Nightfall Over Shanghai (15 page)

Screaming in surprise and pain, the man tossed his arms up to protect his face. Okada swung again, cracking the cane's handle into the man's nose. Franz heard the repulsive crunching of bones breaking as blood sprayed from the patient's face and his glasses flew off his head.

“Are you out of your mind?” Franz cried in English. “This man just had surgery!”

He began to move forward, but Helen grabbed him by the arm and shifted to block his path. “Leave it,” she whispered frantically.

Even though the patient was now lying limp and motionless, Okada again cocked the cane over his head. Franz wriggled free of Helen's grip and took two steps toward the bed. The rush of dizziness came out of nowhere. The room darkened and went black even before his head met the ground.

I shouldn't have come.

Curiosity, Hannah reminded herself. It was the only reason she had accepted Freddy's unexpected invitation to meet. But it wasn't curiosity that was making her chest flutter as she walked along the uneven sidewalk. The guilt gnawed deeper with each step she took toward the schoolyard. She felt rotten enough for not having told Herschel, but it was even worse imagining how disappointed her father would be if he knew. After Franz had been flogged for Hannah's crime of smuggling cigarettes into the ghetto for Freddy's family, she had vowed to never again associate with the dangerous boy.

Oh, Papa.
A lump formed in Hannah's throat, and she worried she might break into tears again. Papa had always been there, the only parent she had ever known. Before now, the longest she had ever been apart from her father was one week, but now he had been gone for over a month already. A pall had descended on their home. It was killing Sunny. Even Esther was struggling. Without his steadying presence, the two women bickered as never before. What Hannah wouldn't have given to hear his calm voice or to see his understated smile.

I can't do this, Hannah thought. Just as she was turning away from the school grounds, a voice called to her. “Banana! Over here.”

Hannah looked over her shoulder to see Freddy Herzberg standing at the side of the building, beckoning her with a friendly wave. She hesitated. “Come on,” he encouraged in English, the only language he ever seemed to speak despite his German upbringing. “Avi isn't here. It's only us. And I am just about to do it.”

Swallowing back her guilt, Hannah headed over to Freddy, pulling her sleeve down over her left hand. Only Freddy could ever evoke such self-consciousness in her, and she resented him as much as herself for the feeling. She followed him around the back of the school to the clearing in the shrubs, where the transmitter rested on a blanket, quietly hissing static.

“Why here?” Hannah asked him in a conspiratorial whisper. “Why not somewhere inside? Would that not be safer?”

Freddy swirled a hand around. “This is perfect. The place is abandoned over the summer. Besides, no interference. No tall buildings, walls or other radio antennae to block the signal.”

Hannah nodded. “So the sound is clearer?”

“That, and the signal travels a lot further.”

“How far does it go?”

Freddy shrugged. “Depending on the weather, up to fifty miles. But today, it only has to reach Frenchtown.”

“Why?”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and extended it to her. She declined the offer, and he tucked them back into his pocket without lighting one. “I have a friend in Frenchtown.”

“A friend of the family's, I suppose?”

“Matter of fact, yes.” Freddy grinned widely. “I've missed that spunkiness, Banana.”

Her heart beat quicker, but she hid it behind a roll of her eyes. “Have you found another girl to be your lackey?”

Unperturbed, Freddy shook his head. “We don't do that anymore. My pop promised your pop. Remember?”

“I do,” she lied. Her father had never spoken of the incident after his flogging. Sunny had once told Hannah how Franz had confronted Freddy's father after her arrest, but even Sunny didn't know the specifics of their run-in, certainly nothing about a promise between the two men. “So how do you get your cigarettes into the ghetto?”

Freddy winked. “Some mysteries are best left unsolved.”

Hannah turned again. “I think I should go.”

Just as she was ducking her head beneath a branch, Freddy said, “Coolies.”

“What about them?” Hannah asked.

“The coolies don't need passes to get in or out of the ghetto. No one inspects their rickshaws.” He laughed. “They blow in and out like the wind.”

