by Daniel Kalla
Franz saw the collection of trucks and other vehicles that had transported the casualties to the camp. Across the way, he spotted Helen leaning against a tent post, smoking a cigarette. As he joined her in the waning twilight, she offered a tired smile. “Just when you imagined it couldn’t get any worse,” she said.
“Sometimes it seems as if it can only get worse.”
“I suppose.” Helen tucked a red curl behind her ear. “You performed miracles today.”
“You too. But it feels as though we’re only stalling the inevitable.”
“For you or them?”
Franz smiled. “All of us.”
“For what it’s worth, I was impressed.”
Franz smiled in gratitude. “The man with the extensive burns …”
Helen took a long drag from her cigarette. “He died.”
Franz nodded. “I found the captain sitting at his bedside this morning. I think he might have been consoling him.”
She frowned. “He does pay special attention to burn victims.”
“I wonder why. Perhaps there is some—”
She cocked her head and held up a hand to interrupt. “Do you hear that?”
He listened carefully until he picked up on the low hum.
She pointed southward. “Over there, Franz. Planes.”
Squinting in the low light, he saw three planes flying from the south in tight formation. They appeared to be heading west. Their pitch was lower than the familiar whine of the Japanese Zeroes, and their shapes didn’t fit any of the aircraft Franz had seen patrolling overhead. He glanced over to Helen, whose eyes were fixed on the sky. “Those aren’t Japanese,” he said.
“No,” she agreed.
The planes’ wings tilted, and they banked toward the field hospital. The hum rose to a roar as the fighters descended. Shouts went up throughout the camp. People sprang into action. Franz grabbed Helen by the wrist and yanked her around the side of the tent. He dropped to his knees and pulled her to the ground beside him under the cover of a canvas overhang. He hovered close enough to feel her breath against his cheek.
The rat-a-tat-tat of aerial gunfire filled the air. The road where Franz had just been standing sprayed puffs of dirt as the shells exploded. The thunder of engines was deafening as the planes zoomed overhead. Franz sighted a pair of predatory eyes and a mouth full of jagged teeth painted across the nose of one of the planes. Stars and stripes were tattooed along its fuselage.
Helen covered her head and screamed as the supply tent across from them rattled and then collapsed under the strafing. Heart thudding in his ears, Franz threw himself on top of her, shielding her body with his.
Glass shattered as the nearby trucks were hit by a barrage of gunfire. Helen squirmed beneath him. “Don’t move,” Franz cried.
The planes flew past the camp, but he kept her pinned beneath him. He watched the planes bank again and turn back. As they strafed the camp a second time, he could hear the whiz of bullets around them. The ground a few feet away erupted in more sprays. Helen trembled violently beneath him.
Franz braced himself for another pass, but this time the din of the engines faded. He looked up and saw the planes retreating southward. Soldiers scattered all around, but Franz didn’t release Helen until he was convinced that the planes wouldn’t return. Finally, he rose to his feet and helped Helen up.
She continued shaking as she leaned against him. He supported her with an arm across her shoulders. “We could have died, Franz,” she murmured.
“I think they were targeting the vehicles.”
“Was it the Americans?”
“American planes, at least,” Franz said. “The Flying Tigers. But I’ve heard they’ve trained Chinese pilots to fly them too.”
“Why would they attack a hospital?”
“Maybe they can’t tell what it is from the sky.”
“Or maybe they just don’t care.”
Her shivering subsided, but Franz heard sniffling and saw that she was crying. “They are not coming back, Helen.”
“Maybe not now, but they will,” she sobbed. “You’ve been right all along, Franz.”
“About?”
“We are never going to make it out of here.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“Helen, you’re in shock.”
She leaned her head in close to his. “I’ve never seen things more clearly.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “It will get better. You will see.”
She touched his other hand lightly. “You saved my life.”
“Not at all.”
She left her still trembling fingers on his hand. “I think I would go out of my mind if you weren’t here with me.”
Even in the weak light, Franz recognized the look in her reddened eyes. “It’s important to have friends, especially at such vulnerable times,” he said.
Helen leaned forward and pressed her moist lips against his. Franz let his mouth linger on hers, overwhelmed by the intimacy and warmth. Then reality showered over him like ice water. He jerked his face from hers and stumbled back a few steps. “I … I …” Words deserted him.
CHAPTER 28
Where is Hannah?” Sunny asked.
“I believe she has gone out with Herschel,” Esther replied.
Hannah hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on her aunt and stepmother. She almost spoke up from where she lay on her bed in the loft, but she felt awkward announcing herself in mid-conversation. She was supposed to have gone out with Herschel, but she still couldn’t bring herself to face him. Nothing more had happened with Freddy aside from that one electrical touch, but her feelings alone were betrayal enough.
“So that awful Ghoya won’t tell you where he has sent Franz?” Esther continued.
“He never will, either,” Sunny said dejectedly.
“We just have to wait a little longer, then.”
“Waiting is the one thing I cannot do.”
“What choice do you have?”
Sunny didn’t answer right away. “I went to see Father Diego.”
“Oh, Sunny.” Esther’s voice dropped so low that Hannah had trouble hearing her. “What would Franz say?”
