The Diplomat’s Daughter

by Karin Tanabe

  “We can’t help anymore,” Jin said after four hours had passed. “I can barely hold my hands open.”

  Leo wiped the dust from his eyes and said, “We can’t leave now,” even though he was desperate to go find Agatha and his family.

  “Of course we can,” said Jin. “The dead are dead and neither of us knows how to save the ones who are barely still alive. I’m going to check on my father. You go home and make sure your parents are alive. Make sure Agatha is alive. I know that’s all you’re thinking about anyway.”

  Leo nodded and said, “Then I’ll come to work. Because if they are alive, we’ll need the money.”

  As he moved through the torn-apart city, he barely looked at the bodies in the street, the devastation. Like Jin said, all he could think about was his family and the girl who was becoming family.

  Back on Yuhang Road, he ran up the flights of stairs to the apartment, which was unharmed, but also empty. He sprinted back down, taking two steps at a time, and flew into the street. Noticing a commotion the next block over, he moved toward it, but before he reached the crowd, he heard someone scream out his name. He turned around to see his mother, who was crying from the sight of her son. Leo ran to her and threw his arms around her, as he had done so many times in childhood.

  “Froschi,” Hani said through her tears. “You survived. You’re alive.”

  “Of course I am,” he said, still holding his mother. “I already escaped death once. Why not twice?”

  “And Jin is alive?” she said, crying. “You were together?”

  “He is alive,” said Leo, wiping his mother’s face with his shirtsleeve. “Where is father?” asked Leo, looking around them. He saw that the commotion at the end of the street was people trying to move a dead body out of the road. He could hear a woman wailing as the crowd started to dissipate.

  “Your father is with Agatha, in Chongan’s shop,” she said pointing. “When we heard the planes we all ran down to the store, to hide under his tables.” The dumpling shop had long wooden tables inside and out, and though the dumplings were mostly a sticky starch coating with no filling, if someone in Hongkew had money, they ate at Chongan’s.

  Hand in hand, they rushed over, pushing through a crowd, calling Max’s name, but it wasn’t Max who came out of the store first, it was Agatha. She looked at Leo, burst into tears, too, and waited for him to reach her before she collapsed in his arms.

  Leo held her tightly, before letting go and examining her to make sure she wasn’t harmed. It was the first time he noticed that she looked pregnant, visibly pregnant, with his child. He put his hand on her stomach. The month before, she had stopped working at Liwei’s, as a pregnant taxi dancer was not part of the customers’ fantasy. Instead, she spent her nights with Hani and Max, who, after realizing that their son had offered to do the honorable thing and marry Agatha, had taken her in. She wasn’t Jewish, she wasn’t Emi Kato, but as Max had said to Hani many times, their son was alive, and happy, and in 1945, that was what mattered.

  “I knew you were alive,” said Hani, sniffing back tears. “We made it. Somehow, we all made it.”

  Leo reached out for Agatha and kissed her long and hard. “I can’t wait to be your one-eyed husband,” he whispered.

  “You have two eyes,” said Agatha. “One is just decoration.”

  * * *

  Three weeks after the American assault on Shanghai, the family read about the enormous bombs that had been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Then, one day in August, when the sun was low in the sky and the ghetto was as loud and chaotic as ever, they walked out into the street and the Japanese military presence was gone. Ghoya was not there acting out his dream role as king of the Jews; there was no one to check if they had a pass to leave the restricted area. It was just the Jews and the Chinese. For forty-eight hours, no one knew what to make of it, but Liwei brought out his best liquor anyway, and the only Japanese man there to share in it was Hiroyoshi.

  Liwei poured all his workers a drink and said, “If the Japanese military are gone, it means the war is over.” They all got very drunk, and the next day they learned Liwei was right. Japan had surrendered.

  The Americans arrived, and with them came food. A few weeks later, on September 3, the ghetto was liberated.

  “Now that the war is over and mail may go through again, we must write to Norio Kato and tell him we made it,” said Max. “Thank him.”

