Rising Sun, Falling Shadow (19 page)

Sunny nestled her head into the crook of Franz's neck. Her confession had been a relief to her but had resolved little. If anything, the dangers they were facing had only intensified: they had yet to move Simon from his tenuous sanctuary, the Japanese continued to search the ghetto, Yang's fate was still unknown and the Underground still demanded Sunny's cooperation. She and Franz agreed that Colonel Kubota had to be one of its targets.

Still, as Sunny nuzzled with Franz on the old sofa, she felt somehow lighter. Her gaze drifted to Jakob, who was fast asleep in his crib. Her thoughts turned to her stepdaughter, who wasn't back from school. “Where is Hannah?” she asked Franz.

“At a friend's home, I presume,” he said. “I hope that she is studying, like she said she would be.”

Esther put down the wooden spoon she had been stirring the rice with and walked over to them. “It is not like Hannah to be so late.”

Franz eased Sunny's head off his shoulder and sat up straighter. “Perhaps I should go look for her?”

“But where?” Sunny asked.

“She spends much of her time with that boy Freddy Herzberg,” Franz said. “I know where the family lives. I will start there.”

Esther wiped her hands on her apron. “Franz . . .”

“Yes?”

“Good, ja.” Esther looked away evasively. “Go see the boy's family.”

Franz squinted at her. “Essie, is there something else?”

“No. No. I can't help but worry. I'm just an overprotective Jewish aunt.” She chuckled weakly. “Old habits die hard.”

“Essie, what is it? What do you know?”

Before she could answer, three soft knocks sounded at the door.

Franz hurried over to answer it. To his surprise, Freddy stood at the doorstep. He was wearing a new bomber jacket, and his hair was slicked back. “Good evening, Dr. Adler. I am sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping Hannah might be home.”

“No, she is not.” Franz squared his shoulders. “I was just on my way out to look for her.”

“I'm sorry to have missed her.” Freddy flashed a confident grin. “When she does come home, Dr. Adler, please let her know that I dropped by.”

Sunny joined them at the door. “Why are you looking for her, Freddy?”

“She is holding something of mine,” Freddy said. “It's not so important. I can pick it up tomorrow.”

Franz leaned closer to the boy. “What exactly is she holding for you?”

Freddy's head twitched again. “She has one of my books. For homework. I can do without it for another day.” He backed away from the door. “My parents are expecting me home for dinner.”

Esther slipped between Franz and Sunny, only stopping when she was inches away from Freddy. “Where did Hannah get that money, Freddy?” Her voice was frantic.

“Money?” Freddy grimaced. “I don't know what you mean.”

Esther grabbed him by the elbow. “This coat, it's brand new.”

Freddy tried to shrug his arm free, but she hung onto it. “My parents bought this for me. It was a birthday gift.”

“Was your family not living in a heim only last year, Fritsch?” Esther replied angrily. “The five dollars Hannah gave me. What do you know about it?”

Franz turned to Esther with a grimace. “Five dollars? What nonsense are you talking, Essie?”

Esther didn't take her eyes off the boy. “You know where that money came from, don't you?”

Freddy's face reddened and he looked away. “I have nothing to do with it.”

“I don't believe you,” Esther said. “If something has happened to her and you are somehow responsible . . .”

Franz lunged forward. He grabbed Freddy's lapels and shoved him back against the hallway wall. “Is Hannah in trouble?”

“I . . . I don't know,” Freddy grunted. “She never came back.”

“Came back from where?”

“Frenchtown.”

“Frenchtown?” Franz gasped. “Why did Hannah leave the ghetto?”

“You should ask her.”

“Tell me!” Franz shouted, tightening his grip on the boy's collar.

“Cigarettes,” Freddy croaked.

“What was Hannah doing with cigarettes?”

“Bringing them back. To sell in the ghetto.”

Esther took her head in her hands. “Smuggling? You forced Hannah to smuggle for you?”

Freddy struggled to shake his head. “We never forced her!”

Franz shoved Freddy aside and headed down the hallway. Sunny raced after him. “Where are you going?” she called.

“To Ghoya's office!” Franz said without slowing. “They must have her!”

