by Daniel Kalla
“Were you serious when we spoke about moving, Hannah-chen?” Franz asked. “Would you really want us to go to Palestine?”
Hannah held her father’s gaze. “Yes, Papa. I would.”
Franz said nothing, but she could see in his eyes that he wanted to also.
She eased her shoulder free of her father’s arm and reached for Herschel’s hand. He squeezed hers back, his confidence in her feelings for him growing. She would never forget Herschel’s bravery on the day of the bombing, when he came to find her in the shelter. That had banished the last of her lingering doubts. She would always be able to count on Herschel. That meant more to her than anything else.
Franz’s eyes focused on the teenagers’ interlocked hands, and he winked at Hannah. His approval elated her. “Shall we go see our old apartment, Papa?”
“I would love to see our neighbourhood again.” Franz clicked his tongue. “But I think we had better get back home to Sunny and your brother.”
“I guess we should,” Hannah agreed.
They doubled back and crossed over the Garden Bridge into Hongkew. The celebration on Broadway was even more frantic than it had been on the Bund, the muggy air thick with the scent of frying meat. The tinkling sounds of Chinese music filled the street. Firecrackers popped as loud as gunfire. Impromptu parades appeared. The joy was contagious and washed away much of Hannah’s circumspection.
They strolled past the now-abandoned checkpoint at the Muirhead Road intersection. With its rickety wooden gate and graffiti, it struck Hannah as so innocuous. She found it hard to believe that just the day before it had been as fierce a deterrent as an electrified fence.
As they walked down Ward Road, Hannah slowed at the sound of shouting. She immediately recognized it as distinct from the festive noises. Her father heard it too. He turned and headed into a nearby laneway.
A group of boys had formed a semicircle at the end of the lane. Their backs were turned, and Hannah couldn’t tell what had drawn their attention, or their ire.
“King of the Jews?” she heard one of them yell. “More like king of the fools!” A chorus of laughter and jeers echoed.
As the three neared the group, one of the boys turned toward them. Hannah recognized him as an older boy from school. “This doesn’t concern you,” he said a cautionary tone.
Several of the others also looked over their shoulders at them. She recognized them too from school; a few had already graduated. She spotted Freddy standing beside Avi. Freddy looked away in embarrassment, but Avi glared defiantly at Hannah and Franz as he tapped a small wooden club against his open palm.
Now Hannah could see the small man who was the centre of attention. His back was pressed against the wall. He held his arms up to protect his face, but Hannah recognized his pinstriped suit, which was torn and bloodied.
“Please, please boys. I was good to your families.” Ghoya sputtered in his distinctive nasal tone. “You have no idea of the pressure I was facing.”
Avi raised his weapon above his head. “And you have no idea how much pressure you’re going to face from my club.”
“Show him, Avi,” a boy yelled. Several others chimed in their encouragement.
Ghoya lowered his arms enough to expose his face. His eyes lit with recognition as he spotted Franz standing behind the boys. “Dr. Adler,” Ghoya cried. “Oh, Dr. Adler! You must tell them. Yes, yes. Tell them.”
“And what precisely shall I tell them, Mr. Ghoya?” Franz’s voice was calm, quiet even, but Hannah sensed the rage behind her father’s words.
“That I was a fair man.” Ghoya shook his hands wildly above his head. “Yes, yes. Very fair. And that I only did what I had to. To protect you. All of you. Yes, yes. I only came back here to tell you how pleased I was for you. My people, my people!”
“Your people? Your people?” Avi scoffed. “Why, you stupid Jap.” He swung the club, catching Ghoya on his forearm.
Ghoya screamed. “No! No! Stop it. Please, please.” His voice squeaked with panic. “Dr. Adler. Tell them. You must, Dr. Adler. You must!”
Franz stared at the cowering little man. Hannah could only imagine what was going through her father’s mind as he listened to Ghoya beg for help. This, from the man who had ordered Franz’s flogging and who had kept their family imprisoned in the ghetto for over two years, forcing Esther and Simon apart. The man who had dispatched him to the front lines and would have happily left him there to die.
