Rising Sun, Falling Shadow (12 page)

The soldier's lip curled into a disgusted scowl. “No-good drunk Chinaman.”

 

Franz stepped inside his bedroom to find the others crowded around the bed where Charlie lay glassy-eyed. His calmness suggested that he had emerged from his delirium. Still, despite the breeze from the open window, the faint smell of decayed flesh hung over him.

Sunny stood at the head of the bed speaking to Charlie in a low voice while pressing a compress to his brow. Wen-Cheng, dressed in a surgical gown and gloves, had wedged himself between the bed and the wall and was assembling an impromptu surgical tray from tools he had smuggled over from the hospital. A hacksaw perched ominously on the far end of the tray.

Sunny looked over her shoulder at Franz. “What happened with Ghoya and the Nazis?”

“We can discuss it later.” Franz could still picture the crazed little man leading the Nazi contingent around the silent ward as though showing them an apartment whose tenants he was about to evict.

Charlie winced. “This is too much.”

“What is?” Sunny asked. “The pain?”

Charlie shook his head slightly. “Just let me go,” he croaked.

“We cannot allow that,” Wen-Cheng said. “We are your doctors. We know how to fix you.”

Charlie's eyes drifted over to the saw. “Fix me?”

“Dr. Huang is correct,” Franz said. “You should improve once we—”

“And if I don't?” Charlie asked.

Sunny dabbed his brow again. “Do you not owe it to your men to try?”

“A soldier has to . . . to know when to abandon his losses,” Charlie said.

“You are not lost yet, Charlie.” Franz held a hand out to him. “So let us to do what has to be done.”

Charlie's eyes drifted shut. Sunny spoke to him in Chinese, her tone soft and soothing. After a few moments, he nodded.

Franz looked from Wen-Cheng to Sunny. “The ether?” he asked.

Sunny lifted up a small smoked-glass bottle. “Joey's contact cheated him. He mixed it with water. I am not sure there is enough ether to be effective.”

“What choice is there?” Franz asked, though inwardly he was horrified at the prospect of amputating the leg of someone who might still be awake.

Wen-Cheng held up his gloved hands. “I am already scrubbed. May I perform the surgery?”

Franz had no idea why Wen-Cheng would want to take the lead but was relieved that he wouldn't have to use the saw himself. “I'll assist you,” he said.

Franz donned a gown and mask, then scrubbed his hands with the last sliver of soap in the basin of lukewarm water. He dried his hands on the pillowcase that was serving as a towel and then slipped them into the rubber gloves.

Wen-Cheng draped Charlie's right leg with thin sheets, exposing the edges of the blistering wound. He cleaned the area with a soapy sponge. Sunny covered Charlie's face with the ether mask and dripped anaesthetic onto it. Franz could tell by the faintness of its odour that the drug didn't possess its usual potency.

Sunny shook the bottle to extract a final drop or two, but Charlie remained alert. She looked from Wen-Cheng to Franz. “He is not anaesthetized.”

Franz squeezed into a spot across the bed from Wen-Cheng. “The quicker we do this, the better.” He took a scalpel off the tray and handed it to his colleague, feeling irrationally complicit in something terrible.

Wen lowered the blade to a spot two-thirds of the way down Charlie's thigh, at a point where the skin still looked like human flesh. He glanced over at Franz, who nodded his agreement. Wen-Cheng sliced through the tissue in one fluid movement.

Charlie groaned and kicked his leg. Wen-Cheng's hand froze. His eyes darted over to Sunny. She grimaced as though the knife was cutting into her own leg. “I have nothing more to offer him for pain.”

Franz fixed Wen-Cheng with the commanding stare that he had once summoned to motivate hesitant surgical interns. “Do not stop now!” he barked.

Wen-Cheng sliced the blade across the man's thigh. Charlie moaned again, but his leg held still. Franz followed the incision with his sponge, dabbing away blood. The unwholesome odour intensified the deeper Wen-Cheng cut, as did Charlie's stuporous groans. Wen-Cheng deftly dissected out layers of diseased flesh and muscle, then used two sutures to tie off Charlie's femoral artery and vein, the large blood vessels responsible for supplying the leg with blood.

Franz lifted the saw from the tray and, heavy-hearted, passed it to Wen-Cheng.

