The Far Side of the Sky (50 page)

“Adler, Franz,” the guard informed the clerk, who sniffed in distaste.

Franz felt a flicker of anticipation as he watched the clerk flip through the stack of forms and pull out a sheet with his name near the top. The clerk rose and disappeared into the room behind him. A minute later, he returned with Franz’s folded clothes and dropped them on the desktop. He opened an envelope and casually tapped out its contents on top of the pile.

Franz’s eyes filled with tears when he saw his wedding ring. The clerk waved to the alcove behind him. “You change clothes. Leave uniform inside!”

Franz hobbled as fast as his bruised legs and feet would carry him. He pulled off the stinking soiled pyjamas and left them on the floor. His own clothes had never felt more comfortable, but he had trouble doing up the buttons with his broken arm and swollen fingers, six of which were missing fingernails.

By the time he stepped back into the lobby, the tall guard was gone. Franz stood in the middle of the foyer awaiting instructions, but none came. He waited another five or six minutes and then, with trepidation,
inched toward the door. None of the soldiers showed the slightest interest. His pace quickened as he slipped through the door and out to the sidewalk. The bright sunshine burned his eyes. His legs were so weak that he could walk only a block or so before he had to stop and rest. But his relief at being out of Bridge House—if only temporarily—far overshadowed any other sensation.

Franz hobbled home, stopping at each corner, sometimes having to hang on to the street signs or lampposts until his muscles and lungs would co-operate again. It took him over an hour to get home. He did not expect to find Sunny or Hannah there, but he was still crestfallen to walk into the empty house.

Franz picked up the phone in the hallway and dialed Simon and Esther’s number, but their phone went unanswered. His eyes wandered to the shelf beneath the telephone, and he spotted Sunny’s telephone directory. He stared at it, trying to resist the urge to look up Jia-Li’s phone number.

Franz had no idea whether the Japanese had responded yet to Meisinger’s proposal. For all he knew, they might have already begun rounding up the refugees. He reminded himself that the best way to keep Sunny and Hannah safe was to stay away from them. They would be far more likely to stick to their escape plans if they thought he was still imprisoned, or worse. But Franz had to know that they were all right. He grabbed for the directory and tore through the pages until he found Jia-Li’s number. He dialed and let the phone ring repeatedly. He hung up and tried a second time, but without success.

Franz rifled through the phone book looking for a phone number for Jia-Li’s mother. But it was hopeless. He did not even know her name.

Frustrated, Franz trudged to the bathroom and drew a warm bath. As soon as the tub was half-full, he eased his raw body into it. The sting of the hot water against his open wounds and bruises felt minor compared with what he had just experienced at Bridge House. He gingerly scrubbed every inch of skin he could reach as the bathwater turned progressively darker.

Franz had just climbed out of the tub when he heard the phone ring.
Dripping a trail of water, he hobbled out to the hallway and grabbed the receiver. “Yes?
Hello?
”

“Dr. Adler, this is Mr. Silberstein,” Schwartzmann said.

“Oh, hello, Hermann,” Franz mumbled.

“Something is wrong, Dr. Adler?”

“Excuse me. I was expecting my wife.”

“Ah, of course, I would be disappointed too.” Schwartzmann laughed softly. “Frau Adler? She is well?” “I … Yes. Fine.”

“Oh, good. Herr Doktor, would you have time to meet this evening?” “I am not certain I will be free.” “It is rather urgent.”

Please, God, no more grim news!
“I cannot promise, Herr Silberstein.” “I understand, Dr. Adler, but if your schedule does permit … Are you familiar with the Woo Sing Ding tea house in the old Chinese quarters?” “Yes, of course,” Franz said.

“One of my favourite sites in the whole world,” Schwartzmann sighed. “I will be there at eight o’clock tonight, regardless. I hope you will have a chance to join me.”

Franz hung up and tried Jia-Li again. Nothing. He called Esther and Simon’s home again, but they did not answer either. Frantic with worry, Franz changed into clean clothes, agonizing over each button. Tying his shoes was almost impossible.

Light-headed and dizzy, he realized that he was starving. While other prisoners devoured the buckets of rancid rice that the soldiers slammed down in the cage every morning, Franz had been unable to eat.

