Nightfall Over Shanghai (13 page)

“We're near the front, are we?” Franz asked.

“Not that near.” Helen shrugged. “You get used to it. Besides, those are Japanese bombers. It's not them you need to fear.”

“What, then?”

“The Chinese and American planes.”

“They would bomb a hospital?”

“If they get the chance.” She took another long drag on her cigarette. “Hard to blame them, all things considered.”

Ahead of them in the distance, the dirt was lit by the jiggling headlamps of an approaching truck. Franz saw other sets of lights following behind the first. Helen sighed. “It's going be another long night.”

“More wounded?”

“It's non-stop.”

Another, closer, set of headlights lit the road from the opposite direction. Helen and Franz took a step back off the road, but the
approaching jeep slowed to a stop in front of them. Helen stiffened and dropped her cigarette, stamping it out surreptitiously.

The driver hopped out and opened the vehicle's back door. Captain Suzuki stepped down, followed by another man. The latter was dressed in an officer's uniform and walked with a pronounced limp, leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand.

Helen bowed deeply at the waist and remained bent over as the men approached. Sensing her anxiety, Franz mimicked her pose. Suzuki said something to her in Japanese and, as soon as she straightened, Franz did so too.

The ranking officer stared at Franz for a penetrating moment. His lean face was cast in shadow, but Franz sensed that he was younger than Suzuki. When the officer finally opened his mouth, he was surprisingly soft-spoken. Suzuki translated his words into English. “Major Okada—our unit's commandant—wishes to welcome you. And to thank you for your efforts to mend our brave casualties.”

Franz bowed again.

This time, Okada nodded very slightly in return. He spoke again to Suzuki in a conversational tone before turning and limping back to the car without so much as a glance at the others. Suzuki's eyes drifted from Franz to Helen, and then he turned and followed after Okada without translating his last few remarks.

The jeep drove off, leaving them in the near darkness. Franz turned to Helen. “What did Major Okada say just now?”

Helen shook her head, her gaze on the departing taillights. “Major Okada said that he expects you to work very hard and perform well while here.”

Franz eyed her, but she didn't meet his stare. “And if I don't?”

“The major.” She paused. Fear crept into her tone. “Franz, you must be so careful around that one.”

The midday sun's pounding heat and blinding glare were so relentless that Sunny was regretting her decision to venture out. She steered the rusted pram's stiff wheels toward Broadway, hoping to catch a breeze coming off the Whangpoo. Despite having drawn the canopy over the pram, she worried that Jakob and Joey would overheat inside it. She stopped to check on them again. They were still both fast asleep, so she picked up her pace and hurried along the dockside.

The port was as busy as ever. Japanese naval craft competed with merchant ships and even junks and sampans for berths and harbour space. One ship towered above the others, though. Sunny identified the craft as the cruiser
Idzumo
from its three smokestacks. She hadn't seen the ship in port for at least a year. She thought back to how, only hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the
Idzumo
had chased down and mercilessly sunk the British gunship HMS
Peterel.
This had marked the beginning of the Pacific War in Asia. The graphic accounts of the
Idzumo
's machine gunners mowing down British sailors as they bobbed helplessly in the water ran through the Shanghailander community like an electric current, setting a terrifying precedent for what the
previously protected Europeans could expect from the invaders. The brutality came as no surprise to Sunny. She had witnessed so much worse, including the rape of children and the murder of her own father. The Japanese had taken everyone who had meant the most to her: her father, her amah and now her husband.

Oh, Franz, what have they done with you?
A month had passed since she had last laid eyes on him. The memory of their inadequate goodbye plagued her. There were so many things she wished she had told him.

Sunny had been to every hospital in the city, hoping against reason that she would find him. Her first stop had been the Country Hospital. It had taken three attempts just to get through the doors of her former workplace. In the end, she and Jia-Li had had to pose as flower girls delivering bouquets to the wounded soldiers. But they hadn't found Franz or anyone who fit the description of a Japanese-speaking Canadian nurse or an American-trained Japanese surgeon. Their next stops, the Shanghai General and two naval hospitals, proved equally fruitless. Franz wasn't in Shanghai.

The sight of two soldiers patrolling on the other side of the street sent her into a silent rage.
Where have you savages taken him?
She had never known such hatred. It scared her, but it was also liberating and helped tamp down the grief.

