Little Paradise

by Gabrielle Wang

  All along the waterfront, Western-style palatial buildings, larger and taller than she had ever seen in Melbourne, filled the skyline with clock towers, domes and spires. There were billboards in English, French and Chinese advertising perfume and medicine, cigarettes and movies. All manner of European-style shops and cafes lined the streets.

  When they stopped at a traffic light, Max said, ‘Shanghai, she is like Eurasian beauty, born to old money but is now fallen on hard times.’

  Father had once told her proudly – for he had been there for a short visit in 1932 – that Shanghai was a fast-moving city, bursting at the seams and equal in modernity and fashion to Paris, London and New York. Now, a layer of grime covered almost everything. Yet even after ten years of war, Mirabel could still see glimpses of the wealth and opulence that must have once defined the city streets.

  Poverty was etched into faces, dark shadows ringing sunken eyes. Life here for most people seemed to be a constant struggle for the basic necessities – food and shelter. There seemed to be such a wide gap between the well-dressed foreigners, beautifully groomed Chinese ladies in silk qi paos, long-gowned scholars and businessmen, and the poor men and women who hauled cartloads of produce and building materials to keep the city alive. And on every street corner were the beggars – dirty and ragged – hunched inside doorways, tapping empty cans on the footpath, their mound of belongings lying beside them like a pile of decaying leaves.

  Mirabel remembered Great Auntie May telling her that Chinese people were used to suffering. ‘That’s why we are so resilient,’ she had said. ‘That is why our history is so long. We adapt and change and endure.’

  Now Mirabel understood what Great Auntie May meant. In a huge country like this, suffering was a part of life.

  Lost on the Sea

  The pedicabs travelled up a tree-lined road. On either side were European-style houses and mansions bigger than those in the posh suburb of Toorak back home. There were theatres and grand churches, shops and department stores.

  ‘This is called the French Concession,’ Max called across to her, gesturing around him. ‘Und we live up there.’ He directed the drivers down a lane with three-storey apartment buildings behind high walls. ‘Ting xia lai. Stop here,’ he called out.

  He dragged the suitcases out onto the road and paid the drivers.

  ‘Our apartment is only small,’ he smiled at Mirabel, ‘but it is … how you call it …?’ He thought for a moment. ‘Cosy, yes, it is very cosy.’

  ‘Rachel, wir sind wieder da. We are home!’ he called up to the small window that opened out onto the street.

  Two girls, one fair, the other dark, poked their heads out. ‘Papa! Papa!’

  Mirabel heard a clatter of little footsteps on the stairs as the two girls came rushing down to greet them. When Max opened the gate, the younger of the girls came to a sudden halt on the landing at the sight of Mirabel. She stood staring shyly, one hand on the balustrade, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  Her older sister, who was barefoot, jumped down the remaining three steps into the small entranceway, ‘Ni hao. My name is Frieda. And that is my sister, Lottie.’ She beckoned her sister to come down, but the little girl shook her head and remained on the landing. Frieda smiled at her father then looked up at Mirabel through long dark lashes.

  ‘The children are learning English at school,’ said Max.

  ‘Frieda’s English is very good. Much better than my German,’ said Mirabel, smiling at the girls.

  Frieda looked pleased with herself. ‘You speak German?’ she asked, delighted.

  ‘I learnt a bit at school.’

  Frieda cocked her head on one side, waiting expectantly.

  ‘All right then. Um … Hallo, wie geht es Ihnen?’ Mirabel laughed, embarrassed.

  ‘Gut danke.’ Frieda giggled. ‘What to call your baby?’ she asked, smiling up at Bao Bao and taking his hand.

  ‘His name is Bao Bao.’

  Lottie left her safe place on the landing and came down the stairs. ‘Kann er reden?’ she whispered in her father’s ear.

  Max smiled. ‘Lottie wants to know if your baby can talk.’

  ‘Not yet, but he will be able to soon. Maybe you could teach him German?’

  Lottie turned to her sister and whispered, ‘Schau, Frieda, seine Hände sind so klein.’ She looked at her own hand.

  Frieda smiled. ‘His hands are so small!’

  ‘Come girls, let us go upstairs. Our guest is tired,’ said Max. ‘I will bring one suitcase up first.’