* * *

They were panting when they reached the Bureau of Stateless Refugee Affairs. Despite the late hour, a line of refugees waiting to apply for exit passes spilled out the front door and onto the street. Franz bolted past the queue, ignoring the cries and complaints of the people in line. Sunny followed him as he elbowed his way down the narrow corridor and burst into Ghoya's office.

An older man who stood cowering in front of the desk spun around in surprise. A soldier rushed inside after Sunny and Franz. Ghoya leaned back in his chair, watching the commotion with an amused grin. He waved the soldier out of the office before he turned to the old man. “No pass for you today. Go. Go. Leave me now!”

As the old man scuttled out of the room, Ghoya turned his attention to Franz. “I believe I know why you have come here, Dr. Adler. Yes, yes. I believe I do.”

“Mr. Ghoya, please, sir,” Franz said as he approached the desk. “Where is my daughter, Hannah?”

Ghoya motioned to the ceiling. “Right here, Dr. Adler. We have her. Right here.”

Franz clasped his hands together. “May I see her, Mr. Ghoya? Please.”

Ghoya leaned back and patted his belly contentedly. “Such a big lunch today. Do you know the Café Aaronsohn?”

Franz gaped at him, bewildered. “On Tong Shan Road?”

“Yes, yes! Mr. Aaronsohn and me, we have an understanding.” Ghoya nodded knowingly. “I eat lunch there. Every day at twelve thirty. They feed me; I sign his wife's pass. She buys their supplies on Nanking Road.” He laughed again. “A good deal for everyone. The wife, she needs a pass. And me? I need lunch.”

“Mr. Ghoya, I have to—”

“Today I had such a big plate of gebratenes.” Ghoya butchered the Yiddish word. “Too much, too much! But the chicken was so good. The Aaronsohns, they cook good chicken.”

Franz held out a hand imploringly. “Mr. Ghoya, about Hannah . . .”

Ghoya shook his head repeatedly. “Do you know what your daughter has been up to? Do you?”

“I have heard only just now.”

Ghoya put his hands on the desk and launched himself to his feet. “I warned you,” he cried as he raced around the desk toward them. “Did I not tell you? The smuggling must stop!”

Sunny stepped forward. “She is just a girl, Mr. Ghoya. She didn't know what she was doing.”

“Who are you, woman?” Ghoya demanded.

Sunny reached for Franz's hand and squeezed his damp palm. “I am Mrs. Adler.”

Ghoya turned to Franz, his face scrunched up. “This? This is your wife? You are not married to a Jewess? But the girl—she has no Chinese in her.”

“Hannah's mother is dead. Mrs. Adler is my second wife. Mr. Ghoya, please, Hannah is only a child—”

Ghoya raised a finger and let it sail up over his head. “Child or not. This must stop! Examples must be set.”

Franz thrust out his hands in surrender. “Then take me instead. Let me be the example.”

“No, no, no!” Ghoya shook his head wildly. “The girl is the smuggler. We must punish her.”

“Mr. Ghoya, I put Hannah up to this!” Franz cried. “She didn't want to do it, but I insisted. The cigarettes were for me to sell. You see, Hannah doesn't need a pass to leave the ghetto, so I—”

Ghoya's eyes widened in fury. “I will stand you in front of a firing squad right this instant!”

“It's not true!” Sunny exclaimed. “My husband didn't know. I swear to you. We both only found out minutes ago. The children planned this themselves.”

Ghoya's face calmed and he nodded to himself. “The girl told me the same.”

“For God's sake, she is only a child,” Franz murmured. “You can't put her in front of a firing squad.”

Ghoya raised his arm and slapped Franz across the cheek so hard that Sunny winced. “Who do you think I am? I do not shoot little girls!” he screamed. “Still, examples must be set. Yes, they must be set!”

Franz recovered and stared at Ghoya. His face bore an angry welt and a long scratch left by Ghoya's ring. Sunny resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.

“What kind of example, Mr. Ghoya?” Franz asked.

“Tomorrow at noon.” Ghoya's tone turned conversational. “Your daughter will face her punishment in the street.”

