by Daniel Kalla
“And your other roommate?” Franz asked. “What does he think of the monkey?”
“They get along well enough. Simon has finally found someone willing to listen to him carry on about all that baseball nonsense. The poor, dear monkey.” Ernst reached up and stroked his pet on the chest. “However, I do wonder if Simon might soon fly the coop, to use one of his awful Americanisms.”
“Is he talking about leaving again?”
“You know how homesick he is to be with Essie and Jakob. More so than ever. And with the war winding down, he’s convinced no one will notice if he sneaks back into the ghetto.”
“Then he’s a fool,” Franz grunted. “The Japanese are more on guard than ever.”
“You talk to him, then. He won’t listen to me.”
“You know I can’t leave the ghetto. Perhaps Sunny can talk some sense into him.” Franz shut the door behind them. “There’s something else I have been meaning to discuss with you.”
Ernst sighed. “I recognized that tone. What is it now?”
“Von Puttkamer and Major Huber.”
“What about them?”
“Are you still in touch with them?”
Ernst shook his head. “Remember? The baron shuns me now. Considers me a degenerate.” He paused. “Come to think of it, so do I. But I don’t view it in the same negative light as the baron.”
“And your friend Gerhard?”
Ernst squinted. “What does any of this have to with Gerhard?”
Franz sympathized with his friend. Ernst’s defensiveness was an understandable necessity. “I was wondering if von Puttkamer still confides in Gerhard at all.”
“Ach, I see.” Ernst craned his neck to look up at his monkey, who had begun to groom the artist’s untamed hair. “I don’t believe so. Apparently, von Puttkamer and his ilk have become increasingly secretive as the Third Reich implodes around them. Why do you ask?”
Despite the relative privacy of the staff room, Franz spoke in a hush. “They’ve been spotted in the ghetto recently.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m not sure, but I doubt they came to do anything constructive.” Franz paused. “I suspect they might be following me.”
“Again?”
Franz nodded. “There was a black sedan. I’ve seen it two or three times parked near our home and the hospital. I could never tell who was inside, but it strikes me as too much of a coincidence.”
“Another kidnapping attempt?”
“Perhaps.”
“Be careful of von Puttkamer, Franz. There are few things more dangerous in this world than a wounded bull.” Ernst snapped his fingers. “What happened to those bodyguards of yours? The Jewish youths?”
The last time Franz had spotted the black car, parked around the corner from his apartment, he’d considered seeking help but felt too embarrassed to ask. “I don’t want to alarm Sunny.”
“Sunny doesn’t know?” Ernst rolled his eyes and laughed. “Actually, you might have found the only thing more dangerous than a wounded bull—a wife kept in the dark!”
“She has enough to worry over. In the meantime, is there anyone you might be able to speak to …”
“Ouch! Not so rough.” Ernst yanked the monkey’s paw away from the clump of hair he was grasping. The animal hooted. “All right, Franz. The kaiser and I will make a few discreet inquiries. See if we can find anything out. I might be a pariah in Germantown, but he is one remarkably well-connected monkey.”
Franz laughed. “Thank you.”
“They say Berlin will fall any day. To the Russians, no less.” Ernst reached up and stroked his pet’s back. “The end of Nazi Germany? Of Hitler himself? Who would have dreamed it possible a few short years ago?”
It struck Franz too as surreal. But for him, like the other Jews in the ghetto, the news was tempered by the flood of first-hand accounts emerging from the death camps liberated by the Allies, unimaginable stories featuring walking skeletons and corpses piled like stacks of logs. “I will believe it when I see the hammer and sickle flying over the Reichstag.”
“The Reichstag? Göring and his cronies burned that down eons ago.” Ernst dug in his pocket, pulled out a piece of dried fruit and held it up to his pet, who snatched it from Ernst.
Franz chuckled. “You and that monkey—it actually makes a certain degree of sense.”
“So what will you do after the war, Franz?”
“I cannot think that far ahead.”