But Franz didn’t say a word.
The silence was broken by a stocky boy next to Avi. He punched Ghoya heavily in the abdomen. The little man groaned and crumpled to his knees.
“You aren’t the king of anything or anyone,” another boy said as he stepped up to the kneeling Ghoya. “You remember my uncles? Felix and Isaac Cron? Do you, Ghoya?”
Ghoya looked up fearfully. He raised his uninjured hand and waved it frantically. “They … they were smugglers.”
“Their families were starving,” the teen cried. “You executed them. For what? For bringing a few cheap pens and watches into the ghetto? For just trying to feed their children?” He smashed his elbow into Ghoya’s jaw. The little man toppled over.
“Time to end the king’s reign,” cried yet another boy as he stepped up and kicked Ghoya in the chest.
The other youths closed in like wolves. Hannah noticed that Freddy was hanging back. The violence reminded her of those terrifying final nights in Vienna. She couldn’t even see Ghoya through the maze of bodies in front of her. She was relieved to feel a hand on her elbow, gently pulling her away. “We had better go, Hannah,” Herschel uttered in a low voice.
“Enough,” Franz suddenly shouted, rushing into the fray. “That’s enough. Stop it!”
He grabbed at the nearest of the boys and yanked him back. Surprised, the others halted their assault and turned their attention to Franz.
“What’s it to you?” Avi demanded as he shook the club at Franz. “Why should we?”
“This is barbaric,” Franz said.
“This is justice,” one of the boys retorted.
Franz shook his head. “No. This is a street mob. No different from how the Japanese used to behave. Or the Nazis. Do any of you remember Kristallnacht?”
“How can you compare it?” one boy cried as he motioned to Ghoya, who was rolling on the ground, clearly in pain. “This man is getting exactly what he deserves. He did so much worse to most of us.”
“Let a judge decide what he deserves. Not a mob.”
Avi came closer, his eyes brimming with anger. “Collaborators are just as guilty as he is.”
“Careful with your accusation, son,” Franz said. “After all, I have more reason to harm this man than any of you.”
“Then why don’t you?” Avi challenged.
Franz only smiled. “Because we are better than him.”
Freddy stepped toward Avi and snatched the club out of his hand.
“Hey, Herzberg,” Avi snapped. “What’s the big idea?”
“Dr. Adler is right,” Freddy said quietly.
“This is none of his business—”
Freddy shoved Avi backwards. “It’s enough.”
Avi looked about to strike back, but then his shoulders sagged. His face turned contrite, and he looked like a dog scolded by its master. The other boys shared uncertain glances. After a few moments, they began to turn away from Ghoya.
Hannah looked over to Freddy and their eyes met. His gaze was full of affection. His sheepish expression told her how sorry he was for what he had done to her.
Then Hannah reached for Herschel’s hand. She broke off the eye contact and spun away from Freddy.
CHAPTER 52
September 20, 1945
Franz and Sunny stood side by side in the ward, watching an American nurse change the dressing on a woman’s abdomen while a young uniformed doctor kneeled at the next bed, applying a plaster cast to another patient’s knee.
Franz had never worked anywhere as skeletally staffed,
poorly designed or underequipped as the refugee hospital, yet he had never felt more at home. He found it surreal, and mildly bittersweet, to see the American doctors and nurses assuming the roles that he and his team had performed for so long.
Sensing his melancholy, Sunny leaned her head into his shoulder. “They will care for them as well as we could have,” she reassured him.
“Better, no doubt.”
“No one could offer better care than we did with what we had,” she said with certainty.
“We did the best we could, didn’t we?”
Colonel Findlay, the U.S. forces’ chief medical officer in Shanghai, had assured Franz that the army would maintain the hospital and continue to care for the refugees and the locals. So far, the colonel had been true to his word. Never had Franz seen the supply cupboard so fully stocked. Even the antibiotics and antimalarial medications were plentiful. He felt gratitude toward the Americans, but none of it negated his mixed emotions.