“I don't know whether or not to believe you,” Hannah said without turning back to him.

“
Verzeih, bitte
,” Freddy said, surprising Hannah with German and with the contrition in his tone. “I really am sorry for the suffering we—I—caused you. And your father. If I had known someone was going to get hurt …”

“You would have done it anyway.”

“No, I wouldn't have. I swear, Hannah.”

She wavered before heading back to him. “How does it work?”

“The radio?” He laughed.

“The business. With your friend in Frenchtown.”

“Oh, we agree on a time. He calls me. I tell him how much we need. And presto—a day or two later, the rickshaw shows up.”

She dropped her voice to a near whisper again. “What if the Japanese catch you?”

“Ah.” He brushed the idea away with a backhanded sweep. “I'm too slick for them. Besides, we are always careful.”

Nothing that Hannah had seen or heard so far supported the claim, but she was too intrigued to argue. Freddy stepped closer to her. “Is Herschel your boyfriend now?” he asked.

“No—well, yes.” Her cheeks heated. “Herschel is a good friend and a good person.”

Freddy tilted his head, amused. “But is he your
boyfriend
?”

“I suppose he is, yes.”

Still smiling, Freddy laid a hand on her upper arm and squeezed it, launching a jolt of electricity through her. “Then he's a very lucky guy.” He stared into her eyes. A voice in Hannah's head told her to turn and run, but she felt paralyzed. Herschel's touch—even his sweet clumsy kisses—never brought the same rush of adrenalin that Freddy's could.

A loud hiss of static broke the spell. “Tango, tango, are you there?” a disembodied voice asked.

Freddy pivoted and, in one motion, dropped to his knees. He grabbed the mouthpiece off the radio. “Go ahead, Foxhole.”

“How many?” the hollow voice asked.

“Forty cartons, twenty bottles,” Freddy said.

“When?”

“Tuesday.”

“Okay.”

Freddy switched off the dial. The speaker popped loudly, and then the static vanished as the radio shut down. He looked over to Hannah with another wink. “The key is to keep it short. The Japs, they know how to triangulate a radio transmission.”

Sunny buried her face in the collar of her dress, trying to shield her mouth and nose from the plume of black smoke. It didn't work. The taste of the coal dust made her cough, but she kept fanning the briquettes, hoping to keep them alight. The traditional Shanghainese stove resembled an upside-down flowerpot and was burning the only fuel available in the ghetto: briquettes recycled from burned coal and compacted river mud. Lighting the maddeningly inefficient briquettes used to be Franz's duty, one of the few situations that could cause him to lose his temper. How she wished he were here now, tending the stove and muttering curses in German.

Behind her, Ernst and Esther sat side by side on the couch. Cigarette in hand, Ernst chatted away non-stop, while Esther nursed Joey under a blanket that covered her to her shoulders.

“
Ach
, this little one gets a little heavier with each meal, Sunny,” Esther said.

“Because you provide so well for him,” Sunny said.

“I'm just his bottle. Nothing more. You are his mother.” Esther smiled encouragingly. “That is what matters most in his world.”

Sunny's cheeks flushed. She fanned the coals even harder, relieved to hear Ernst change the subject. “Are we not two short of a full house? Where have Hannah and Jakob gone?”

“Hannah has taken him to get hot water,” Esther said.

Ernst rubbed his hands together. “Ah, what are we cooking? Perhaps I can stay for lunch after all.”

“Bed bugs,” Esther said.

“Bed bugs?” Ernst groaned in disgust. “Honestly, I'm more of a Wiener schnitzel man.”

“We don't eat them, Ernst. We douse the mattresses and railings in hot water. The heat chases out the bed bugs. Our feet finish the job.” Esther sighed. “Jakob loves it. He thinks it's all one big game.”

“Can you imagine, Essie, if I had told you ten years ago in Vienna that this was to be our fate?” Ernst sighed. “Steaming out bed bugs in some Chinese hovel?”

“We are still alive,” Esther pointed out.

