The Far Side of the Sky (16 page)

A quarter mile upstream, a narrow waterway cut through the urban chaos of Shanghai. “Soochow Creek,” Lady Leah said. “Some call it the busiest little river in the world.” She indicated the arched bridge spanning the creek. “The Garden Bridge connects the International Settlement and Hongkew. Sadly, it has become an armed border.”

Ernst pointed to the International Settlement’s approaching shoreline. “Apparently, the two neighbourhoods don’t share the same architect.”

“Nor the same real estate prices, Mr. Muhler.” Lady Leah smiled. “That—over there—is the beginning of the Bund. The most famous road in Shanghai. Possibly in all of Asia.”

Franz’s jaw almost dropped at the night-and-day contrast in the landscape. On the far side of the promenade, the tallest buildings he had ever seen lined the Bund and spanned the waterfront for blocks and blocks.

Their neo-classical and art deco facades were as awe-inspiring as any he had seen in Vienna, Paris or London.

Lady Leah pointed across to a high-rise with a green pyramid roof. Its tall mullioned windows reflected back the
Conte Biancamanoo’s
smokestack as the ship floated by. “That is the Cathay Hotel. Built by the most famous Jew in Shanghai—possibly the city’s best known inhabitant—Sir Victor Sassoon.” She sighed. “A bit too much of a playboy for my taste, but Victor is a decent fellow.”

Hannah’s eyes were wide with awe. “When do we get to go ashore?”

“Soon, dear. I must head back to my cabin to prepare.” From inside her jacket, Lady Leah withdrew a small engraved silver case. She slid out two business cards, passing one to Franz and the other to Ernst. “Dr. Adler, Mr. Muhler, and of course little Hannah, it was such an unexpected pleasure to meet you. I wish you nothing but good health and fortune in Shanghai. My telephone directory is on the card. Once you have settled in, I would be honoured to give you a Shanghailander’s tour of this strange and wonderful city.”

Soon after Lady Leah left them, the
Conte Biancamano
dropped anchor across from the teeming Bund.

Luigi Comparelli hurried up to them. “Ah, my most favoured guests,” he said with a deep bow that barely creased his starched white uniform.

“Luigi!” Hannah hugged him.

He knelt down to her level. “Ah,
principéssa,
I cannot tell you how much it saddens me to have to bid you
arrivedérci
today.”

“You are a dangerously charming man, Ensign Luigi,” Ernst said as he lit a new cigarette.

“A risk for all Italians, I’m afraid.” Luigi grinned. “I came to tell you too that lunch will be served only for another half an hour. And then the ship’s tender will take guests to shore.”

“We should go find your aunt,” Franz said to Hannah.

“Dr. Adler, you will need to close your account with our bursar. For Shanghai, I suggest withdrawing American dollars would be most
practical.” Luigi dug in his inner pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope. “Also, Dr. Adler, this letter came for you.”

Even before Luigi handed it over, Franz recognized his father’s meticulous penmanship. His heart sank as he sensed only grim news. “I’ll read it later,” he mumbled as he tucked it inside his coat pocket.

They made their way to the dining room, where they found Esther, wearing a green dress, at their usual table. It was the first time since leaving Vienna that Franz had seen her in anything other than black. She had even applied mascara and lipstick.

Ernst brought both hands to his cheeks. “Hannah, where is your aunt? And who is this
stunning
creature before us?”

Esther blushed slightly. “Nonsense. I thought I should look … presentable … for arrival.”

“Trust me.” Ernst pulled his hands from his cheek and clasped them in front of his chest. “You look more than just presentable.”

“You look lovely, Essie,” Franz agreed.

They served themselves from the buffet. As they ate, they reviewed their short-term strategy. “So, it’s decided?” Franz looked from Ernst to Esther. “We will rent a hotel room?”

Esther nodded. “Only until we can find more affordable accommodations.”

After lunch, they returned to their cabin for a final check. Franz was saddened to close the door on the room where he had felt more secure than at any other time in recent memory. Following Luigi’s advice, he withdrew the remaining funds in his account in American currency. It amounted to just over sixteen hundred dollars. He wondered how long the nest egg would feed, clothe and house four people in a city the size of Shanghai. Having been warned about the local pickpockets—who, according to the ship’s grapevine, were organized into their own guild—Franz tucked the envelope of money deep into his inner coat pocket, beside his father’s letter.