  ‘I’m sorry they are so heavy.’ Mirabel felt bad that Max had to do so much for her when she had just arrived.

  ‘No, is all right.’ Drawing in his breath, Max lifted the suitcase onto the first step and began hauling it up the stairs while Mirabel waited with Lottie and Frieda, minding the other case.

  He came down shortly, his face glistening, and said to the girls, ‘Mädels, nehmt eure Sachen, wir gehen gleich Mittagessen.’

  ‘Ja, Papa.’

  Frieda took Lottie’s hand and they both ran up the stairs.

  ‘I told them to pack the toys away und get ready for lunch,’ Max said. ‘Maybe you like to teach children a little English?’

  ‘Of course, I would love that,’ Mirabel replied, delighted. It was the least she could do for a family who were taking her in like a refugee.

  Max heaved Mirabel’s other suitcase up the stairs.

  As they entered the apartment, a woman was setting the table. She was very pretty, Mirabel thought, with a yellow scarf tied around her head and dark hair falling to her shoulders. Frieda looked exactly like her mother, the same small mouth and large brown eyes.

  The woman looked up, smiled, came towards Mirabel. ‘I am Rachel. Willkommen, Mirabel. And is this your little boy? He is beautiful!’

  ‘Sein Name ist Bao Bao,’ Frieda said.

  Lottie mouthed the words.

  Rachel put out her arms and clapped softly. ‘Bao Bao, come to Aunt Rachel?’

  Bao Bao immediately leaned towards Rachel. ‘What a friendly little boy you are,’ she said, cuddling him.

  Mirabel smiled. He went to strangers so easily now. The first week on board the ship, he cried every time anyone so much as looked at him. It wasn’t his fault. Bao Bao had been a shameful secret, hidden away at home for almost nine months. The only people he saw were family. But now look at him! Four weeks at sea had cured his fear of strangers.

  ‘Come, sit. We will have some lunch. Will it be all right if Lottie and Frieda play with Bao Bao on the floor?’ Rachel asked. ‘They’ve already eaten.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  Rachel took the rug off the back of the couch and spread it out on the floor while the girls ran into a bedroom, then came out dragging a box between them. They sat down on either side of Bao Bao, showing him their toys.

  When lunch was over, Rachel took Mirabel to her room. There was a mattress on the floor pushed up into the corner under the window, and a reading lamp. Several boxes and Mirabel’s two large suitcases were lined up along the opposite wall.

  ‘I am sorry. We can only give you this small storeroom,’ Rachel said. ‘There is not much space in Shanghai.’

  ‘No, it is perfect. Thank you.’ Mirabel turned to Rachel and smiled. ‘It’s the first time I’ve had a bedroom all to myself.’

  The Hartmanns’ kindness and hospitality seemed to chase away the weariness of the long sea voyage and Mirabel’s fear of coming to a strange country.

  Max wanted to hear all about life in Australia. They were hoping to migrate there themselves and had already applied for visas. Mirabel described the house and suburb where Rose and her family lived. She told them about Melbourne and the lazy brown river that wound its way through the leafy suburbs, the silly four-seasons-in-a-day weather, the clean white beaches, and the mountains that turned golden in the autumn.

  ‘It sounds like a beautiful place,’ said Rachel.

  When Mirabel asked them about their life in A
ustria and how they came to Shanghai, Rachel replied, ‘We come from Vienna. I taught English there and Max was a banker before we had to flee the Germans.’

  ‘Now I understand why your English is so good,’ Mirabel smiled.

  ‘I do my best.’ She shrugged. ‘We came on an Italian liner. It took a month to get here because we first had to go to Aden, Bombay, Singapore and Hong Kong. And they wouldn’t let us off the ship. They charged us double the usual fare, and we had nothing when we arrived in Shanghai. Luckily, some wealthy Jews from Iraq were helping all the refugees.’

  ‘Iraq?’ Mirabel asked, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, they came to Shanghai for business a long time ago, and had made their fortunes here. So when Jews from Europe started arriving, they set up relief committees to organise dormitories, schools for the children, good food, hospitals and so on.’

  She looked at Max fondly. ‘Max now works as an accountant for one of them.’

  ‘Please, you eat more lunch?’ Max said, pushing a plate of cold meat closer to her. ‘Why do you come to Shanghai?’

