Nightfall Over Shanghai (28 page)

“Surely, if anyone were to know, it would be you.”

Ghoya stared up at the ceiling with a rare expression of introspection. “What is a king without his kingdom?”

“Are you saying that there are no plans—”

Ghoya hopped to his feet and cut Franz off with a wild wave of his arm. “There are those who say that the Imperial Army will lose this war. And soon too. Do you think this is possible, Dr. Adler?”

“I … I …” Franz stuttered, afraid there could be no right answer.

“Rumours, rumours, rumours.” Ghoya cried, pointing at Franz as though he were personally responsible for all of them. “We are drowning in them.”

“It seems so.”

“We will never lose this war!” Ghoya answered his own question. “Our will is too strong. Our honour too great. The Emperor himself says that defeat is not an option.”

“No.”

Ghoya dropped his arms to his side and his tone calmed. “Shanghai … Shanghai is a different beast,” he conceded. “As in Burma and the Philippines, our Imperial Army might have to withdraw. Yes, yes. A strategic withdrawal is very possible here.”

Franz wondered hopefully if Ghoya might be sharing official military plans but quickly dismissed it as more likely just the musings of the man's erratic mind.

“I will stay here, regardless,” Ghoya continued. “Yes, yes, I will stay with my people.”

“Even if the army withdraws?”

Ghoya held out his open palms. “What kind of king abandons his people?”

Franz struggled to keep the disbelief from his face. “Very brave, sir.”

“You understand, Dr. Adler?” Ghoya continued. “Honour above all else. My people, they will admire me for it.”

Your people will lynch you for it
, Franz thought. But he decided to try to capitalize on Ghoya's magnanimous mood.
“
As
you say, sir, Shanghai is awash in rumours of late. I have heard another interesting one just today.”

“More rumours?” Ghoya cackled. “You Jews. Nothing but a bunch of gossiping old women.”

“Very true, yes.” Franz feigned a chuckle. “I heard the military police might have apprehended a Jew who slipped into the ghetto.”

“What did you just say?” Ghoya's eyes darkened and he took a step closer.

Franz silently cursed himself. Not only had the Japanese probably already arrested Simon, but he might have just made himself appear guilty by association.

“
The ghetto?
” Ghoya said in a shrill voice. “Is that what you called it?”

“Pardon me, sir. I meant to say the Designated Area. I am terribly sorry.” Franz bowed his head while keeping one eye on Ghoya in case he was preparing to strike him.

But Ghoya had already moved on. “Jews sneaking
into
the Designated Area? Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. Would a mouse sneak into a mousetrap?”

Joey was more than content to absorb the bustle around him from inside his pram, but Esther had to keep a tight hold on Jakob's hand. Any time he got free, he would disappear among the throngs of people milling along Tong Shan Road. The last time Jakob had escaped, it had taken Sunny and Esther fifteen panicky minutes to locate him. They found him only when Sunny overheard his distinctive giggle drifting out of the back of a Chinese teashop, where he sat on the old proprietor's lap, sharing her dumpling.

“I was a curious child like you, Jakob,” Sunny said to the oblivious boy. “And Jia-Li was worse than me. There was no end to the trouble we would get ourselves into in our neighbourhood.”

Esther reached out and touched the back of Sunny's hand. “You must miss her so.”

Now Sunny wished she hadn't mentioned her friend. Discussing Jia-Li again now would only dredge up more memories and sink Sunny right back into the depth of her grief. “I do miss her. Terribly. I miss them all. Yang, Charlie, Joey and, of course, my father. Still, I'm luckier than most.” She forced a smile. “I have my husband, my son and Hannah. And you and Jakob, of course. My family.”

“Family, yes. We are fortunate that way, aren't we?” Esther matched her smile, but there was a touch of melancholy in her tone. She and Simon had been separated for so long.

“Speaking of family,” Sunny said, “Franz is planning to talk to Hannah today.”

“I hope he has more success than I've had.” Esther shook her head. “I am worried about her.”

“She's not herself, is she? Perhaps something happened with Freddy?” Sunny suggested. “He hasn't come around in a long time. And Hannah never mentions him anymore.”

“That boy …” Esther sighed. “We have a saying in Yiddish.
A volf farlit zayne hor, ober nit zayn natur.
”

“A wolf and its hair …” Sunny tried unsuccessfully to translate.