“What kind of punishment?”

“She will be flogged.”

Franz wiped the blood from his cheek. “No . . . please. Lash me instead.”

Ghoya raised his hand, ready to strike again. But a moment later he dropped it back to his side. A smile crossed his lips. “Yes, of course. Why not both of you? That would be a better example still.”

 

The windowless cell reeked of sweat and urine. Franz crouched in the corner, as far from the filthy pail that served as a toilet as he could get. At least an hour had passed since the soldiers had tossed him into the concrete box. He assumed that they planned to hold him until the flogging.

Ghoya had let Sunny go—that was some consolation—but Franz's concern for his daughter consumed him. He kept picturing Hannah terrified and alone, cowering in a cell of her own.

Franz didn't fear the whipping, not after the torture he had lived through at Bridge House. But the idea of having to watch as they flogged his daughter in front of him broke his heart. No father should have to endure that.

“Damn that Herzberg boy,” Franz said under his breath. But he was just as upset with himself for not having kept a closer eye on his daughter. Esther had always predicted that Hannah's spirit and curiosity might lead her into trouble. He'd already caught Hannah sneaking out of the ghetto once; Franz cursed himself for not paying more attention since.

A key turned in the lock. Franz rose to his feet as the heavy door creaked open.

Colonel Kubota stepped into the room and heaved the door close behind him. Leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way toward Franz.

“Thank you for coming, Colonel.” Franz bowed deeply.

But the resigned look on Kubota's face dimmed Franz's hope before it could even take shape. When Kubota finally spoke, his tone was subdued. “Dr. Adler, I am afraid that Mr. Ghoya is perfectly correct in this instance.”

Franz said nothing.

Kubota tapped his cane on the floor. “We can no more turn a blind eye to unlawfulness in the Designated Area than we can tolerate subversion.”

“I understand, Colonel, I do.”

Kubota's expression softened. “You are looked upon as one of the leaders in your community, Dr. Adler. It reflects poorly on you for your daughter to be caught smuggling. On us as well.”

“Of course, but Hannah is only thirteen. She doesn't know better. I only ask that you punish me instead.”

Kubota closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “I would not interfere with your punishment even if I could, Dr. Adler.”

Franz nodded vehemently. “But surely Hannah . . .”

Kubota turned clumsily and hobbled back to the door. He pulled it open. “You may come in, young lady.”

Hannah took a tentative step into the cell, stopping just inside the doorway. She hung her head.

Franz rushed over to her with arms extended. “Hannah, darling!” he said as he enveloped her in a hug.

She trembled wordlessly against him like a puppy in a cold rainstorm. “I'm so sorry, Papa,” she murmured into his chest. “So very, very sorry.”

Franz inhaled her hair's familiar scent. “Everything will be all right, Liebchen.”

“You are in such trouble,” she said. “It's all because of me. I had no—”

Franz held her face between his hands. “We are together again, Hannah-chen. Nothing else matters. You understand?”

“If only it were so simple, Papa. What have I done?”

Franz stared into his daughter's eyes. Something had changed in her. He could sense the difference but could not quite put it into words. It was as though she had lost something.

She reached up and eased his hands away. It was then that Franz spotted the welts on her cheeks. Rage ripped through him at the thought of Ghoya hitting his daughter. He caressed her wounds delicately while he imagined tearing Ghoya's limbs out.

Hannah removed his hands from her cheek again. “They don't hurt, Papa.”

Franz kissed the welts. “You are brave.”

Kubota coughed. “You and your daughter may return home now.”

Franz turned to him with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Kubota shook his head. “Tomorrow, Dr. Adler, you will be required to report to Mr. Ghoya shortly before noon.” His gaze shifted uncomfortably to Hannah. “You as well, young lady.”

“But . . .” Franz began.

“The girl will not be lashed. I have seen to that.” Kubota's eyes found Hannah's again. “However, you will have to witness your father's flogging. I'm afraid it is . . . only fitting.”

Her lips twitched as she fought off the tears. “I understand, Colonel.”

Franz stroked her hair. “It will be all right, Hannah-chen.”

Kubota turned for the door. “I will leave you two now.”