“Am I supposed to assume that's preferable?”

“I think so.” Esther laughed, still beaming from her husband's latest letter. “Simon swears he's not going out anymore.” She looked hopefully to Ernst for confirmation. “Correct?”

“Not that I have witnessed. Of course, sometimes I'm gone much of the day.”

“Does he talk about ambushing von Puttkamer or any of the others?”

“Not to me, no. All I get is more of his infernal prattle about those Bronx Bombers of his. I tell you this: he has turned me into a Boston Red Sox enthusiast. And I have no idea who or what those even are.”

“Thank God!” Esther laughed happily.

“Besides, Essie,” Ernst said, assuming a gossipy tone. “Your husband is apparently not the only one with designs on assassinating Nazis.”

“Ernst, don't even joke,” Esther admonished.

Sunny raised her head and looked over to Ernst. “Has something happened?”

“Not here. In Berlin—well, in Rastenburg, to be specific. They tried to kill him. Hitler himself.”

Esther's eyes went wide and she slapped her hand to her mouth. “Who did?”

“His own officers. There was a bomb.”

“And?” Esther said, holding her breath.

Ernst rolled his eyes. “Of course he survived. With only minor injuries. You can't kill an artist as talentless as that one. The gods of mediocrity will not allow it. They're rounding up the conspirators all over Berlin.”

“Of all people to survive a bombing,” Esther groaned. She fumbled under the blanket and Joey emerged smacking his lips contentedly.

Sunny stepped over to ease him out of Esther's arms. Joey looked up at her with a little grin that lightened her worries. She cradled him against her neck, enjoying the warmth of his cheek against hers as she burped him.

“And Franz?” Ernst asked. “Have you heard any news, Sunny?”

“No,” Esther answered for her.

“You still have no idea where they've taken him?” Ernst persisted.

Sunny shook her head. “I plan to go see Ghoya.”

“Not to poison his soup again, I hope.”

Sunny shook her head. “That wasn't my idea, Ernst. You know that.”

Esther looked over to Sunny with a discouraging frown. “It won't help to ask for anything from that monster.”

“Do I not owe it to Franz to try?” Sunny asked as she bobbed Joey up and down, lightly tapping his back. “If you didn't know where Simon was
—how
he was—is there anything you wouldn't do to find out?”

Esther opened her mouth to speak but instead just nodded.

Sunny hankered for fresh air. Joey would need to nap soon, and a stroll in the pram would help him get to sleep. Sunny realized she was destined to end up back on Broadway, heading toward the Garden Bridge, as she had for the past three days. She could still picture the configuration of the Japanese vessels in the harbour from yesterday's walk, but they would have changed positions overnight: the ships moved constantly, never mooring in one spot for too long.

A series of light, rapid knocks drew Sunny's attention.

“Are you expecting someone?” Esther whispered to her.

When the door rattled softly again, Sunny could tell from the tentative sound that it wasn't the authorities. She opened the door to find a Chinese boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, standing at the threshold. He looked vaguely familiar and, for a horrible moment, she wondered if he could be a relative of Feng Wei's come to reclaim Joey. But then she recognized him as one of the young boys she had met in the sitting room at the Comfort Home.

“Mama beckons you,” the boy said in Shanghainese without greeting.

“Why? What does Chih-Nii want?”

“Your help.”

“My help? With what?”

“There has been an incident,” the boy said, turning to leave.

***

The rickshaw driver dropped Sunny and the boy, who had been no more forthcoming during the ride, outside the Comfort Home. Ushi was waiting at the curb. The colossal guard whisked her down the garden pathway and through the mansion's entrance. Rather than escorting her to the sitting room, he led her up the curved staircase to the second floor, where Sunny had never been, and down the hall to the third bedroom on the right. He knocked four times and then the door opened a crack. Sunny had to turn sideways to slip through the opening, Chih-Nii pulling the door closed as soon as she had entered the room.