Sunny smiled tenderly. “It’s time, Franz.”
“Can you believe it’s been almost seven years?” He stroked his wife’s cheek, comforted by her proximity. “We met right here, darling. Practically on this very spot.”
“Coming here was the best decision of my life,” she chuckled. “And to think I only volunteered here to improve my German.”
“There are easier ways to accomplish that than marrying an Austrian Jew.”
She laughed again and kissed his neck. “Now you tell me.”
“Dr. Adler! Sunny!” a familiar voice called.
Franz turned to see Berta striding down the corridor. He almost didn’t recognize the head nurse in her hat and overcoat, instead of her usual matron’s uniform. “You look so elegant, Berta.”
“Yes, well, my Otto and me, we are leaving.”
Sunny tilted her head. “Leaving Shanghai?”
“Our visas came through,” Berta said. “There’s a ship leaving for Hong Kong today. And from there to England. We have to stop in Holland to pick up my sister, Frieda.” She lowered her voice to a hush. “Frieda was the only one in her family to survive the camps. Her husband and her two daughters, such beautiful girls.” She sighed heavily and then touched her temple. “Frieda is not doing well. Not well at all.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sunny said.
Franz only nodded, unable to say the same words. He had worn out the phrase in the past month, and now it sounded to him like a meaningless platitude. The news from Europe had been as bad as the refugees had feared. Ever since the Red Cross had begun posting lists of the extermination camps’ victims, Shanghai’s Jews had fallen into collective mourning. Many wept in public. Others wandered the streets like zombies. The grief was palpable, wiping away the elation over the city’s liberation. And another unexpected emotion had crept into the community: guilt—for surviving when so few of their relatives had. It was as if people were now ashamed of having fled to Shanghai. Franz wondered if that helped explain why so many were, like Berta’s family, making hasty plans to leave the city. It saddened him to realize that, in many ways, war and oppression had been the glue that held their community together.
Berta reached out and, uncharacteristically, took hold of Franz’s and Sunny’s wrists. “I wanted to tell you how proud I am to have worked with you at the hospital. Both of you. What you did here with nothing really …” Her voice cracked and, on the verge of tears, she couldn’t finish.
“I feel the same about you, Berta,” Sunny said as she hugged the woman.
“Me as well.” Franz squeezed the back of Berta’s hand. “It was an honour. You are an exceptional nurse.”
“Yes, well, I … Goodbye, then.” Embarrassed, Berta turned and hurried off to say the rest of her farewells.
“We had better go too, Franz,” Sunny pointed out. “The others will be at the port by now.”
***
Franz held Joey while Sunny, Hannah and Herschel walked beside him, each lugging a heavy suitcase. The trusting look in Joey’s eyes gratified Franz, but he was still ashamed to remember how hard he had once tried to persuade Sunny to give the boy up. He could never have imagined how rewarding being a father for a second time would be. Franz couldn’t imagine life now without his son.
The port was as busy as it had been on the day the Adlers had first arrived. Only the uniforms had changed. American soldiers and sailors stood among the coolies and other locals, radiating an infectious vitality. Franz found their loud brashness utterly forgivable in light of their warmth and friendliness.
“Even the wild pheasants are out early.” Ernst indicated the young dockside prostitutes who were aggressively soliciting the men in uniform while families with children strolled past in the midday sunshine.
Ernst pushed Simon’s wooden wheelchair as Jakob rode happily on his father’s lap. Esther clung, as usual, to her husband’s side. She had been hovering over him so constantly since his injury that Ernst had teased her, “Who knew one fallen building could create a set of Siamese twins?”
Simon was smiling ear to ear. As he had predicted, he had never recovered any sensation in his legs, but he hadn’t shown a flicker of self-pity or dejection, at least not in Esther’s presence. The only time Franz had seen any cracks in his friend’s optimism was one afternoon when they had been alone together. Simon had voiced his worries over how he would be able to care and provide for his family from the confines of his wheelchair. But even then, he had ended the conversation on a hopeful note: “On the plus side, Jake is going to have to learn to be a real accurate throw when he plays catch with his pop.”