Franz called after him. “Colonel, may I have another word?”

“There is nothing left to discuss, Dr. Adler.”

“It has nothing to do with this . . . incident.”

Back still turned, Kubota nodded.

Franz glanced looked over to Hannah. “Wait outside, Liebchen. Please. We will just be a minute or two.”

She shot him a reluctant look before slowly walking to the door and closing it behind her.

Kubota turned to face Franz. “What is it, Dr. Adler?”

Franz moved a step closer and lowered his voice. “Colonel, I have heard a rumour.” He paused. “Concerning you.”

Kubota chuckled humourlessly. “If rumours were raindrops, Shanghai would be underwater by now.”

“It's more than just a rumour.”

Kubota cocked his head. “How so, Dr. Adler?”

Franz closed his eyes. Once he said the words, there would be no backtracking. But regardless of the risk, he could not remain silent. He owed this man too much. “I have reason to believe that certain people are plotting against you.”

Kubota's face told him little. “Plotting to assassinate me?”

Franz nodded.

“Which people?”

“I don't know who they are,” Franz said. “I have never met them. I only know that they are involved with the Underground.”

“And how do you know this?”

Franz held out his hands. “I . . . I cannot say. I am not involved. Nor is the person who told me. That I promise you.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

Franz motioned to the door. “You just spared my daughter from a public flogging. And last year you helped save us from the Nazis. I can never repay that debt.”

Kubota frowned. “Nor can you tell me who is behind the plot to kill me.”

“I do not know. I swear to you! You can hand me over to Colonel Tanaka. Even if I spent another week in Bridge House, it would not help you find the people responsible.”

“Are you aware of any specifics?” Kubota asked. “When or where? Or what they are planning?”

“No, nothing,” Franz said helplessly. “I only know that they are very interested in the layout of your office, here in this building. A bomb, maybe?”

Kubota bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Dr. Adler,” he said without a trace of alarm. “I appreciate you sharing this information.”

“It's not my place to say, Colonel, but I hope you will take precautions. Perhaps you could post more guards?”

Kubota tilted his head in genuine surprise. “Why would I do that?”

“Surely if your life is in danger—”

“There must be thousands of people in Shanghai who would want me dead. I cannot blame them. In their shoes, I would feel the same.” Kubota sighed resignedly. “Besides, good men—men whose lives are ahead of them, not behind—are dying every day. What right do I have to ask for special protection?”

“You are their leader.”

Kubota laughed to himself. “I was not sent back to Shanghai to lead.”

“Why were you sent back, then, Colonel?”

“To remind me of my dishonour.”

“Dishonour? How is that possible? You risked your life to stand up for the refugees.”

“Disobedience is dishonourable, regardless of the circumstance,” Kubota said. “Our culture is sometimes difficult for an outsider to understand, Dr. Adler.”

“In this case, yes.”

“There is an old Japanese proverb: Karo tōsen. It literally means ‘summer heater, winter fan.'”

“I do not understand, Colonel.”

Kubota spoke softly. “Sometimes one has to recognize when one has outlasted his usefulness.”

* * *

Two soldiers escorted Hannah and Franz from the building and released them without a word. Threats would have been superfluous, though. There was no question that Franz would be back as ordered; he had nowhere to hide.

With her head hung low, Hannah held Franz's hand weakly as they walked home. Her shame was so evident that, despite his curiosity, Franz held his tongue.

A block from their home, Hannah slowed down and freed her hand from his. “Papa, I thought . . .”

Franz turned slowly to face her. “What did you think, Hannah?”

“That I could . . . help somehow.”

“Help? By smuggling cigarettes?”

“No—well, yes—by raising money. For the family. To contribute somehow.”

The good intention behind her reckless actions only fuelled his anger. “Was this contribution worth risking your life—all of our lives—over?”

“Freddy's father, he said—”

Franz pulled his daughter toward him. “What did Herr Herzberg tell you?”

“That there would be no risk,” she said miserably. “That they would never search a girl my age.”

Franz felt as though every muscle in his body had tightened at once. “Go straight home, Hannah,” he choked through clenched teeth.