Sunny's chest was drumming even before she saw the naked man sprawled on the four-poster bed. He lay on his back, head turned sharply to the right, a sheet twisted around his legs up to his upper thighs. Everything above that was exposed.

“He was still alive when I sent for you, buttercup,” Chih-Nii said in dull voice.

Sunny glanced at the madam, who still stood by the door with arms folded. Her gaze fell back to the body on the bed, a middle-aged man with a small paunch. “Who is he?” Sunny asked.

“A client.”

“I assumed as much.”

“Of Jia-Li's.”

Sunny too had surmised that. “What happened to him?”

“Some kind of heart condition, apparently.” Chih-Nii sounded skeptical.

“You said he was still alive when you found him.”

Chih-Nii brought her fingers to her neck. “He still had a heartbeat, but he wasn't breathing.”

Sunny moved closer to the bed. The man stared placidly out the window as if lost in a daydream. She knew he was dead, but she went through the motions of running the back of her hand over his still warm brow and feeling his neck and chest for any sign of life. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed the trace of blood at the crook of his elbow. She pretended to check his pulse there as she rubbed away a small scab.

“And?” Chih-Nii demanded.

Sunny swallowed. “Even a pathologist couldn't tell what he died of just by looking at him.”

Chih-Nii smiled as if letting Sunny in on a private joke, but the expression didn't last. “This could cause us no end of grief,” she groaned.

“Has no one ever died at the Comfort Home before?”

“It happens,” Chih-Nii said. “Hearts have been known to give out in the throes of passion.”

“So what's different about this man?”

“He was an important man. A major.” Chih-Nii pointed to the bundle of clothes that lay carefully folded on the chaise longue in the corner. Two white armbands rested on top of the pile. “In the Kempeitai.”

The officer's death was certain to draw the full scrutiny of the dreaded military police. Sunny didn't want to consider what could happen if they suspected that his death wasn't of natural causes.

Chih-Nii locked eyes with Sunny. “This is not the first.”

“Of Jia-Li's clients?”

Chih-Nii nodded gravely. “About two months ago. Another officer. He barely survived.”

“May I speak with her, Mama?”

Chih-Nii hesitated and then motioned toward the door. Sunny followed the madam out of the room, down the stairs and into the office. Then Chih-Nii stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Sunny alone with her friend.

Jia-Li sat behind Chih-Nii's mahogany desk wearing a black silk nightgown, her hair pulled back in a band. She doodled on a piece of paper as Sunny sat down across from her. Sunny glanced at her drawing: a bouquet of flowers, probably peonies, her friend's favourite. Jia-Li looked up with a faintly amused smile. “I am more than a little jealous of your friend,
xiăo
hè.”

“Which friend?”

“Ernst. An artist of his skill. To create something from nothing. What a gift that must be.”

Sunny reached across the desk and laid her hand on top of Jia-Li's. “Are you all right,
băo bèi
?”

“Always. Why shouldn't I be?”

Despite her carefree words, Sunny noticed the slight tremor in her friend's hand. “Your client. The major.”

“Ah, the poor man.” Jia-Li shrugged. “It can't be helped.”

“We both know it's not so.”

“Not to be indelicate, Sister, but I had worried about the major in bed.” Her gaze returned to the sketch on the desk. “His level of exertion. Many of them are … exuberant with me. But this one, with his grunting and gasping. And the sweating! As if he had just run up the side of a mountain. I imagine his heart just wasn't up to the challenge.”

“His heart wasn't the issue.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he didn't die of natural causes.”

Jia-Li looked up, her eyes steely. “Who dies of natural causes in a snake pit?”

“I saw the needle mark at his elbow. Heroin.”

Jia-Li smiled. “You must be confused. Where would the major have got his hands on opium's brighter and bolder little sister?”

Sunny squeezed Jia-Li's hand so tightly that her fingers ached. “You can't continue this. It's suicide,
băo bèi.
”

“No,
xiăo hè.
” Jia-Li's smile vanished. She stared at Sunny, her gaze unwavering. “It's their karma. And my duty. Nothing else.”