Nightfall Over Shanghai (30 page)

The synagogue was the closest thing to a home that Sunny and her family had left in the world. She was hopeful that would soon change, but for the past week they had slept, or at least tried to sleep, on the hard wooden benches inside the temple. During the daylight hours, when the American bombers filled the skies like unrelenting storm clouds, they had been forced to spend much of their time crowded in the overheated bomb shelters. Inevitably, people would pass out from heat stroke; a few never woke up.

The Americans had continued to bomb Shanghai, their planes paying special attention to the Hongkew district that housed the transmitter. Sunny was amazed to hear that it was still standing after the barrage. The ghetto itself had suffered less collateral damage since the initial assault, but the memory of that day still caused her waking nightmares. Over fifty refugees had died in the air raid, and although the death toll among the Chinese was unknown, it was reputed to be several thousand.

The Adlers were just one of many families who had lost their home in the bombing. But the community had rallied. Word of the humanitarian efforts at the hospital spread beyond the borders
of the ghetto; sensationalized in the city's newspapers, it quickly became the stuff of Shanghai legend. Even Ghoya publicly acknowledged the hospital's staff and sent fresh medical supplies to help them cope with the casualties.

The refugees, from the community leaders to those living in the hostels, showered gratitude upon Franz and Sunny. After it became known that the Adlers' apartment had been destroyed in the bombing, a more spacious flat was made available—the older couple who had been living there having agreed to move in with their grown son. A group of young volunteers had already furnished and repainted the apartment, which was conveniently housed in the building directly across the street from the hospital.

But Sunny was most touched by the thanks from her own native Shanghainese. She had long ago realized that her people were insular, prioritizing family over community. However, the locals now couldn't express enough gratitude to the refugees for their help, which had extended beyond medical care to firefighting and even search-and-rescue work. Every day, dozens of Chinese would show up at the hospital, synagogue and heime with baskets full of fruit, vegetables, rice and meat. They also left blankets, woks and even impractical gifts such as ornamental fans and elaborate banners stencilled with calligraphy.

Sunny was sitting inside the synagogue, watching Joey stack wooden blocks on the floor, when the rabbi approached carrying a basket that overflowed with Chinese pastries. “I cannot believe such generosity.” Hiltmann chuckled. “Before the bombing, you couldn't leave your garbage outside without it being stolen. Now, every day they leave anonymous gifts on our steps.”

Sunny nodded. “It's incredible to think that something so devastating as the bombing could bring people together as it has.”

The rabbi sat down beside her. “If there's one thing we Jews have learned over the past few thousand years, it's that nothing brings people closer than suffering.”

“It shouldn't have to be that way.”

“It is the way it is.” Hiltmann watched Joey rise to his feet and take a few tentative steps toward a block that had rolled away. “He's a sweet
boychik
, that one, but very timid.”

“I love his caution,” she said. “After all, we live in such reckless times.”

The rabbi jutted his lower lip. “Yet our people have learned a very hard lesson about being too cautious.”

“He's just a baby, Rabbi.”

“I suppose I can wait another year or two to pass judgment.” He arched an eyebrow. “You will raise him Jewish, will you not?

“I imagine so, yes.”

Hiltmann nodded approvingly. “I only hope that, when the time comes, you will consider joining us in Palestine.”

“My husband is considering it.”

He scratched his beard. “Not you, Sunny? You do not want to leave Shanghai because it is your home?”

Sunny considered the question. “Shanghai is the only home I've ever known, but I've already lost the people who meant the most to me. If my old amah, Yang, doesn't come home from the detention camp, then all I will have left here is my family.” She chuckled. “My very Jewish family.”

“So then what would stop you from coming to Palestine with us?”

She looked down at Joey, who was gently banging the blocks together. She wished he could remain like that forever: safe and happily oblivious to all the terrible turmoil in the world around him. “I am worried, Rabbi.”

“For the boy?”

She nodded. “For all of us, really. Hannah, Franz, Esther, Simon, Jakob, and me too.”

“You think it will be nothing but more war in Palestine?”

“Won't it?”