The group slowed to a halt in front of the gangplank. Soldiers, sailors and civilians were already boarding the imposing naval transport ship that would take the Lehrer family on the first leg of their journey to New York, via Singapore and San Francisco.
“Can’t believe I’m going to be back in the Bronx within the month.” Simon looked over his shoulder. “You sure you won’t come with us, Ernst? I hear there’s no better art scene in the world than in New York right now.”
“The art is not the issue. It’s the people.” Ernst tossed a hand up dramatically. “If they are anything at all like my roommate of the past two years, I would lose my mind among them.”
Simon laughed. “No one is going to miss me more than you, pal.”
“I sincerely hope, for your sake, that is not the case.” Ernst smiled.
“So where will you go?” Esther asked him.
Ernst shrugged. “Nowhere for now. It’s going to be a fascinating time in this city. Change is in the wind. Kaiser Wilhelm and I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
“Where is your monkey, Onkel Ernst?” Hannah asked.
“I left him at home.” Ernst nodded in Jakob’s direction. “He’s terrified of that one. He thinks the child is wild. Rabid, possibly.”
Herschel and Hannah shared a laugh as he took his hand in hers.
Simon turned to Sunny. “Since you’re half American, Sunny, we could get your whole family American visas today. Piece of cake.” He snapped his fingers. “We’ve got a ton of room in our new place. My brother has rigged up the ground floor, so you don’t even need legs to get around. You would have the whole upstairs to yourselves. The Bronx won’t know what hit it.”
Franz admired his friend’s courage and enthusiasm, suspecting that at least part of it was put on for his wife’s benefit. “We still have not decided on our ultimate destination,” he said.
Sunny slipped her arm through the crook of Franz’s elbow and leaned against him. “We are getting closer, though, aren’t we, darling?”
Hannah turned to Sunny with wide eyes. Herschel’s grandparents had already committed to going to Palestine on a ship that would be leaving in early October, and she had been lobbying hard for the Adlers to join them. “Palestine, Sunny?” she asked tentatively.
Sunny looked from Franz to Joey and back again. “I am warming to the idea,” she said. “Especially now that Yang has moved to the c
ountryside with her sister’s family. There is not much left to keep me here. A fresh start might be the best thing for our family.”
“You could have a fresh start in America too,” Esther pointed out.
“That’s true, Essie, but it sounds as though we might be needed more in Palestine.” Sunny smiled at her stepdaughter and then turned back to Franz with a look of pure love.
Hannah threw her arms around her boyfriend and hugged him tightly. “Do you hear that, Herschel? We might be coming with you.”
Franz’s chest felt as if it might burst with joy. Tears welled as he gazed into his wife’s eyes. He repositioned Joey to his side, so he could kiss her. As his lips found hers, it occurred to him that he could be the luckiest man alive. He had arrived in Shanghai with practically nothing—little hope and no prospects—and soon, he would be leaving with everything.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe far too many debts of gratitude to acknowledge everyone who has enriched and facilitated the development of the Adlers’ story, which is so near to my heart.
I do wish to thank my family for their unwavering support and belief. I also want to acknowledge Kit Schindell, who has been at my side from the very first manuscript. She sees my work at its rawest and refines it like the artist she is. I want to thank my agent, Henry Morrison, for his guidance, and my manager, Jon Karas, for his inspiration. And I would like to recognize my wonderful editor, Lorissa Sengara, who has steered me from the first to the last page of this journey, contributing irreplaceably every step along the way.
Finally, I must acknowledge the people who survived in Shanghai under brutal conditions during the Second World War. The refugee Jews, the native Chinese and so many other nationals endured oppression with dignity, bravery and a degree of mutual tolerance that was rare for the era.
BY DANIEL KALLA
FROM TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES
Blood Lies
Cold Plague
Of Flesh and Blood