In the kitchen, he discovered that the cupboards were almost bare. In the pantry, he spotted a small box hidden on a back shelf. He opened it to find a package of food, carefully wrapped and sealed, that Yang had obviously prepared for him. The sweet rice ball, stuffed with vegetables, almost brought tears to his eyes. Three hard almond cakes, which Yang knew he loved, were wrapped in one of Sunny’s handkerchiefs. He grabbed the package and, eating as he walked, headed for the street.

He limped the six blocks over to the “establishment,” as Sunny had euphemistically referred to the brothel where Jia-Li worked. The tasteful Spanish villa was set back on the property among shade trees and blooming gardens. Franz opened the steel gate and trudged up the footpath toward the door.

Before he reached the house, a brawny giant of a man in a black suit stepped out and blocked the pathway. The Chinese guard slipped his hand menacingly into his jacket pocket. “May I help you?” he rumbled in clear English.

“Yes, I am Dr. Franz Adler. A friend of Jia-Li’s.”

The man nodded his block-like head. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

The guard took a step forward. “Then I need for you to leave, sir. Now.” “Please tell Jia-Li that I desperately need to see her.” The guard puffed out his chest. “The lady only accepts appointments.” “I am not a client! My wife, Mah Soon Yi, is Jia-Li’s best friend.” The man’s expression suddenly softened. “You are Sunny’s husband?” “Yes. Franz Adler.”

“Wait here, sir!” The guard turned, lumbered up the pathway and disappeared into the villa.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Jia-Li burst out. She ran down the pathway toward Franz in a short red cheongsam and high heels. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, sending a wave of pain through his broken ribs. “I couldn’t believe it when Ushi told me you were here!” she cried. “They released you!”

Jia-Li took a step back, but her spicy perfume still filled his nostrils. Her painted face creased with concern. She gestured to the bruising over his cheeks and neck. “Franz, what have they done to you?”

“I am fine,” Franz said. “Where are Sunny and Hannah? Please, Jia-Li!”

“They’re safe.” She shrugged slightly. “But I do not know exactly where.”

He held out his hand. “How can you not know?”

“They were staying with my mother, but they had to leave in a hurry.

Yang found them places with families who live on the outskirts of the city. We thought it best to separate them.”

Franz felt a cold rush. “Separate them?
Why?
”

Jia-Li viewed him for a second or two. “Sunny thought it safest for Hannah. Especially after she had gone to confront that SS colonel—”

“Oh,
mein Gott!
She confronted him? Meisinger?”

“Yes, two days ago.” Jia-Li’s powdered face broke into a small grin. “Franz, we found his weak spot.”

“What do you mean?”

“The colonel likes young boys.” She went on to describe how they had photographed Meisinger in flagrante delicto and how Sunny had threatened the colonel with the evidence.

“She provoked him with those?”

Jia-Li’s smile widened. “Sunny convinced him to leave Shanghai!” “She did?” Franz said, simultaneously shocked and elated. “Meisinger left Shanghai before getting an answer from the Japanese?” “Apparently so.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” A sense of pride washed over him. “I need to speak to Sunny. How do I reach her?”

“I will get Yang to pass a message to her.”

“Let Sunny know that I’m back at home. And I will wait for her there.” He gently clasped her arm with his left hand. “But, Jia-Li …” She tilted her head, looking suddenly tired. “Yes?” “Tell them not to let Hannah know I am home.” “Why not, Franz?”

“Hannah must believe I am still in custody. At least until we are convinced that the Nazis are truly gone.” He squeezed her arm once and let it go. “I know my daughter. She would risk everything to find me. I cannot allow that.”

Jia-Li nodded. “I will tell them.”

Franz hugged Jia-Li gratefully again and then headed back to the street. Checking his watch, he realized he still had time to meet Schwartzmann by eight o’clock.

The light was fading as Franz reached the Old City and wove his way down the curved streets past storefronts, restaurants and pagodas. He limped by the dejected Chinese merchants operating near-empty booths that, thanks to strict rationing, carried little merchandise and attracted few consumers. Several beckoned him urgently with calls and waves, but Franz shook his head and kept moving.

In the open square at the centre of the market, the renowned Woo Sing Ding tea house stood elevated on stilts above an emerald-coloured pond. Franz was about to step onto the zigzag bridge that led to the tea house when a voice called to him. He turned to see Hermann Schwartzmann standing at the edge of the pond with his pipe between his teeth and his hands buried in his pockets.