“A wolf can lose its hair, but not change its nature.”

“Like the English expression: A leopard can't change its spots.”

“Precisely,” Esther said. “But who can know what is going on inside the girl's head? I wish she would just tell us what—”

Sunny heard a rumble and felt the telltale vibrations under her feet. She held up her hand to silence Esther. “Do you hear it, Essie?”

Esther studied the clear blue sky, but there was nothing to see. After a moment, she nodded. “The planes.”

Sunny grabbed Esther's free arm. “Hurry! Around the corner. The shelter.”

Over a howl of protest from Jakob, Esther swept her child up in her arms and jogged ahead. Sunny shoved the pram's stiff wheels forward, weaving through the crowd on the sidewalk, which was indifferent to the approaching planes. It wasn't until they reached the shallow bomb shelter—dug out of the side of the road and reinforced with haphazard piles of sandbags—that the air-raid
sirens finally began to sound. Jakob squealed with delight at the cacophony. He pointed up at the bombers and fighter planes in formation overhead. “Big planes, Mama! Big planes!”

Only a handful of others joined them in the pit, which was a mere six or seven feet below ground level and no more spacious than the inside of a trolley bus. The local Chinese rarely bothered to use the shelters. From where Sunny crouched, she could see the legs and feet of pedestrians on the exposed sidewalk, watching the planes as though they were just aerial entertainment. Distant blasts thundered and echoed as bombs detonated somewhere outside the city. Sunny wondered if the bombers were again targeting the oil refineries in Pootung, on the other side of the river.

“They continue to spare the city,” Esther pointed out as the booms quieted.

“So far,” Sunny agreed. Almost everyone in the ghetto, including her own family, assumed that the Allied bombers were friendly and would never pose a threat to the refugees. But Sunny was still mindful of Father Diego's warning that the transmitter in Hongkew would eventually become a target.

They waited another few minutes until the planes had passed and their engines had completely died away before climbing out of the shelter and heading back to the street market. Sunny had wanted to shop for food with Esther, as she was increasingly worried about the lack of produce in her son's diet. Lately, Joey had been living almost off rice alone. But as they moved from stall to stall, she was horrified at the outrageous prices of fruit and vegetables.

Esther was examining blackened bananas at a grocer's stall when Jakob yelled, “Papa! Papa! Papa!” He pulled free of Esther and darted into the crowd.

“Jakob, wait!” Esther dropped the fruit and dashed forward, shouldering her way through the swarm of people.

Sunny steered the pram after Esther. As soon as she had passed the fruit stall, she spotted Jakob. The boy had jumped into a man's arms and was straddling his chest, obscuring the man's face.

“Simon?” Sunny ventured.

It was him. “Sunny!” he cried.

Esther by this time had doubled back, and upon seeing Simon, she slapped a hand to her mouth. “It can't be,” she whispered, stumbling back a step. “
Mein Gott!
”

“Oh, gorgeous, you have no idea.” Simon lowered Jakob and rushed over to her. Throwing his arms around her, he spun her in a full circle before putting her down. He took her head in his hands and kissed her face repeatedly.

Esther was still in shock. “How is this possible?”

Before Simon could explain, Sunny grabbed him by the arm and jerked him away. “
Not here
,” she insisted, aware of how exposed they were in the market. She shepherded them all down a nearby laneway.

Sunny had never seen Simon looking thinner or more haggard, but something else had changed about him. Then it dawned on her: the spark in his eyes was back. “Two years, Essie,” he cried. “I couldn't keep away from you any longer. Another day and I swear I would've gone completely bonkers.”

Esther sniffled. “Darling, the Japanese …”

Simon laughed. “They don't care. I waltzed right past the soldiers at the ghetto checkpoint.”

Esther stroked the stubble on his bony cheek. “Are you certain, my darling? How can you be sure no one noticed?”

“I could have been waving the Stars and Stripes and whistling
‘Dixie' and they wouldn't have looked twice at me.” He howled with laughter, sounding for the first time in ages like the gleeful Simon of old. “What kind of maniac would sneak
into
the ghetto? Why didn't I think of that two years ago?”

Sunny didn't share his relief. “What about Ghoya and his men? They raid our flat routinely.”