“How can I possibly know? He’s been gone almost six weeks. Who knows what’s happened to him in that time?” Sunny’s voice rose in anguish. “Or if he’s even alive.”
“Bays di tsung!” Esther said in Yiddish and then repeated herself in German. “Bite your tongue. You can’t ever think such things.”
“Why not?”
“It only tempts fate.”
“You Jews are as superstitious as the Chinese,” Sunny scoffed. “Besides, what more can possibly go wrong?”
“Joey!”
A moment of agonizing silence came next. Even Hannah held her breath.
“If you were to be caught spying,” Esther continued unapologetically, “you would never see him again. Is that fair to your son? And how could I possibly manage two babies on my own?”
“When did I ask you to?”
“You don’t need to ask, Sunny,” Esther cried. “You should know that. We are family.”
“How can I just do nothing, after all they’ve done to us?” Sunny said. “To Yang. To Charlie. To Simon. And now to Franz. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get him back. Absolutely nothing.” She hesitated. “I … I told Ghoya as much. Do you understand?”
Hannah didn’t fully appreciate Sunny’s insinuation, but she inferred from Esther’s long pause that her aunt must have. “Of course I understand. He’s your husband.”
“Oh, Essie.” Sunny’s voice cracked. “It was a disaster. I’m so ashamed.”
“You were only trying to help Franz.”
“And yet I think I made it even worse.”
“I am sure that’s not so,” Esther said. “Sunny, if you were to become a spy, it wouldn’t help to bring Franz home or to change anything, except for the worse.”
Sunny’s voice became firmer. �
��If there was one less Japanese ship in the harbour because of the intelligence I supplied, or if my efforts helped shorten this war by one second, then surely it would be worthwhile.”
“Not to your family. Certainly not to Franz. Or to Joey.”
“Besides, it doesn’t matter,” Sunny said. “There’s nothing I can do to help the Allies anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“My reconnaissance is useless. Father Diego told me as much. His radioman was arrested, and without a transmitter to relay the information, they can’t pass it on in time to the people who would need it.”
“Good,” Esther said. “It’s settled, then. You see? This is fate.”
Before Hannah had even thought it through, she blurted, “I know someone with a radio, Sunny.”
“Hannah?” Sunny called up to her. “You have been in your room this whole time?”
Hannah got to her feet and hurried down the ladder. Esther was sitting on the couch with her knitting needles and yarn dropped in her lap. Jakob played with his wooden blocks on the floor at her feet. Sunny was cradling Joey in her arms. Both women stared at Hannah in obvious alarm. “How much have you heard?” Sunny demanded.
“All of it,” Hannah admitted.
“Hannah-chen,” Esther said, sounding more disappointed than cross. “You know better.”
Hannah lowered her head. “I was going to say something, but I’d already heard more than I should have.”
Sunny squinted at her. “What were you saying about a radio?”
“I know someone who has one,” Hannah said. “I am sure he would be willing to help.”
“Who?”
Hannah looked away again. “Freddy Herzberg.”
“Hannah,” Esther cried. “You are not still in contact with that boy?”
“We’re in the same class,” Hannah said.
“Yes, but how do you know that he has a radio transmitter?”
This time Hannah met her aunt’s eyes. “He showed it to me.”
Esther grimaced. “Oh, Hannah. After what happened last year? After what he put your father through?”
“It’s different now. Freddy has changed.”
“People like him don’t change,” Esther said.
Sunny shook her head adamantly. “Regardless, children cannot be involved in this.”
“We are not children,” Hannah said evenly, trying to not come across as too defensive. “I’m fourteen and he’s a year older than me.”
“And he will never see sixteen if he gets mixed up in this nonsense,” Esther said.
“Your aunt is right,” Sunny agreed.
Hannah felt something hard on her leg and looked down to see Jakob pressing a block into her thigh. He grinned impishly. “Block, Anna, block,” he said. He still couldn’t pronounce the H.
“Soon, Jakob.” Hannah turned to Sunny. “What if Freddy were to lend you his radio?”
“No. This is madness,” Esther insisted.
But Hannah could see that Sunny was wavering. “Let me talk to Freddy, at least,” she said. She was certain she could somehow make them see things her way.
***
Hannah didn’t even try to fool herself into thinking that her excitement had anything to do with espionage or even helping her stepmother. The truth was that she wanted to see Freddy again.
She found him kicking a paper ball back and forth with his friend, Avi Perlmann, on busy Kung Ping Road, where the two boys often loitered. She was elated by the enthusiastic smile with which Freddy greeted her. Avi was not so welcoming. “What do you want, Adler?”
Ignoring Avi, Hannah said to Freddy, “I need to speak with you.”
“So talk,” Avi said.
“In private.” Hannah glanced at the shorter boy. “Go away,
Avi.” Avi’s shoulders stiffened and his nostrils flared. “No one tells me what to do. Especially not some girl who—”
Before Avi could complete the insult, Freddy shoved him backwards. “You heard her, Avi. Scram. Get lost.”
Avi stumbled back a step or two. He glared at them before he spun on his heels and stomped away.