  ‘I’m meeting up with JJ … my … husband,’ Mirabel said.

  ‘Ah! That explains everything. We were a little surprised that you would be travelling alone with a baby,’ Rachel said, glancing over at Bao Bao. ‘That is lovely, though. Were you married in Melbourne? Was it a big wedding?’ She poured Mirabel more coffee.

  ‘No, um, not really …’ Mirabel found herself sweating. Hadn’t Rose told them what her situation was? Maybe Rose was afraid they wouldn’t take in an unwed mother. Would they throw her out if they knew? But she couldn’t lie to them.

  ‘Actually, we haven’t had the wedding yet.’ She looked down at her hands, twirling the ring around her finger. ‘My parents …’

  She swallowed. The silence thickened.

  ‘Ah.’ Rachel spoke. Her voice was neutral.

  Mirabel glanced up. Max had reddened. But it was not the red of anger, like her father. It was simply that the situation had suddenly become awkward.

  Rachel put her hand on Mirabel’s arm. ‘Do not worry. That is not important to us. The important thing is that you find your … JJ. All will be well then,’ she smiled. ‘Where is he now?’

  Mirabel barely knew Rachel and Max but she wanted to get up and hug them both. They didn’t judge her but accepted her as she was.

  ‘The last news I had was two months ago,’ she said. ‘He went back home, somewhere near Haimen. His father died recently and he is taking care of his mother.’

  Max looked concerned. ‘I am hearing that whole area is full of Communists.’

  ‘When are you expecting him back?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘That’s the thing. I’m not sure. Actually … he doesn’t know I’m in Shanghai.’

  Both Max and Rachel looked at each other in surprise.

  ‘I couldn’t get word to him because I don’t know the name of his village. But JJ has a brother here and I have an address where he used to work …’

  She suppressed a yawn as a sudden wave of exhaustion descended upon her.

  ‘You have had a big day and should rest now,’ Rachel said in a kindly voice. ‘Go ahead, dear.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. You are both so kind.’

  Mirabel closed the door of her small room and lay down beside Bao Bao. She heard them talking but couldn’t be sure if they were talking about her.

  ‘We are in Shanghai at last, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘Your daddy is closer than ever. We will find him soon. He’s not really lost.’ Mirabel prayed that were true. She said the name of the city again but this time with a space between the two syllables. ‘Shang … hai. Shang – on … hai – sea.’

  Mirabel stared at the ceiling.

  ‘On the sea … lost on the sea.’

  The third line of the prophecy.

  The Boy from Poland

  The next morning, feeling the rocking motion of the sea beneath her for a brief moment, Mirabel awoke thinking she was still on the ship. She opened her eyes, looked around the room. There was no round porthole, no swaying blue curtains, no slap of sea against the side of the ship and no throbbing engine beneath her. A stab of excitement caused her to smile as the fog of sleep cleared. JJ was so close now. A year and a half of ocean had separated them, but not any longer. Haimen was just up the river. She had seen it on the map. And JJ’s village was somewhere close to that. How hard could it be?

  She looked at Bao Bao, still sleeping, his face so sweet and peaceful. Gently tucking the covers around him, she rose from the bed and crossed the room to one of her suitcases. Opening the lid, she felt around inside the silky lining and pulled out an envelope. It contained Lola’s long shopping list, a needle and thread, a miniature magnifying glass Jimmy had found in a Christmas bonbon and had given to Mirabel to check for bedbugs, and the piece of paper on which Frank Shen had written down Jin Yu’s address.

  She heard voices and laughter, then a soft knock at the door.

  ‘Mirabel?’ It was Rachel calling her.

  She put on her dressing-gown and opened the door.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Come, we have breakfast. Max has gone to work and the children are at school.’ She peeped over Mirabel’s shoulder at Bao Bao and said in a whisper, ‘Do you want to let him sleep while you eat first?’

  Mirabel nodded. ‘He’s exhausted from yesterday. I’ll get dressed and be right there.’

  As she came out of her room, she smelt the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee. At the table sat a young man who looked to be in his early twenties.

  ‘Sit down, Mirabel,’ Rachel said. ‘This is our friend, Stefan.’

  They exchanged greetings.