“Ghoya has no idea who I am. And besides, I won't be staying with you, anyway. I would never put you and Jake at such risk.”

“You are not leaving?” Esther murmured as she clasped his face in her hands.

“Never again.” He kissed her. “I'll stay right here in the ghetto. Just not with you.”

“Where will you stay, then?”

“You remember the Lessners? Otto and Hedwig?”

Esther stared at him blankly.

“They arrived late in ‘39,” he continued. “A funny old couple from Munich. No kids. Penniless. We set them up in the heim for a few months. I found Otto a job repairing typewriters. You must remember, Essie.”

“I think so.” Esther frowned. “There were so many you helped in those days, darling. I can't keep them all straight.”

“The Lessners found their own flat in Hongkew. They set up in the ghetto long before there even was a ghetto.”

Esther clapped her hands. “
Ach
, the Lessners. They are the ones who used to finish each other's sentences.”

“That's them.” Simon chuckled. “They always gave me way too much credit for helping them out of their jam. Told me they could never repay me. Well, soon as I got here, I headed straight over there and put their words to the test.”

“And?” Esther asked.

“Poor Hedwig died last year from a stroke. But Otto welcomed me with open arms. I think he's pretty lonely without her. He says I can stay as long as I want to.”

Esther cried with delight as she leaned forward to kiss Simon again. “Perhaps you can finish his sentences.”

“So long as he allows me to be near you, I will start and finish every one of them. He'll never have to open his mouth again.” His voice cracked. “Oh, baby, I can't believe I'm home.”

July 17
,
1945

Ernst and Franz walked down Ward Road along with scores of other pedestrians. “Next time I flee a country, I will choose somewhere more hospitable—like perhaps the Congo,” Ernst grumbled as he fanned himself with a rolled-up newspaper.

Franz wiped the sweat from his brow for the second time in less than a minute. The summer had been hotter and muggier than any of the previous five he had spent in Shanghai. The nights were even more unbearable. Even with fans and wet towels, sleep was nearly impossible.

Ernst motioned to the monkey perched on his shoulder. “Even Kaiser Wilhelm—who is from the tropics—has had enough of this weather.”

But the monkey looked contented enough as he held onto Ernst's neck while busily grooming himself. Other animals hadn't fared as well through the recent heat wave. Every morning, the carcasses of dogs, cats and rodents could be seen scattered up and down the alleyways. More corpses—human, this time—lined the sidewalks. Most were coolies who had expired from heat stroke, but not all were adults. Franz was always sad to see the abandoned
wicker baskets and burlaps sacks containing dead children who could have been Joey's age or even younger.

Ernst adjusted the pack he was carrying. The legs of an easel poked out the top. “You're finally ready to paint again, are you?” Franz asked.

Ernst shrugged. “I finally have some peace and quiet, with Simon gone.”

Franz chuckled. “You miss him, though, don't you?”

“Absolutely. The same way I might miss a kidney stone.”

“I don't believe it.”

“Well, I suppose he was better company than the Communists in the village where I was forced to stay that one year. Of course, even the most rabid Marxist among them paled in their passion compared with Simon and his baseball.” Ernst reached up and stroked the monkey's chest. “How is he coping?”

“Well. Very well.” Franz nodded. “He's put on a little weight. Sunny says he's a new man since being reunited with Esther and Jakob.”

“Is he still living with that old widower?”

“Herr Lessner, yes. He sees Esther and Jakob every day, but they never meet at our flat. They're careful.”

Ernst nodded approvingly. “Essie deserves a little happiness.”

Franz thought the same was true of Ernst. “Tell me, how is your friend Gerhard doing?”

“Nervous.” Ernst sighed. “With von Puttkamer and the others making for South America, Gerhard is worried he'll be blamed once the Allies take the city.”

“If necessary, we will vouch for him,” Franz reassured.

“You would do that?” Ernst asked incredulously.

“Of course. For you, not him.”

“Thank you.” An awkward silence followed, broken by Ernst. “How are my girls coping?”

“Better. It's been a very trying few months for both Hannah and Sunny.”

“Trust me, I've known my share of Freddies.” Ernst snorted in disgust. “It always ends the same way with them. Hannah is far better off without him.”

“You don't need to convince me of that.”

“As for Jia-Li …” Ernst exhaled heavily. “She was special, that one. My heart goes out to Sunny.”