“I have no idea,” Hiltmann admitted. “I do know that once we have established our homeland, it will be the safest and most blissful place in the world for any Jew to live.”

“And if none of us lives to see that day, Rabbi?”

He tapped his chest. “I doubt this old man will live to see it, but that hardly matters. I believe we owe it to God and, perhaps more importantly, to ourselves to try.” He frowned. “Besides, you do realize, Sunny, that once the Japanese are finally defeated,
be'ezrat hashem—
God willing—Shanghai will never be as it once was.”

“It will be free again.”

“Is that so? I hear that the Chinese in the countryside are already fighting among themselves. The national army, the Kuomintang …” he stumbled over the pronunciation. “Is that how you say it? Them and the Communists. It could be like the Russian Civil War all over again.”

Sunny had heard these rumours too. “It is a concern,” she conceded.

“The British are not going to come back here after the war. The world is changing. What if the fighting spreads to Shanghai?”

Sunny couldn't argue with him. She sensed the winds of unrest without knowing much about the infighting beyond the city. “Rabbi, we have choices other than just staying here or going to Palestine.”

“America?”

“Or England or Canada.”

“
If
any of those countries will even take you.” Hiltmann shook his head. “You probably don't remember before the war. The Evian Conference? Nobody wanted Jewish refugees. ‘One is too many' was the charming remark made by one Canadian official.”

“It will be different now. The camps …”

“You think? Ah, to be young and optimistic again.” Hiltmann rolled his eyes affectionately. “Even so. You, Franz, Hannah and Joey will always be outsiders, even in America. Especially you and Joey. Will that be so much better?”

“Look at me, Rabbi. I'm neither Chinese nor Caucasian. Now I live among Jews. I have been an outsider my whole life. I don't know what it's like to be anything else.” She paused. “But as long as we can live safely and freely, I don't care where we go.”

The rabbi smiled widely. “So in that case, why not be an outsider in Eretz Yisrael?”

“It has nothing to do with being an outsider, Rabbi. Or even where I want to live.”

“What is it, then?”

“The children. After all they have been through.” She shook her head. “We must do what is best for them.”

August 14, 1945

It's as if the Japanese had never been here,” Hannah said with awe as she walked between her father and Herschel along the riverside Bund. Hannah hadn't seen the grand boulevard in over two years, but the last time she had, Japanese soldiers were everywhere, and the Rising Sun flapped from every flagpole and rooftop. But now, the soldiers had melted away overnight like snow into a river, and the Japanese flags had all been torn down, replaced in many cases with the Stars and Stripes. The Americans were ubiquitous in Shanghai now, but they couldn't have been more different from the previous occupiers. Infantrymen and Marines mingled gregariously among the crowds, shopping at street stalls, often stopping to offer cigarettes to adults and chocolates to the children. Their jeeps and transport trucks roared around the city, giving rides to Chinese youths and honking happily at pedestrians.

The mood on the street was jubilant. Civilians of all ethnicities gathered on the sidewalk and in the middle of roadways, laughing, dancing and hooting in celebration. Although it wasn't yet noon, Hannah noticed that a number of revellers were drunk to the point of staggering.

“I doubt the Japanese will be missed terribly much.” Franz laughed as he laid an arm affectionately across her shoulders. “The war is over, Hannah-
chen
. And we survived it!”

“It was those terrifying bombs—the atomic ones—that made them surrender, wasn't it?” Hannah said. “What if they had dropped one on Shanghai?”

“They never would have done that,” Herschel piped up. “Not here. Not on us.”

“I agree,” Franz said. “At least, I hope not. The Japanese had lost long ago. Those atomic bombs only made them finally realize it.”

“I am just glad they're gone.” Hannah couldn't remember seeing her father look so relaxed or carefree. As relieved as she felt, she didn't fully share in the celebratory mood. Like everyone else, she had been anticipating the Japanese defeat for so long, but now that it had come, she experienced a discombobulating sense of limbo. She picked up on a nervous undercurrent to all the festivity. It was as though the city were collectively waiting for something, but no one quite knew what it would be.

“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.