Hannah was giddy with excitement at the prospect of going ashore, but the adults shared looks of melancholy and worry as they loaded into the back of the tender for the short jaunt to the dock. The others aboard
were mostly upper-middle-class German Jews. Most were heading for Chinese soil as stateless refugees with little more than the money in their pockets and the clothes on their backs.

At river level, the stench from the Whangpoo’s filthy brown waters was intense. Several people on the tender covered their mouths and noses with their hands or collars. Two people even retched over the side of the boat. Hannah kept her nose pinched for the entire trip but said nothing.

As the tender nosed up to the dock, the smell of fried fish and cooked meats overpowered the noxious river odours. The noises of backfiring cars, roaring trucks and screeching peddlers melded into a thunderous clamour. Clutching Hannah’s hand, Franz stepped tentatively onto the wharf. They followed the other passengers up a staircase toward a bland building with a sign that read “Customs House” over its entrance.

The line inside moved quickly. It took little time to reach the Indian man who sat behind the desk wearing a white turban and a beige uniform. “Welcome to Shanghai,” he said in his refined British accent. “May I see your identification, please?”

They passed him their passports. He glanced at them, comparing their faces to the photos, but showed no reaction to the large red
J
stamped inside each passport. After he jotted their names on a piece of paper, he handed back the documents. “What is the total amount of foreign currency you are bringing into Shanghai?”

“Roughly sixteen hundred American dollars,” Franz said.

The official nodded. “And tobacco and alcohol?”

“No alcohol. Tobacco …” Franz turned to Ernst.

“I have two packs of cigarettes left.” Ernst shrugged. “One and a half, actually. It was a long, bumpy ride to shore.”

The official eyed them. “No more than two packs? And no alcohol? Are you certain?”

Franz smiled with relief that alcohol and tobacco were the man’s primary concern, rather than the jewellery Esther had smuggled out of Austria.

Beyond customs, the terminal teemed with people of every race, busier than even the Südbahnhof at the peak of rush hour. Some Chinese wore
Western-style clothing; others were dressed in traditional silk gowns and matching jackets and pants. Franz even noticed a cluster of orange-robed Buddhist monks with shaved heads.

Across the room, Hannah spotted crew members from the
Conte Biancamano
waiting beside piles of luggage. As soon as Ernst and the Adlers claimed their suitcases, a young Chinese man wearing only a light jacket and stained pants rushed up to them pushing a large empty cart as though it were a wheelbarrow. “I porter,” he announced in pidgin English. “I catchee suitbags.”

Ernst nodded and pointed out their bags. The scrawny man effortlessly hoisted the heavy suitcases onto his cart, expertly balancing them in one tall pile. “Taxi?” he asked as he began to push the cart toward the street.

Franz nodded, wondering if they could afford the expense.

The Bund was dense with traffic. Cars, trolleys and double-decker buses crawled along the congested road. Bicycles and yellow rickshaws, pulled by lean young men in short pants, wove between the vehicles. A Sikh policeman stood in the middle of the road, guiding the traffic with hand signals and repeated shrill blows on his whistle.

They walked past a little boy, at least a year or two younger than Hannah, sitting on the pavement. His left foot was mangled and his right arm had been amputated above his elbow. With his left hand, he held up an inverted cap with a few coins inside. “No mama, no papa. No whiskey soda,” he squealed in broken English. “No Russian sweetheart.

Okay?”

Ernst and Esther kept moving alongside their porter, but Hannah stopped and stared at the boy. She looked up at Franz, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “Papa, do we have any money?”

Franz dug in his pocket and found the last of his German coins. He gave them to Hannah, who dropped them in the boy’s hat. The little boy acknowledged the donation with only a nod before he turned to the next passersby and repeated the same “No mama, no papa …” chant.

At the curb, they saw several passengers from the ship walk up a plank and onto the back of a weathered flatbed truck. A tall man in a trench
coat approached them. “Are you folks Jewish?” he asked in fluid German tinged with an American accent.

“Yes.” Esther glanced at Ernst. “Three of us, anyway.”

“Welcome to Shanghai.” The man flashed a warm smile, holding Esther’s eyes for an extra moment. “I am Simon Lehrer. I work with the CFA.”

