunted.
“All right, me, then.”
“Exactly.”
Sunny stood up and straightened her skirt. “Whatever Wen-Cheng’s motives for coming to the hospital, they did not affect my actions. For the longest time, he would not even admit to being involved, let alone introduce me to anyone involved in the Underground. I insisted. I wanted to participate.” She hesitated. “I needed to.”
He frowned. “You needed to?”
“Yes, darling,” she said evenly. “If I were not born here, I would not understand it myself. I felt that I needed to do something. Anything. If only to honour the memory of my father.”
“You are correct. I do not understand.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Franz’s anger dissipated, but worry only filled the void. “I warned Colonel Kubota,” he finally said. “What else can we do?”
His wife shook her head, her light brown eyes glistening.
“What if they come for you, Sunny?” he asked.
“Oh, Franz. Those people from the Underground—they are decent people.”
“Maybe so, but if they believe you defied them or, worse, think for one moment that you might collaborate . . .”
She leaned forward and placed her fingers lightly on the back of his neck, careful to avoid his wounds. “We will be all right.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Simon.” She laughed. “You know how he likes to compares us to cats. For always landing on our feet.”
“It’s not even true of cats. Let alone us.”
“We will get through this.” She kissed him on the lips and then pulled away. “I must go freshen up.”
As Sunny headed to the bedroom, Franz’s thoughts drifted to his American friend. He had last seen Simon two days earlier, at the refugee hospital, as they waited together for Joey to show up with a vehicle to move him.