The Far Side of the Sky (25 page)

Sunny heard the noise of tires screeching. The sailor’s body obscured her vision, but she screamed out,
“Bang zhù! Help! Please!”

A door opened. Feet scuffled nearer. Then she heard her father’s raised voice. “Release her immediately!”

The sailor shoved Sunny hard, and she toppled backwards against the glass again. She cried out desperately,
“Father, the knife! Watch out!”

She regained her balance and righted herself. A blur caught her eye, and she saw the blade plunge into the right side of Kingsley’s chest with a nauseating whoosh.

“Father, no!”
she screamed. Dress and coat flapping open, Sunny threw herself at the sailor’s back. He fell forward under her weight. She grabbed his hair with one hand and clawed wildly at his face with her other.

Shrieking in outrage, he wrenched free of her grip and elbowed her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. She tensed her legs, poised to spring again, when his hand shot out.

Sunny watched in disbelief as the blade tore into her abdomen. She heard a ripping noise before the jolt of searing pain rocked her. Out of reflex, her hands clutched her belly. She felt the blade slice through the skin between her thumb and forefinger on its way back.

Her knees gave way and she crumpled to the pavement. Looking up, she saw the sailor turn back on her father, who had propped himself up against the building by his shoulder.

“Leave the girl!” Kingsley panted. “Not my Sunny!”

The world swam around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fai advancing toward the sailor, a tire iron held high over his head. “Leave them alone!” he screamed in Shanghainese.

The attacker froze, bloodied knife held out in front of him. Suddenly, he thrust the blade at Fai’s chest, but the driver stepped to his right and it whizzed inches past him. Fai swung the iron and caught the attacker on the wrist. The sailor howled in agony as the knife flew out of his hand and clattered to the ground.

Fai swung again, but the sailor managed to dodge the iron’s arc. Clutching his injured arm to his side, the attacker took off, disappearing into the night.

Fai dropped to his knees beside Sunny.
“Missy? Missy?”

Kingsley pushed himself upright and staggered a few steps toward her. “Sunny!” he wheezed. “Speak to me!”

Her head spun wildly. She felt a warm trickle running along her frigid belly. She desperately tried to answer, but the words would not form. The street light above her dimmed steadily.

“Are you certain I am not taking you too far out of the way?” Franz asked as Simon shut the door to the refugee hospital behind them.

“Never been more certain in my life, Doc.” Simon clapped him on the shoulder. “For a hero like you, Hong Kong wouldn’t be too far out of my way.”

Franz chuckled. “Hero! Such exaggeration, Simon. If you really—” The shriek of tires silenced him. Franz squinted into the wobbly light of the car’s headlamps as the vehicle hurtled toward them. It hopped the curb and screeched to a stop halfway across the sidewalk. The driver’s door flew open and a man jumped out, waving his arms above his head. “Help!” he screamed.
“Chop, chop!”

“That’s Fai! Dr. Mah’s driver.” Simon sprinted toward the car, and Franz followed.

Fai stooped over and reached through the rear door.
“Rìben guazi
cut doctor and missy!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Franz didn’t understand but there was no mistaking the man’s distress, and Franz’s pulse hammered in his temples.

Fai straightened up, pulling Kingsley out of the car by the armpits.

With his driver’s help, Kingsley was able to rise to his feet. But even with Fai’s arm wrapped around him, he swayed like a sapling in a windstorm. His breath came in rapid grunts.

Franz shot his hand out to Kingsley’s neck. His fingers stuck on contact with the skin.
Blood!
His hand skittered up and down the man’s neck, finally finding the faint racing pulse. “What happened?”

Kingsley weakly waved away the question. “Oh, Dr. Adler … thank God … please … Sunny!”

“Sunny?
Where is she?”

“Franz, help!” Simon called.

Franz looked over to see Simon dragging Sunny out from the back seat. He lunged forward and caught Sunny in his arms just as Simon pulled her free. Lifting her up, Franz felt warm blood on her exposed abdomen. She lay ominously still in his arms.

“Is she …” Simon’s voice cracked.

Franz lifted her higher, bringing her mouth to his ear. He heard faint breathing. He wheeled and raced for the hospital entrance, Sunny light in his arms.

The noise from the street had roused Maxwell Feinstein and two of the German nurses, Liese and Berta. They rushed out to the street.