“With the Soviets already in Berlin?”
“Victory in Europe is inevitable. No question. But who knows how long the Japanese will fight on? It could be years.”
Ernst shook his head. “Never. Not when the whole world turns its attention to one island nation. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Stalin joins in on the fun. Mark my words, it will be months at the most before Shanghai is liberated.”
“Shanghai free? Could you imagine?”
“And then what?” Ernst asked. “You would continue to run a hospital for refugees here?”
“Sunny wants us to stay.”
“And you?”
Franz weighed his answer carefully. “Shanghai has been wonderful to me, to us. But I cannot imagine raising the children here after the war.”
“You would go back to Vienna?”
“Never,” Franz said. “For all I care, Vienna can fall into the Danube. I will never again set foot on Austrian or German soil.”
“So where does that leave you?” Ernst asked. “England? America?”
Franz eyed the monkey, who stared back at him as if listening for his answer. “I have been considering somewhere else altogether.”
“Palestine.”
Franz shrugged noncommittally.
“That reminds me.” Ernst reached into his pocket again. Franz was expecting to see a pack of cigarettes emerge, but instead it was an envelope. “For you. From Simon.”
Franz reached for it. “Not for Essie?” he asked.
“Today, I have the profound honour of being your mailman.”
Franz tore open the envelope, extracted the letter and began to read.
Dear Franz,
I can’t believe how long it has been since I last saw you. More than two years now. I miss shooting the breeze with you over coffee. Although the jury is still out on that gut-wrenching Austrian stuff you love so much. Seems to me it could pass for crude oil.
I’ll never forget the moment you and your family stepped ashore in Shanghai. Of course, I mainly had eyes for Essie, but your expression has stuck with me too. I saw so many refugees arrive in those days. Almost without fail, their faces were clouded with bewilderment, fear and despair. Not yours. You looked so damned stoic, with that effortless dignity and poise of yours. On the other hand, you hardly said a word, so I half-wondered if you were mute! I thought to myself, Now here is a classy Old World guy, someone who is going to make a difference to this community. And how right I was. I’m so proud of what you and Sunny have accomplished with the slapdash shell of a hospital I started.
As you know all too well, these days I don’t get to see much of anyone except Ernst. And grateful as I am to him for taking me in and protecting me and all, well, I don’t have to tell you, he isn’t the easiest fellow to live with. Sometimes it feels like I have two roommates: Ernst and his gigantic ego. Three, if you count that wild monkey. At least they keep me entertained most of the time. Besides, whenever I get fed up, I just have to talk baseball and that shuts him up pretty quick.
Franz, I know it’s not official, but the Japs are finished. Done. The Americans just have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on this war. It’s time for us to plan for the future, my friend. Not only for us and our gorgeous brides, but for the little tykes too. We both know that our future isn’t here in Shanghai.
Essie tells me that you’re seriously considering Palestine. This, from the guy whose cheeks used to pale at the mention of Zionism? It’s an admirable idea, and no doubt Rabbi Hiltmann is selling it as
hard as my dad used to push oak dining tables on his customers. And maybe if it were just you and Sunny, it would be the right thing to do. But, Franz, you have your family to consider. You can’t just stick Hannah and baby Joey in the middle of some disputed desert. It’s not the place for them. I’ll tell you where is, though. New York. Not only do we have the world’s best ball team, but we have one of the best hospitals, right there in the Bronx. Lincoln Hospital. Imagine it, a first-rate facility for an ace surgeon like you. I even have a great brownstone already picked out for us all. Plenty of space.
Essie and I would love nothing more to have the family all together. The States would offer so many terrific opportunities for Hannah and Joey. It would be good for Sunny and you too. Very good. I know this in my heart. I want you—no, I need you—to seriously think about this, Franz.