Not wanting to dwell on his wife's pain or his daughter's heartache, he asked instead, “So tell me, Ernst. Why the hospital?”

“Why have I chosen to paint there?”

“Yes.”

“The pathos. The vulnerability. It's perfect, really.”

“I suppose so.”

Ernst grimaced. “You suppose? Tell me, where could you possibly find more anguish?”

“You do realize you must get the patients' consent before you paint anywhere near them,” Franz cautioned. “Many of them will prefer to just be left alone.”

“Yes, yes, naturally,” Ernst said with little concern.

“And it is still a hospital. You cannot bother anyone else while you are working there.”

Ernst scoffed. “An artist who influences his setting is nothing more than a fraud.”

“Regardless, Ernst—I know you.”

The monkey started to hop up and down on Ernst's shoulder. He hooted and cried, in obvious agitation. Ernst reached up to stroke the animal's chest again. “It's all right, Wilhelm.
It's just the planes. They come every day. Papa won't let them harm you.”

Franz looked up. The skies were clear. A few more seconds passed before he became aware of the soft vibration under his feet. Then he faintly detected the distant rumble. “Come,” he said. “We'd better find shelter.”

“Shelter from what?” Ernst asked. “The heat?”

“The planes.”

“The planes?” Ernst laughed. “They come every day. What threat are they to us?”

“I promised Sunny,” Franz muttered.

“You go ahead and find shelter. Wilhelm and I are going to find a drink somewhere.”

“All right. I'll see you later at the hospital,” said Franz.

The hum of the planes intensified. The volume suggested that they had to be flying lower than usual. Suddenly, a whistling noise pierced the roar. Franz glanced up and saw dark objects falling from the underbellies of several of the bombers. In moments, explosions boomed and violently shook the ground at his feet. A series of other denotations followed. Franz spotted fire and smoke only a few blocks away. “The ghetto, Ernst,” he cried. “They're bombing the ghetto.”

Franz raced over and grabbed the stunned artist by the arm. Frantic, the monkey leapt onto Franz's back and bit him on the shoulder. He shook the animal off without letting go of Ernst or slowing his pace.

They ran for the Ward Road shelter, a block over, the pavement beneath them undulating constantly from the aftershocks of the man-made earthquakes. Explosions seemed to be detonating everywhere at once. The taste and smell of smoke filled Franz's
mouth and nostrils. He kept checking over his shoulder in the direction of his apartment. He didn't see any smoke rising from there, but he was still desperate with worry. “Please, God, please,” he mumbled under his breath.

By the time they reached the shelter, refugees and Chinese were streaming into the cramped space from every direction. Those inside cried in protest as more and more people squeezed themselves into the already full space. Franz didn't even bother trying to get inside. Instead, he scanned the nearby buildings and chose the one with the sturdiest-looking entrance archway. A number of Chinese men and women stood clustered beneath it. Franz took a step toward it, but Ernst seemed stuck on the sidewalk, his expression dazed. “Kaiser Wilhelm,” he cried. “Wilhelm! Where are you?”

Franz flashed back to the sight of Helen dashing along the pathway at the field hospital as the planes chased her down. He roughly shoved Ernst toward the protection of the archway. “The monkey will be fine. We need to get under cover.
Now.
”

They tucked themselves into the corner of the entryway. The noise was deafening: the relentless roar of the bombers, the terrifying whistling of the falling munitions and the intermittent booms of explosions near and far. The nervous chatter in Chinese beside them never let up. Franz's breath caught in his throat each time he heard the rumbling of a detonating bomb, followed, all too often, by the bone-chilling whoosh of a building collapsing. He couldn't help but imagine his own flat imploding, his family trapped inside.

The bombers came in wave after wave, undeterred by the screaming air-raid sirens and the ineffective Japanese anti-aircraft fire. A few anemic squadrons of Zeroes zipped out to defend the
attack but, as best Franz could tell, none even reached the bombers before being knocked out of the sky by the American fighter planes.

Franz was watching one such lopsided dogfight when Ernst tapped him on the shoulder. Eyes wide, the artist pointed in the direction of the Adlers' apartment. Franz's gaze followed. The moment he saw the plume of rising smoke, he jostled free of the people around him and sprinted for home.