“Nein!”
Franz stopped them. “Ready two beds!”

“Ja, ja!”
Max shepherded the women back inside.

“And prepare the operating room!” Franz called after them.

He burst through the open door, bumping Sunny’s head against the casing, but she didn’t respond. “This way, Herr Doktor!” Berta cried.

Franz followed her voice to the ward, where Max and Berta were hastily dragging partitions around two empty beds. Several patients were sitting upright in their beds, clutching sheets to their chests and murmuring among themselves.

Franz lowered Sunny into the nearest bed. She blinked as she hit the mattress but uttered no sound. Under the light, the extent of her hemorrhage was obvious. Blood was already caked to her left side and continued to ooze from the one-inch gash below her rib cage. He palpated her
abdomen. The muscles tightened in response. “I need intravenous supplies! And when will the operating room be ready?”

“Soon, Herr Doktor,” Berta answered shakily. “Liese is preparing the equipment.”

Franz hurried over to the other bed, where Fai had deposited Kingsley. Someone had stripped off his shirt. He sat up, his legs dangling over the side of the bed, and gasped for air. Franz spotted the wound on his hairless chest just below the right nipple. The edges puckered in and out with each rapid breath. Stethoscope plugged into his ears, Max was trying to examine Kingsley, but he kept struggling to stand. “Sunny …” he wheezed. “Sunny …”

Max glanced at Franz with worried eyes. He pointed to the stab wound. “The knife has punctured the right lung. It has collapsed, and his chest is filling with blood.”

Kingsley tried to rise again, but Max held him gently in place. “Do not … worry … about … me,” Kingsley gasped.

But Franz knew that if the blood continued to pool in Kingsley’s chest, he would suffocate in his own fluid. “We need to drain your chest, Dr. Mah,” Franz said.

“No … no … no.” Despite a heroic effort to rise, Kingsley fell back onto the bed.

“Listen to him, Dr. Mah,” Max implored. “It has to be done!” “No!” said Kingsley. “Fix … Sunny … first.”

“I will, I swear,” Franz said. “But that will take time in the operating room. I can put a tube in your chest right now in a matter of minutes.”

“After,” Kingsley gasped. “Not until … Sunny …”

Franz darted back to Sunny’s bed, where she lay still on the stretcher. He ran his fingers along her ice-cold neck. He held his breath until he found the weak pulse.

Berta reappeared, fumbling with coils of rubber tubing and two bottles of Ringer’s lactate. Franz snatched the needles out of her hand and dropped to his knees. He ripped open the sleeve of Sunny’s dress and touched along the skin of her elbow crease until a stringy vein rolled
under his fingers. With his other hand, he pierced the skin over the vein and advanced the needle.
Steady, Adler. You will not have a second chance.

As soon as a drop of blood formed at the needle’s hub, Franz grabbed the tubing from Berta and connected it to the needle. He took the bottle and attached it to the pole beside the bed, mounting it as high as he could to maximize the rate at which it flowed into Sunny’s vein.

Franz turned back to Kingsley. “The fluids are running into her, Dr. Mah. The operating room will be ready any minute.” He motioned to Kingsley’s chest. “Meantime, I am going to drain the blood from around your lung.”

Eyes at half-mast, Kingsley stared back without argument.

“Berta, please get me a scalpel and tubing,” Franz instructed.

Franz was assessing the best location on Kingsley’s chest to insert the drainage tube when Liese appeared at the doorway. “The operating room is prepared, Dr. Adler!”

Franz glanced over to Sunny, who was as white as a sheet and motionless. Kingsley weakly pushed Franz’s hand away from his chest. “Take … her,” he breathed. “Please!”

“Go, Franz!” Max nodded. “I will insert the tube into Dr. Mah’s chest.”

“I’ll help anyway I can,” Simon added from across the room.

Franz hesitated a moment and then pointed to the bottle of fluid hanging from the pole. “Berta, take the intravenous!”

Once more, he swept Sunny up in his arms. Berta freed the bottle from the pole and held it up as high as she could. Together they rushed Sunny down the hall into the operating room and laid her on the operating table. Franz grabbed a clean gown off the wall and threw it over his suit. He slipped a cap over his hair and tied a mask around his mouth. “Liese, you will have to give the ether,” he stated.

Sunny lay on the table with her bloodied abdomen exposed, sterile towels draped over her chest and below her pelvis. Franz saw that her eyes had opened a crack. “Father …” she croaked. “Where is Father?”