Forever your pal,
Simon
CHAPTER 40
Sunny hadn’t expected to see Father Diego again, let alone to bump into him at the Comfort Home. The last time she had seen the priest was after Freddy’s arrest, when she had found him at his church. Diego had listened sympathetically enough as Sunny described Freddy’s close brush with the authorities, but he had then tried to talk her out of quitting her surveillance of the harbour, promising there would be no further need to involve the teenagers. Sunny had bolted from his office even before he finished his pitch, vowing to herself that she was done with Diego and his schemes forever.
The priest now greeted her warmly, as if they were meeting outside the church after a service rather than on the steps of a brothel. “You look marvellous, Sunny. And the nene.” Diego pinched Joey’s cheek. “Look how the little one has grown. Not a baby at all.”
Despite the nature of their previous encounter, Sunny was genuinely pleased to run into the charming priest. “It’s hard to believe he’s already a toddler.” With a flush of pride, she set Joey down and let him walk. He held on cautiously to her finger for support.
“You will be running soon, little one,” Diego encouraged. “And then none of us will be able to keep up.” He knelt down and extended his arms to Joey but, as Sunny expected, the boy skittered behind her leg, whimpering to be lifted. Sunny picked him up again.
Diego laughed. “I don’t blame you, Joey. I remember being scared of priests when I was little. All those old men in their long black dresses, my brothers and I used to joke.” He straightened up. “It’s good to see you looking so well, Sunny.”
“You too, Father,” she said and meant it. Even in his black cassock, Diego struck her as handsome and debonair, as though he were a Hollywood matinée idol only playing the role of a cleric. “How are things with you?” she asked.
“All is well, thank God. The church is still standing. Our congregation is thinner, sadly, but as devoted as ever. The only complaint I have is that it is becoming harder and harder to find good news about the Axis powers to share with the followers of my wireless program.”
Sunny smiled. “I wish I could say I was sorry to hear that.”
Diego laughed. “Frankly, it’s a pleasant dilemma for me.”
She lowered her voice. “And your secular work?”
“I still dabble here and there.”
She nodded toward the door. “Is that what brings you to the Comfort Home?”
He smiled noncommittally. “God’s work knows no boundaries or barriers.”
Sunny checked behind her. “Is it safe for you to be seen here?”
“No one looks at me twice, especially not the Japanese. The men around here are far more concerned about being recognized themselves. Besides, I’m not the first man of the cloth to visit the Comfort Home. And I will certainly not be the last.” He nodded knowingly. “However, I try to make it clear that I have come only out of spiritual obligation and not as a client. And you, Sunny? Have you come to see your friend Jia-Li?”
“I—we,” she said, glancing at Joey, “try to visit at least once a week. It’s harder for her to come to me.”
“Such an engaging, intelligent woman. Her spirits seem brighter than when we first met and yet …”
“Yet what, Father?”
“She still seems very much a tortured soul.”
And always will be, Sunny silently concurred. Joey squirmed in her arms. She looked down at him and smiled. Franz was right, the boy could do no wrong in her eyes. “I better get him inside. He’s impatient to see his auntie.” She extended her hand to Diego. “It’s lovely to see you again, Father.”
Diego took her hand but held on without shaking it. “Tell me, Sunny. Do you still live in the same building?”
“Yes, why?”
It was Diego’s turn to lower his voice. “Are you familiar with the transmitter in Hongkew? The one just outside the ghetto?”
Sunny eyed him with suspicion. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“The Japanese, they use the transmitter to communicate with their armies throughout China and their ships all over the Pacific. It’s very powerful.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, Father. I cannot. Don’t even ask me. I will never get involved again. Never.”
“You miss my point, Sunny.” Diego pointed overhead at the cloudless blue sky. “The transmitter, it’s very likely to be a target.”
“Target? You mean for the Americans bombers?”
“Precisely.”
Sunny’s shoulders tightened with foreboding. “What do you know, Father? Tell me, please.”
“Not much. Except that targeted bombing is extremely difficult, if not impossible, in residential areas. Which is precisely why the Japanese situated the transmitter where they did.”
“So the Americans plan to bomb the ghetto too?”