Sunny pushed the pram toward Garden Bridge—the iconic double truss bridge that spanned Soochow Creek. She had to bend her knees and push from her calves just to manoeuvre the pram's uncooperative wheels onto the walkway. As she wheeled it, her gaze drifted out to the harbour again and she began to mentally sort the vessels, focusing on the warships.

She knew more about identifying naval craft than most civilians. Her father had been a consummate anglophile with a fascination
with the Royal Navy. In the summertime, he would sometimes take her down to the Public Garden or the Bund. There, he had taught her to identify the different classes of warships in the harbour from the size and shape of their hulls and turrets. Aside from the
Idzumo
, Sunny counted three destroyers in port. She also spotted four riverboats and three patrol boats. She noted the subtle differences in their shapes and markings, which made even the riverboats distinguishable from one another.

Sunny came to the end of the bridge's walkway and quickly looked about. No one, not even the cluster of sailors standing on the nearby corner, paid her any attention.
Just a mother walking her children along the riverfront.
How easy it would be to make this a routine.

As she passed the sailors—close enough to pick up the odour of their sweat—her blood boiled again. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming,
What right do you have to take everything from us?

***

Sunny's anger melted into limp fear as she wheeled the pram onto the streets of Germantown. She checked that her scarf was secured tightly around her head, and hid as much of her face as possible. She kept her eyes to the ground and quickened her pace as she headed for Ernst's flat.

At the corner of his apartment block, she stole a glance up the street. Her heart stopped when she spotted three dark uniforms approaching. For a horrified moment, she thought the
older man leading the group might be the odious Major Huber. But she calmed slightly when she realized he was just some other self-important Nazi. She lowered her eyes again and continued on toward the building, forcing herself not to run.

At Ernst's door, she had to knock three times and identify herself in the quietest voice possible before the door opened a crack and then swung wider. Simon reached for the pram and pulled it into the apartment, closing the door as soon as Sunny had cleared the threshold.

Simon bent down and eased the sleepy Jakob out of the pram. “Oh, there's my little fella. Jakey.” He kissed the toddler repeatedly until the boy squirmed so violently that Simon had to set him on the floor.

Jakob tottered over to Sunny and grabbed her leg while staring up suspiciously at the bearded man. Simon crouched down to his level and rubbed the scruff on his cheeks. “Buddy, it's me. Your daddy. Papa.” And then he even added the Yiddish that Esther often used: “
Tate.
”

Jakob didn't budge. He tugged at Sunny's leg and said, “Up. Up.”

“Teaches me for being too lazy to shave.” Simon laughed, undeterred by his son's guardedness. He covered his face with his hands. “Where did Daddy go?” He flipped his hands open like shutters and cried, “Peekaboo. Here he is.” After a few rounds of this, Jakob let go of Sunny's legs. Soon he was giggling. And then he raced over to Simon and grabbed at his hands, trying to pull them away from his face. Eventually, the two fell into a playful wrestle, with Jakob crawling on top of his father's chest.

Sunny was relieved to see Simon in a gregarious mood, but as she watched the display of paternal love, she couldn't help
longing for Franz. After a few more minutes of wrestling, Simon stood and swept Jakob up in an arm. “Don't suppose I could interest you in a cookie?” he asked.

Jakob tugged at the collar of his father's stained shirt, pleading. Simon carried him to the kitchenette and took a tin down from a shelf. Jakob's eyes went wide as he clumsily thrust his hand inside and extracted a shortbread.

“Sorry, buddy. Uncle Ernst's cookies aren't very fresh.” Simon released Jakob back to the floor, where he sat happily gnawing on the tough cookie. Simon rushed over to Sunny and wrapped her in a bony hug, scratching her face with his whiskers. “Ah, Sunny. Bringing my little guy to me—I can't thank you enough. I just can't. You have no idea.”

Stepping back, Sunny indicated the pram where Joey was still sleeping. “I do, actually.”

Simon leaned over to peek inside. “Ah, look at this guy. He's adorable. He and Jake are going to be such great pals. That poor ghetto won't know what hit them.”

“Soon,” she agreed with a small laugh. “Where's Ernst?”

Simon straightened, his smile fading. With his face thinner than ever, his nose appeared even more prominent against his sunken cheekbones. “He told me he was going to the market. To look for more art supplies.”

She cocked her head. “You think he might be somewhere else?”

“I wonder if he's out with that Gerhard again.” Simon frowned. “Ernst spends a lot of time with that one.”