“He’ll get over it,” Freddy said with another broad smile. “It’s nice to see you again so soon, Banana.”
Fighting off a blush, Hannah said, “Can we talk somewhere more private?”
Freddy led her to a lane a few blocks away. Despite being lined with houses on both sides, it was devoid of pedestrians or other traffic. Hannah spoke in a whisper as she hurriedly described the situation, without mentioning Sunny by name. Then she told him of their need for a radio transmitter.
Freddy eyed her with awe. “You mean we’d actually get to guide the American bombers?”
“Not ‘we,’ Freddy.” She shook her head. “They would only borrow your radio for a few hours. You would never even meet them.”
Freddy squared his shoulders. “Uh-uh. No way. I promised Pop I would never let it out of my sight.”
“So you won’t do it, then?”
“I’ll do better. I’ll send the messages myself.”
Hannah shook her head. “They refuse to involve us in this. They say it’s too risky for kids.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Kids?”
“Not teenagers either.”
Unruffled, Freddy pursed his lips. Hannah could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Surely they are going to send the intelligence in some kind of code? Like they do in the spy films.”
“I guess so, yes.”
“Then it’s no more risk than what I’m taking right now.”
“How so?”
“All right, say the Japs do triangulate my signal. It would be gobbledygook to them. They wouldn’t be able to tell if I was ordering cigarettes from Frenchtown or sending ship coordinates to the Americans.” He laughed. “Or, for that matter, playing rummy with a pal.”
Hannah saw his point, but she doubted Sunny would be swayed. “They will never agree to it, Freddy.”
He shrugged. “Then they won’t have a radio to use, will they?”
CHAPTER 29
The priest appeared so natural holding Joey in the crook of his elbow and rocking him back and forth—more comfortable than Franz has ever seemed with the baby in his arms, Sunny thought sadly. “Such a little treasure,” Diego gushed. “Were my life not dedicated to the Church, I would have a brood of my own.”
“Is your life really dedicated to the Church, Father?” Sunny asked.
Diego cocked his head, curious but not troubled. “I like to think so. Why do you ask?”
“Your connection with Brother Dominic and the … others. It was so unexpected. I wondered if you are everything else that you appear to be, Father.”
“Ah, I see.” Diego laughed. “Yes, I am very much a man of the cloth. I am even Spanish. From Seville.”
Sunny lowered her voice. “How does a Spanish priest get involved in espionage in Shanghai?”
He glanced over her head, as if to assure himself that the door was shut. “Purely by accident, let me assure you.”
“I have never heard of an accidental spy.”
Diego laughed again. Joey cooed happily. “Have you heard of a city called Badajoz?”
Sunny shook her head.
“Of course you would not have,” Diego said. “It’s a small provincial city—hardly more than a town—in the west of Spain. Near the border of Portugal. My first seven years in the priesthood were spent in the United States, in Chicago. Badajoz was my first diocese on Spanish soil. I was pleased to be going home, though I had no idea that I was returning at the worst of times.”
“The Spanish Civil War?” Sunny asked.
“Yes. It was the summer of 1936. And Badajoz was one of the first cities to fall to the Nationalists.” Diego sighed heavily. “The fighting was fierce, but the Republicans never stood a chance. The city was overrun in a matter of days. To be honest, at the time, I was pleased.”
“Pleased?”
“I was apoli
tical. The Nationalists claimed to defend the Church, but I didn’t pretend to understand the issues. It hurt me to see Spaniard killing Spaniard. I simply wanted it to be over. When the fighting ended, I assumed all would return to normal.”
“It never does,” Sunny said, thinking of her own city.
“Very true.” Diego tickled Joey’s chin until the baby smiled for him. “Such a treasure,” he repeated before turning back to Sunny. “One hot and muggy Friday morning in Badajoz—it was August—a young girl burst into the church in the middle of mass. Anjelita was her name. Such a beautiful girl, from such a lovely family. Both parents were teachers.” He sighed. “Anjelita—she was perhaps nine or ten years old—was hysterical. She sputtered something about her mother and father having been taken away, but she was too upset to make much sense. She led me by the hand to the town’s central bullring.” He closed his eyes, reliving the incident. “I knew there was trouble when I saw the phalanx of soldiers surrounding the building. And the silence—such a haunting silence from inside. I will never forget it as long as I live.” He opened his eyes. “Of course, the soldiers refused to allow me to enter. I had to bluff my way in by telling them that I had been sent by the bishop at the request of their commander.”
Sunny waited silently, hanging on the priest’s every word, while dreading the story’s outcome.
“To be honest, I was never as much of an aficionado as I should have been. Seville is, after all, home to the world’s greatest bullfighters. My father, now there was a true aficionado. He would often take me to bullfights when I was young. I found it so sad to watch the bulls taunted and weakened by the banderilleros and picadors. Sometimes, I would cry during the estocada—the matador’s fatal thrust. I even once saw a matador gored. I was terribly frightened.” He shrugged. “My father, I imagine he was embarrassed. Or perhaps he knew I didn’t have the stomach for it. Either way, he stopped taking me to the bullring.”