 

Most of the class had been elated about the sudden cancellation of the school day. Not Hannah. The instant she had spotted Ghoya in the hallway, she assumed he had come for her and had almost bolted in the opposite direction. Only her fear of drawing his attention stopped her.

Hannah recognized from the newspapers the tall man who accompanied Ghoya. She couldn't remember his name—did he have some kind of aristocratic title?—but she was certain he was a leader among local Nazis. Despite his distinguished appearance, Hannah sensed malice behind his smile. An Asian man and a young German followed behind, the latter screwing his face into a permanent scowl, as though he were being led through a pigsty.

When Hannah informed Freddy Herzberg of the visitors, he did not seem the least bit concerned. Even when she explained who the men were, he shrugged it off with his usual bluster. “Did you see any soldiers with them?”

“No.”

“Are they armed?”

“They're wearing suits.”

“So what is there to worry about?”

“A Japanese commander of the ghetto brings Nazis to our school! Doesn't that seem bad?”

For a moment his face darkened, but he brushed her off with another shrug. “We have the day off. We ought to enjoy it.”

Hannah did not know how Freddy could be so cavalier, but there seemed to be no point in arguing. She turned down his offer to visit the market and instead headed straight home to share the news with her family.

Hannah found Esther sitting still and silent on the chair in the corner of the living room. She was staring dead ahead at the closed bedroom door, while Jakob slept at her feet in his basket. It took Esther a moment to register Hannah's arrival, then her head snapped toward her niece as though she were emerging from a trance. “Hannah! What are you doing here?”

“They cancelled school today, Tante Essie. We had visitors come to the—”

“You must go now,” Esther snapped before Hannah even had a chance to finish. “Frau Eckstein has a skirt that needs hemming. Go fetch it for me. Straight away!”

“Tante,” Hannah pleaded. “Ghoya came to the school today. He brought Nazis with him!”

But Esther would not listen. “We will discuss this later. You must go now.”

“Why, Tante?”

A loud moaning sound reached her from under the bedroom door, then Hannah heard voices on the other side. She recognized her father and Sunny but could not make out their words. More groans came from inside the room.

Hannah started for the bedroom door.

“No!” As Esther jumped up from her chair, her foot knocked the basket holding Jakob. She dropped to her knees to steady it as Jakob began to howl.

Hannah froze. “What is it, Tante?”

Esther reached into the basket and lifted up Jakob. She cradled him under one arm. “Shush, my darling,” she cooed as she gently bounced him up and down.

Jakob settled quickly in her arms. Esther looked over to Hannah. “Your father and Sunny are in the bedroom. They are not alone.”

“Who is with them?”

“Dr. Huang.” Esther hesitated. “And a patient from the hospital.”

Hannah felt her fists clench. “Why would Papa bring a patient into our home?”

“This man is special.”

“Special how?”

“He is a friend of Ernst's.”

Hannah's heart skipped a beat. “Is Onkel Ernst here, too?” She had not seen him in a year. Was he really back?

“Yes. Well, no. He had to . . . to step outside.”

Hannah opened her mouth to inquire further when another noise from the bedroom stopped her. She hesitated, then placed it: it sounded like wood being sawed.

 

The surgery lasted less than twenty minutes. Although Charlie had remained semi-conscious the whole time, his moans eventually subsided. After Wen-Cheng tied the final suture, he wrapped thick cotton bandages over the freshly created stump.

Charlie swivelled his head drunkenly from side to side while Sunny discreetly tucked the sack holding his amputated limb under the bed.

As Franz was slipping his gloves off, Wen-Cheng said, “Surely you cannot keep the general here.”

Franz jerked his head up, one glove still hanging from his hand. “How long have you known?”

“Since the moment I laid eyes on him,” Wen-Cheng said as he bent over to finish wrapping the wound.

“Another one,” Franz muttered, struck again by how fortunate they were to have not already been arrested. He doubted that their good fortune could hold up for much longer. “I never dreamed Charlie would end up here in our own home.”

“He cannot stay.” Wen-Cheng pointed to the door. “Not with children out there.”

“Absolutely not,” Sunny agreed.

Wen-Cheng frowned, deep in thought. “Perhaps we could keep him at my apartment.”

Sunny shook her head. “No, Wen-Cheng. That would be too great a risk for you.”