“I am saying that if they do target the transmitter, it is very possible that some of the bombs could stray and land in the surrounding neighbourhoods. Secondary damage is almost inevitable in such instances.”
Secondary damage. Her stomach plummeted. She thought back to the days of the first invasion of Shanghai—and how she had watched in horror from the safety of the International Settlement while, across Soochow Creek, buildings in Hongkew crumpled like tents in a windstorm. She held Joey a little closer. “What can we possibly do to prevent bombs from falling on us?”
Diego squeezed her hand once before releasing it. “You can be vigilant. If you hear the planes overhead …”
“We cannot outrun bombs.”
“No, but you can escape your building. You can find shelter as soon as the air-raid siren sounds.”
Sunny laughed bitterly. “That is the running joke in the ghetto. That the air-raid sirens don’t sound until the enemy planes are directly overhead.”
Diego smiled, patient as ever with her. “Then watch for the planes. Listen for their engines. They need to have visual sighting, so they will strike only in daylight. All I’m advising, Sunny, is to be prepared. For the rest, God will watch over you.”
***
Sunny was still contemplating Diego’s warning as she sat in the drawing room waiting for Jia-Li. At her feet, Joey played with a rattle. She was convinced that the sly priest knew more than he was letting on, but what difference did it make? Even if she was told the exact day and time of an airstrike, where could they possibly hide within the confines of the ghetto?
Joey stopped shaking the rattle every so often and stared at it as though it were about to do something magical, though he never seemed disappointed when it didn’t. Unlike Jakob, who needed constant stimulation, Joey could amuse himself for hours with a single toy. Sunny would have happily watched her son all day, but a few minutes later, Jia-Li breezed into the room. She wore a black silk gown tied loosely at the waist. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, her lips were painted ruby red and her face was heavily powdered. She looked almost Japanese—which, Sunny supposed, was the intent.
After almost three months of “captivity,” as Jia-Li described her stay in the basement hideaway, Chih-Nii had allowed her favourite a
nd, not coincidentally, most in-demand girl to return to the living quarters upstairs. Clearly, Jia-Li had begun to work again, though she had never said as much, and Sunny had never asked.
“Who’s my handsome fella?” Jia-Li cooed at Joey.
Rather than withdrawing, as he did with most adults, Joey tentatively raised his arms to Jia-Li. He was never shy with her. Franz had once joked that her effect on men knew no age limits, but Sunny knew there was more to it. Jia-Li had become smitten with Joey. Almost every toy he possessed had been a gift from her. She doted on Joey, taking up her role as his godmother and protector with gusto. Sunny suspected it was the only thing that had kept her from further risky behaviour, like poisoning more of her clients.
Jia-Li swept Joey up and spun him in circles. He giggled softly as she dipped him up and down. Then she stopped and pressed her lips to his head. “I could eat this one up, Sister.” She leaned over and kissed Sunny on both cheeks. Her fragrance made Sunny think of cinnamon and peaches.
“He is rather cute, isn’t he?” Sunny said.
“Rather, I should say.” Jia-Li mimicked a highbrow English accent, just as they’d used to mock stuffy Shanghailanders in their childhood.
Jia-Li lowered Joey to the ground and sat down beside Sunny. She took Sunny’s hand in hers and held on to it so lightly that their skin barely touched. “Tell me, what is the news from the outside world, xiăo hè?” she asked. “And no war news. I hear more than my fill of that. Tell me about you and the family. Or any juicy gossip will do just fine.”
“Little to tell, thankfully, băo bèi.” Sunny nodded toward Joey. “When I’m not at the hospital, this one keeps me busy.”
“Hmm.” Jia-Li pulled out a pack of her favourite Russian cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. She went through the motions of offering one to Sunny but didn’t even wait for her friend to say no before lighting up her own cigarette. “All is otherwise well at home?”
“Busy.” Sunny chuckled. “Little Jakob is an adorable terror. A real handful for poor Esther. For all of us, really.”