Schwartzmann studied Franz’s face for a moment but did not comment on the injuries. “It would be a lovely evening to stroll Yuyuan Garden. Would you agree, Dr. Adler?”

As they walked the garden maze, the diplomat glanced over either shoulder every few minutes, appearing more on edge than Franz had ever seen him. Schwartzmann said nothing until they stepped onto a pavilion overlooking a rock pond. He stopped and waved the stem of his pipe toward Franz’s face. “All that bruising, Dr. Adler? Your arm.”

“I spent several days in Bridge House.”

“Mmm. Of course.” Schwartzmann put the pipe back into his mouth and chewed the stem worriedly. “These are not good times for your people, are they?”

“That is putting it mildly indeed.” Franz exhaled.

“A terrible understatement, yes.” Schwartzmann gazed down at the pond. “And I’m afraid there are still more SS men arriving in Shanghai.”

Franz tensed. “I was led to believe Colonel Meisinger had left the city.”

“He has, yes.” Schwartzmann puffed on his pipe. “However, I have been informed that another group of SS has arrived. Their mission even more secretive than Meisinger’s.”

A fresh wave of dread rolled over Franz. “How can this be?” he sputtered.

Schwartzmann shook his head. “It’s all rumours and innuendo. None of us at the consulate even knows who has come.”

“For what purpose? After Meisinger, what more could the Nazis possibly ask of the Japanese?”

“I do not know.” Schwartzmann blew out his cheeks. “I wish I could be of more assistance. I am sorry. I just thought it best to apprise you of their arrival.”

Franz nodded distractedly. “I appreciate this information.”

Schwartzmann glanced nervously over his shoulder again. “Dr. Adler, I really cannot stay.” He dug a hand in his pocket, pulled out another fat envelope and held it out to Franz.

It was heavier than any previous one. “I am not convinced that money can solve our current problems, but thank you, Hermann,” Franz said. “It is incredibly generous of you.”

Schwartzmann extended his hand and Franz met the handshake. “Good luck.” The diplomat held on to Franz’s hand for an extra moment before letting go. “As I said, I only wish I could be of more help.”

“You have done more than most, Hermann.”

Schwartzmann opened his mouth as though to speak but seemed to change his mind. He nodded once, turned and walked away without looking back.

Franz sat down on a wooden bench and stared into the depths of the green pond before his feet. His arm throbbed and his body ached. New and old worries congealed inside him.

Oh, Sunny, we can never win. T
h
ere will always be other Nazis.

Franz slid open the envelope’s flap with little enthusiasm. He pulled out the thick wad of Reichsmarks, recognizing that it represented at least twice as much as any of Schwartzmann’s previous donations. As he was shoving the cash back into the envelope, he glimpsed a single folded sheet, tucked below the bills. Franz pulled out the page, opened it and began to read.

Dear Franz,

You cannot know how much the added year of life and health you gave Edda meant to us both. I have lived off the memories of our borrowed time together since. To know how much you risked in order to help us, when you had so many legitimate reasons to turn your back, makes your actions that much more noble.

My gratitude extends beyond your fine surgical care. Before I met you, I had lost pride in my work and in myself. I once had an honourable career, striving to protect and better the lives of all Germans abroad. And then, somehow, I became a part of a dishonourable regime. I suspended my own sense of right and wrong in order to protect my career. And the short time working for the National Socialists negated all the good I had tried to accomplish in the preceding years.

After I became involved with you, assisting Germans in true need, something changed within me. I rediscovered the sense of purpose and reward that had been missing all those years. I shudder to think that I once represented Herr Hitler.

Unfortunately, my friend, this is goodbye. I have been recalled to Berlin for “immediate reassignment.” Such foolish Nazi doublespeak. Diplomats are not treated in such a manner unless they have fallen under suspicion. I have no doubt that some spy or informant has uncovered my connection to the refugees. And in many senses, I am relieved.

Be assured, my friend, that I will never allow them to send me back for one of their show trials. No, I will leave on my own terms. To be perfectly blunt, life holds little lustre for me without my beloved wife. And I look forward to the opportunity to be reunited with her.