  Stefan’s hair was long over his ears, mousy brown in colour, and he had sharp features softened by a cheeky smile. ‘Nong gang Sanghei ai wu va? Do you speak Shanghainese?’ When he saw the look on her face, he laughed, and Rachel joined in.

  ‘Stefan is just showing off,’ she said. ‘He only knows enough to get around, and do what he does. He is such a luft-mensch. How do you say, he “lives on air”. He does not have a job, just finds things here and there and sells them, the rascally ganef. If you ever need anything, he is the one to ask. He cannot speak much English though.’ She tousled Stefan’s hair affectionately then spoke to him, not in German but in a language that sounded similar but strangely accented.

  ‘Stefan is from Poland and I cannot speak Polish so we speak in Yiddish, a language many Jewish people share,’ Rachel explained to Mirabel.

  Mirabel sipped her coffee and ate the cold meat, tomato and pickle on bread. Everything tasted delicious.

  Stefan had been talking quietly to Rachel and she started giggling. She turned to Mirabel.

  ‘Stefan is telling me how in his home town two tough boys from a fascist group stopped him one day, wanting to search him for money. He fought as if his life depended on it. Finally, they held him down and searched him, but could not find anything. Then they said, “Are you stupid? Why did you fight so hard when you don’t have any money on you?” He told them, “I am not stupid! I have ten zlotys in my shoe!” ’ She chuckled to herself.

  Mirabel didn’t understand. Stefan was stupid. Why tell them he had ten zlotys – however much that was – when they couldn’t find it?

  Rachel turned to her and could tell by the look on her face what she was thinking. ‘You see, Mirabel, the tough boys took the ten zlotys, which is not much, and went away happy. What they did not know was that Stefan had twenty gold pieces hidden in his belt, ready for his family’s escape. If he had not prepared the ten zlotys in advance, the boys would have beaten him more, and perhaps taken everything. So you have to be very clever in times like this.’

  Mirabel laughed at Stefan’s cleverness. He was smart. This city of Shanghai, in the Middle Kingdom, was a meeting place for people from all over the world. She wondered how he had come all the way to China from Poland.

&
nbsp; She heard Bao Bao crying and stood up from the table.

  ‘I go now,’ Stefan said, brushing back his hair and putting on his jacket.

  ‘Where are you going, Stefan?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘I bring back best szarlotkas in Shanghai.’ He grinned at Mirabel.

  They watched him rush out the door.

  ‘Szarlotkas. What’s that?’ Mirabel asked.

  ‘A kind of Polish apple pie. His mother used to make them.’

  ‘After I get Bao Bao up, can you tell me how Stefan came to Shanghai?’

  ‘I would be glad to. I will make us another pot of coffee while you get the baby dressed.’ She smiled and touched Mirabel’s arm. ‘It is good to have you here.’

  Rachel had set a cup of coffee down on the table when Mirabel returned with Bao Bao.

  ‘It tastes so good,’ Mirabel said. ‘I’ve never really liked coffee before now.’

  ‘We Europeans take great pride in our coffee, like the Chinese with their tea.’

  ‘Can you tell me about Stefan? Are his parents here too?’

  ‘Stefan’s family was poor but he was smart. He won a scholarship to the University of Warsaw when he was just fifteen.’

  ‘That is young.’

  ‘Yes, but he had been there only a year when his father died. He had to give up his studies to support his mother and three sisters. Then Germany invaded Poland. His mother had heard stories and was afraid they would take Stefan away. So just before the German army marched into Warsaw, she packed him a suitcase and told him to hide. She thought it would be for a few weeks only. She insisted she and his sisters would be safe, that the soldiers would not harm women and children.’

  Rachel was silent for a moment.

  ‘What happened then? Did he go away and hide?’

  ‘He never saw them again.’ Rachel sighed. ‘Poor Stefan. He later heard that they died in the ghetto in Warsaw. But he didn’t know that then. He went northwards with a lot of other refugees, to a place called Vilna, but then the Soviets occupied the town and again he had to escape.’ Rachel stood up and took out a large map from a bureau draw. She spread it out on the table and began tracing Stefan’s journey across Russia with her finger. ‘He did not have papers or very much money, but then he heard of a Japanese Consul who was helping Jewish refugees to obtain transit visas through the Soviet Union to Japan.’