“I am Mrs. Karl Adler,” Esther said and then introduced the others. Simon grinned. “Will your husband be arriving soon, Mrs. Adler?” “My husband …” Esther glanced over to Hannah, who was still focused on the young beggar behind them. “He has passed,” she said quietly. “Oh … I am so sorry,” Simon muttered.

Franz was eager to redirect the conversation before Hannah overheard it. “Pardon me, Mr. Lehrer, but what is the CFA?”

“The Committee for Assistance of European Refugees in Shanghai. How’s that for a mouthful? Bet you’re sorry you asked.” Simon chuckled and pointed toward the truck. “Why don’t you come with us to the Embankment House? Sir Victor Sassoon has established a hostel there for the new arrivals until more permanent dwellings can be found.”

Franz shook his head. “I don’t believe that will be necessary, thank you, Mr. Lehrer …”

“You’re not signing your life away or anything,” Simon said. “It’s just a place to stop and gather your bearings. We offer hot meals, a roof over your heads and a few lectures on adjusting to life in Shanghai.”

Esther eyed Franz uncertainly. “Maybe we should? Until we do gather our bearings?”

Hannah’s fingers dug into Franz’s palm and she looked up at him with worry. “Papa, what about the hotel?”

Simon knelt down to Hannah. “This is kind of like a hotel. Except there will be a bunch of other kids around to play with.”

Unmoved, Hannah continued to stare at her father, imploring him to decline the offer.

Franz turned back to Simon. “Thank you all the same, Mr. Lehrer. I believe we can manage on our own.”

“Okay. Suit yourself.” Straightening up, Simon glanced at Esther. “If you change your minds, you can always find me at the Embankment House on North Soochow Road.” He laughed again. “Just ask for Simon. The New York busybody. They’ll know how to reach me.”

They thanked Simon and rejoined the flow of pedestrian traffic, heading toward the lineup of black taxicabs parked at the curb. Franz had only made it a few steps when someone shoved past him so hard that he toppled forward, almost falling over.

Franz regained his balance and looked up to see Simon sprinting away.
“Stop, you!”
Franz shouted after him, but Simon had already disappeared into the throng of people ahead.

“Are you injured, Franz?” Esther asked, pointing frantically at the front of his coat.

Franz looked down and saw that his coat had been slashed open over the right side of his chest. He thrust a hand inside the gap where the inner pocket had been only moments earlier.
Nothing.
“Essie, the money!” he cried. “It’s gone!”

“Can’t be,” Ernst muttered in shock. “Robbed by the man from the CFA?”

Before Franz could answer, Simon emerged from the crowd and made his way toward them, dragging a terrified skeletal Chinese teenager by the arm. With his free hand Simon held up the envelope full of American bills and the unopened letter from Jakob.

Passing the papers back to Franz, Simon arched an eyebrow. “Are you still convinced you can get by here on your own?”

Sunny Mah sometimes followed the long route to the Country Hospital, via Rue Cardinal Mercier, just to pass the Cercle Sportif Français. With its curved portico entrance and detailed relief work, the building was one of her favourites, but she had never before set foot inside the French Club. Now, she could hardly believe she was sitting on the glassed-in garden terrace, enjoying afternoon tea and sampling pastries.

Sunny felt acutely underdressed in her simple navy
qipao
—the traditional high-collared Chinese frock—among the mix of Western and Asian women who were dressed to the nines in colourful silk cheongsams or elegant skirts and jackets. Across the table, Jia-Li Ko resembled a Chinese Greta Garbo in her grey silk suit and matching pillbox hat as she smoked a cigarette in a long black holder. Like so many of Shanghai’s young Chinese women, Jia-Li revered all things foreign.

As one of the only social clubs to admit Asian members, the Cercle Sportif Français had a reputation as an “open club,” but it was still the exclusive domain of the city’s upper crust. Sunny had no idea how Jia-Li secured a table for two non-members, but she wasn’t surprised. Jia-Li was a star in the stable of the city’s most influential madam, Chih-Nii, who
reported directly to the undisputed head of Shanghai’s underworld, Du Yen Sheng or “Big Ears” Du. Consequently, Jia-Li had access to people and places that few others in the city shared.

Sunny was pleased to see her best friend so carefree. Full of confidence, gossip and laughter, Jia-Li seemed to be back to her old self. Her dilated pupils, which always constricted under the influence of opium, suggested that Jia-Li had not touched a pipe recently.