The sweat dripped into Franz’s eyes. “On the ward, with Dr. Feinstein.”

“Is he all right?” she gasped.

Franz wiped his brow with the sleeve of his gown. “He’s alive, Sunny. We will do all we can for him, but first we must fix you.”

Sunny lifted a hand and plucked at the air near Franz. “Please, Dr. Adler. Please …” Her hand dropped to the bed and her eyes fluttered shut.

Franz glanced over to the nurse at the head of the bed. “Begin, Liese!”

With a tremulous hand, Liese brought the ether mask to Sunny’s face and dripped the anaesthetic on it. “Steady …” Franz said, watching a few drops miss the mask. After two or three more drops, he said, “All right, enough.”

Franz hurriedly wiped Sunny’s abdomen with iodine-soaked cotton. He grabbed the scalpel off the tray and touched it to the side of her belly just below the rib cage. More sweat dripped toward his eyes, but he ignored it. He applied pressure and sliced vertically through the abdominal wall in one long motion until he passed below her navel.

He wedged an L-shaped steel retractor through the edges of the incision and yanked back. Bright blood welled and bubbled over the edges of the wound like a fountain switching on. He jabbed a second retractor through the incision and pulled the incision apart. “Retract, please!” He passed the handles to Berta.

Franz jammed a handful of sponges inside Sunny’s abdomen, trying to mop up as much of the blood as he could. From the degree of hemorrhage, he assumed the knife must have lacerated her spleen. At least, he hoped so. If the blade had penetrated a major vessel, or even her intestine, he stood practically no chance of saving her.
Stay with us, Sunny. Please.

Franz dug his left hand through the incision up to the level of his wrist. Warm blood enveloped his hand as he felt his way past the loops of slippery bowel until his fingers touched the base of the deflated spleen. Exploring its surface, his finger slipped into the ragged gash in its centre. Engulfing the pear-sized organ in his hand, he ran his fingers over the surface until he found the base where the main blood vessels entered. “Clamp!” he grunted.

Berta passed him a long scissor-shaped clamp. Pooling blood still obscured his sight, so he blindly plunged the instrument deep into Sunny’s belly until its tip met his other hand. He ran the clamp’s teeth alongside his fingers and then clicked across the splenic artery.

Franz took all the remaining absorbent gauze sponges off the tray and wadded them inside her abdomen. Holding his breath, he slowly withdrew them. No fresh blood welled in place of the old. “All right,” he said to himself, feeling his first glimmer of hope.

He took the long needle driver off the tray and loaded it with catgut. Moving the intestine out of the way, he feathered the needle driver down to the level of the clamp. He encircled the spleen’s base with three loops of catgut before tying it off, then added a second ligature for support. “Long scissors.”

Franz inserted the scissors and cut across the far side of the clamp, slicing through the splenic artery and freeing Sunny’s spleen. He gently pulled it out through the incision and dropped it onto the tray.

Franz and both nurses stared into the gaping incision, watching for any sign of fresh bleeding. “How is she, Liese?” he asked without taking his eyes off the wound.

“Her pulse is weak but she is still breathing, Herr Doktor.”

“Good,” Franz said. “I’m going to close the wound now.”

He removed the clamp and explored the inside of Sunny’s abdomen one last time, running his fingers up and down the intestine to ensure he had not missed a second injury. Satisfied, he reached for the needle driver and sewed the layers of the abdominal wall closed.

Franz dropped the tools on the tray. Liese had already pulled the ether mask off Sunny’s face. Eyes still closed, she was breathing evenly and on the verge of rousing. “Keep the fluids running in,” he told Berta as he rushed for the door. “And clear the operating room as quickly as possible for Dr. Mah!”

Franz broke into a run down the corridor, heading toward the ward. Simon met him at the doorway. “How is she, Franz?” he demanded.

Something caught Franz’s eye, and he ignored the question. Mouth open, he stood at the doorway and gaped at the sight.

Kingsley lay still on the bed. A rubber tube dangled freely from his chest and blood dripped steadily into a pool on the cement floor.

Max was shaking his head continuously as he slowly draped a white sheet over Kingsley. “Even with the tube,” he muttered, “he had simply lost too much blood.”

A
PRIL
14, 1940, S
HANGHAI