“He has been alone for a long time now.”

“Maybe so, but why does he have to choose a Nazi?”

“Gerhard was the one who tipped Ernst off about the Christmas Day bomb plot.”

“A Nazi is a Nazi,” Simon snorted. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, and when he spoke, his tone had softened. “Have you had any word about Franz?”

Sunny shook her head, swallowing. “He could be anywhere. Even in the middle of some battlefield.”

“They took him for his medical skills, remember?” Simon reassured her with deliberate optimism. “They wouldn't risk putting their top surgeon at the front lines or anything so moronic.” Sunny nodded emptily. “He's coming back, Sunny. I know it in my bones.”

She didn't comment, but that didn't deter Simon. His face lit up with fresh enthusiasm. “You should think about coming with us.”

“Oh, where are you going?”

“
We
are going to the Bronx. All of us. Where else?” He laughed. “I know the perfect spot. In Highbridge. The cutest brownstone. We could each have a floor. The boys could wreak havoc in the neighbourhood. We'd find you jobs at Lincoln Hospital or somewhere. We'd all get season tickets for the Yankees, of course. And don't worry,” he added with a laugh. “The place is as Jewish as the ghetto, so you'd feel right at home.”

“And how are we going to get to New York?” Sunny scoffed. “On a Japanese battleship?”

“It's only a matter of time now, Sunny. And not much, at that. The Allies are sweeping through Europe. The Pacific won't be far behind.” He nodded in the direction of Jakob and Joey. “Time to start planning for these kids' future—ours too—after the war.”

As inviting as the idea was, Sunny was desperate not to succumb to false hope again. So she reached into the back of the pram and pulled out Esther's letter.

Simon's eyes brightened as he took the envelope from her. “How is she?” he asked.

“As good as she can be without you.”

“It kills me to be away from Essie.” His face reddened. “I'm sorry, Sunny. Oh God, what an idiot I am. I don't need to tell you, of all people, that.”

“It's all right, Simon.”

He looked over to Jakob, whose face was smeared with wet cookie crumbs, before turning his attention back to the envelope. “Go ahead,” Sunny encouraged. “Read it.”

Simon tore it open. He was chuckling as he began reading, but the laughter soon turned to sighs. By the time he finished, he was shaking his head.

“What did Essie say?” Sunny asked, intuiting Simon's unease.

“That she won't write me anymore if I keep leaving the apartment.” He cleared his throat. “She won't even let you bring Jakob to see me if she hears I have.”

“She's only trying to protect you, Simon.”

“From what? My own sanity?” He rolled his eyes. “I've been cooped up in this walk-up for a year with nothing but that crazy painter for company. Sometimes, I forget what it's like to breathe anything but oil-paint fumes and smoke. Every once in a while, I have to get out and stretch my legs.”

“And what if the Nazis spot you?”

“How? None of them have a clue who I am.”

“You don't look like them, Simon. And you certainly don't sound like them. Even I can hear your accent when you speak German.”

Simon pointed toward the window. “I'm always careful out there.”

“I am too,” Sunny said. “But I still ran straight into von Puttkamer.”

“If I happen to, trust me, it will be worse for him.”

She stiffened. “What does that mean?”

“It would be so easy, Sunny.”

She lowered her voice. “To kill him?”

He just nodded.

Sunny exhaled. “Even if you could get your hands on a gun …”

“I don't need a gun.”

“Then how?”

Simon shrugged. “I would have surprise on my side. That, and the long butcher knife I always carry with me.”

The calmness in his eyes concerned Sunny as much as his words. “Stop this nonsense. You're a husband, a father, a provider, a nurturer—not an assassin. It's not in you, Simon.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Not this way. No. It would never work. Jakob would lose his father, and Essie her husband. Is that what you want for them?”

He tipped his head from side to side. “If it meant they were free of von Puttkamer?”

“There are countless other Nazis to take his place. Some worse than him. You know it as well as I do.”

“Von Puttkamer is the one with the schemes. The one who tried to blow up the synagogue and the hospital. The one who tried to abduct Franz in plain daylight.” Simon paused. “Maybe the others would think twice if they saw what became of him.”

“It will never work,” she repeated.

Simon pulled Jakob to his chest and hugged him tightly. He looked back up at Sunny with plaintive eyes. “After everything they've done to us, Sunny? Don't you ever just want to fight back?”