“Papa, you are not going to—”

“Go home!” he barked.

Hannah eyed him, frightened, then turned and hurried away.

Franz headed down Ward Road, passing the hospital without even glancing at it. He continued until he reached the corner of Thorburn Road, where he had once collected Hannah after a visit to Freddy's home.

Franz had no idea which of the drab buildings the Herzberg family lived in. He stopped to ask an elderly refugee who was slumped on a frayed bamboo chair that appeared as fragile as the man it held. The man responded to Franz's German in Yiddish and pointed a knobby finger toward a flat on the ground floor of a nearby apartment building. Franz headed straight for it.

Freddy answered the door. At the sight of Franz, he instinctively edged back from the threshold.

“Where is your father?” Franz demanded.

“It is suppertime, Herr Doktor Adler. Perhaps he can call—”

Franz brushed past Freddy into a well-appointed sitting room. Herr Herzberg stood up. The wingback chair he'd been sitting in looked to Franz like it belonged in the Comfort Home's drawing room. The aroma of boiled meat reached Franz's nostrils just as Herzberg crossed the floor.

Herzberg was Franz's height but thicker across his chest and waist. He gave Franz the same easy smile Franz had seen from his son. “Ah, Herr Doktor Adler, we met once before.” He extended a hand. “Last year, at the Ward Road heim. You were looking after a friend of mine who had stomach pains. Alfred Glockstein. Perhaps you do not remember me, but—”

“I remember you,” Franz said but failed to meet the man's handshake.

Unperturbed, Herzberg dropped his arm to his side. “To this day, Glockstein tells anyone and everyone who will listen that you saved his life that night. Ah, doctors, how would we ever get by without you?”

Franz motioned to Freddy with his eyes. “We need to speak, Herr Herzberg. Outside.”

Herzberg swept the suggestion away. “The boy's practically grown. Almost as tall as me. Whatever this concerns, he can hear it, too.”

“Outside!” Franz turned for the door without waiting to see if Herzberg was following.

Franz stood at the curb with his arms folded. Herzberg kept him waiting but eventually joined him on the sidewalk, wearing a new-looking hat and coat. The salesman-like smile was still glued to his face.

“My daughter, Hannah,” Franz began.

“Such a sweet girl, that one. And so clever. I've had the pleasure of watching her speak Chinese to a local—”

“They caught her!”

Herzberg's face crumpled with concern. “The Japanese?” He gasped. “Where? How?”

“At the Muirhead checkpoint. Smuggling cigarettes into the ghetto.” Franz scowled. “Your cigarettes.”

Herzberg brought a hand to his forehead. “That poor girl. Where is she? What will they do to her?”

“You could have gotten her killed, Herzberg!” Franz snapped. “Do you understand?”

“Could have?” Herzberg's expression softened and understanding lit up his eyes. “Have they released her, then?”

“How could you have done such a thing to Hannah? To any child? Risking her life to smuggle your booty.”

Herzberg shrugged good-naturedly. “Honestly, I never expected them to search a girl as innocent looking as your daughter. Had I thought that she was in any danger of being searched . . .”

Franz held his hands tightly at his sides, suspecting he might otherwise grab the man's throat. “You turned my daughter into a scapegoat, Herzberg. The victim of your crime.” Franz left out that he himself would be the one to face the consequences.

Herzberg seemed unconcerned. “No one forced Hannah,” he said calmly. “She volunteered to go. And we gave her a share of the profits.”

“She is thirteen years old!” Franz's jaw fell open. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Not bad,” Herzberg said. “Certainly, much better than when I used to live in that overcrowded heim off two cups of watery soup a day. We are doing better, true, but look around you, Dr. Adler. Who among us can afford the luxury of high moral standards?”

“High moral standards? Are you a lunatic? You risked a child's life! You used my daughter to do your dirty work!”

Herzberg shrugged. “Why don't you place the blame where it truly belongs?”

“And where is that?”

“With the Nazis. With Hitler! He forced us into this wretched place.” Herzberg watched a Chinese man in a traditional straw hat struggling to balance a bamboo pole across his shoulders. “To live like these peasants. Like animals.”