Wen-Cheng stared at her for a moment before he turned his attention back to the bandages around Charlie's stump. “Bao Chun has sacrificed far more than I ever have.” He paused. “Or ever will.”

“Frenchtown is full of spies and informants, Wen-Cheng,” Sunny murmured. “What if the Japanese found him in your home?”

Franz tried not to read too much into the intimacy of his wife's tone. “Besides, how would we get Charlie to Frenchtown?” he asked. “He's in no shape to travel.”

“This is true,” Wen-Cheng said.

Franz massaged his temples. “It would be best to take Charlie somewhere nearby.”

Sunny nodded. “In the ghetto. Somewhere any of us could tend to him.”

“What more can any of us do for him now?” Wen-Cheng asked.

Franz saw the doctor's point, but his pessimistic tone still irked him. “The kind of care—dressing changes, painkillers and so on—that we would offer any post-operative patient,” he said pointedly.

“Franz? Sunny?” Ernst's frantic voice penetrated the bedroom door. “Is it over?”

Wen-Cheng motioned toward the door. “Go talk to him. I will stay and watch Charlie.”

Franz followed Sunny into the apartment's main room, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him.

Esther sat holding Jakob to her chest under a blanket. Ernst stood near the door with an arm draped protectively over Hannah's shoulder. He had found another cigarette and he waved it at them with his free hand. “Well?”

“Hannah-chen!” Franz cried. “What are you doing home?”

“They cancelled school today, Papa.”

“Yes, lucky for me they did.” Ernst pulled Hannah tighter against him. “Now, please. How is Charlie?”

Sunny gave Hannah a little grin before turning to Ernst. “There were no surprises,” she said, electing not to mention the ineffective anaesthetic.

“Can I see him?” Ernst asked.

“Give him a few minutes,” Sunny said. “He has not fully woken up.”

“Papa, Mr. Ghoya came to our school,” Hannah said. “He brought Nazis with him. They went through the classrooms. They even spoke to the principal and some of the teachers.”

Ernst made a face. “What could those cretins possibly want with your school?”

Franz didn't want to alarm Hannah any further with the news that the same men had trooped through the hospital as though they owned it. “You know the Nazis, Liebchen. They have to know what we are up to at all times.”

Hannah's face quivered. “Why can't they just leave us be?”

As she clung to Ernst's side, Franz saw Hannah's teenage defiance melt away. She was still just his child. “Doesn't matter what they are up to, Hannah.” Franz forced a smile for her. “Colonel Kubota is now ultimately responsible for the refugees. And he will not let them harm us.”

“Do you really think so, Papa?”

“Absolutely.” He hoped he sounded more certain than he felt.

“So what happens now?” Esther asked from her chair.

Sunny looked blankly to Franz. Before he could answer, they heard a sharp knock at the apartment door.

Silence swallowed the room. No one moved. The knocks only grew louder.

Sunny started for the door, but Franz shot out a hand to hold her back. He considered trying to hide the women and children but realized that it would be pointless. There was nowhere to conceal them.

Go away! Leave us be! Franz thought as he moved toward the door, his heart in his throat. His hand trembled as he slowly pulled the door open. Recognizing Joey and Yang at the threshold, Franz almost laughed in relief.

Joey burst into the room, anxious for details. Yang entered warily, reminding Franz of a stray cat that sensed danger but was too hungry to pass up the prospect of milk. The tiny woman looked even more frail than the last time Franz had seen her. Most of the locals were justifiably frightened of the Japanese, but Yang's terror ran deeper. Soldiers had gunned down her little brother and sister-in-law in the first days of the invasion. Her brother, whom Yang had practically raised, had still been alive when she found him on the sidewalk, clutching at his wife's cold wrist and whimpering for help that was never to come.

Sunny rushed over to Yang and enfolded her in a hug. They chatted in Chinese for a moment, then Yang glanced over Sunny's shoulder at Franz and muttered in Shanghainese.

“What did she say, Sunny?” he asked.

Still embracing Yang, Sunny turned to Franz with a smile. “She will take Charlie in, too.”

“Into her home?” Franz asked. “Here in the ghetto?”

“Yes,” Sunny said.

Franz pointed to the bedroom door. “Yang, do you understand who that man is in there?”

She nodded without meeting his eyes.

“And you are still willing to take him in?”

“I am.” They were the first English words Franz had ever heard Yang speak.