  “Yes,” said Leo, feeling a tug on his heart. “We must.” Emi, the Katos, had kept his family from perishing in Europe, and Emi with her unwavering youthful love had saved Leo from the hell that was 1938. He prayed that she had survived the war, that her whole family had, and that she would understand what his life had become.

  His mother’s joyous expression changed to wistfulness as Max mentioned the Katos, and Leo felt the pain of a missed opportunity. What if the war hadn’t pushed them around the world? Could things have ended differently? He looked at Agatha’s stomach and knew it wasn’t fair for him to wonder.

  Agatha and Leo decided to marry in a civil ceremony attended only by his parents, Liwei and Jin. After the wedding, they watched as Chiang Kai-shek’s army marched like toy soldiers through the newly unrestricted streets and avenues.

  “The Americans should be marching, too,” said Max, watching the precise movements of the Chinese.

  “I think they’re more interested in wandering about the city,” said Agatha. “They’ll probably all end up at Liwei’s.”

  “The ones who I spoke to have been on boats for four years, constantly at sea,” said Max.

  “There is a lot of talk of boats in Hongkew,” said Leo, not turning his head away from the parade, his hand firmly in Agatha’s. “Not the American ships, but boats that will take the Jews to America. To Israel,” said Leo.

  As soon as the Japanese military had fled the city, the talk among the Jewish community had centered on leaving. Where would they go and how would they get there? Many wanted to go to Israel, though most knew they would end up in the United States. The old Jewish community in Shanghai wanted to stay, as their lives had roots there, but there was already talk that the foreign concessions would be abandoned and the Jews would no longer be able to stay, even those who had been there for more than a generation.

  “Let’s not be hopeful yet,” said Max. “They say it could take years to leave Shanghai. For the boats to start making the trip to Israel or America. Right now, the Americans have brought food and the invisible walls around Hongkew have been knocked down. The war is over. You two are married and in two months, there will be a baby. We don’t need to think about the next step.”

  “America is the next step,” said Hani. “Even if it does take years. Have you written to your family in Germany yet, Agatha?” said Hani, taking her hand from Leo. “Your extended family?”

  “I will now,” said Agatha. “Now that the war is over, maybe the mail will travel with regularity again.”

  From a room above them, they heard a record turning on a phonograph, and Leo wondered who had found such a luxury in Hongkew. They looked up, but all they could see was the open window, a white curtain fluttering out of it like a flag of surrender.

  Agatha took a step forward to see more of the parade and Leo leaned over to his father. “You’ll have to write to Emi for me. Tell her about Agatha, the baby, the wedding,” he said softly. “I won’t be able to write the words.”

  CHAPTER 35

  EMI KATO

  MAY 1945

  Hitler is dead!” screamed Claire Ohkawa, rushing into the Moris’ house, not bothering to even knock on the door. “Dead!” she screamed again, hysterical.

  “What?” said Emi running out of the kitchen. “How do you know? Are you sure?”

  “I just saw Philippe Bussinger of the Swiss delegation in the hotel. He was rejoicing,” said Claire, motioning with her hands. “He confirmed it. Hitler shot himself in the head at the end of April but they found him yesterday. Dead! It’s not in the papers o
r on the radio here yet, but it will be soon,” she said, rushing to Emi and throwing her arms around her. “Can you believe it?”

  “I can because you’re saying it,” said Emi, hugging Claire back. “And the Swiss delegation knows everything first.”

  “Yes, we’re lucky to live in Karuizawa,” said Claire. “Citizens of the world at our doorsteps. At least we aren’t kept totally in the dark like the others.” She looked at Yuka Mori, who was standing stunned, and said, “Quick! Mrs. Mori. Turn on the radio!”

  As Claire had said, there was still nothing on the radio about Hitler’s death, so Emi and Claire biked into town. The last two months had been terrible for Japan. In early March, the Americans had firebombed Tokyo, far worse than they had before, decimating the city in two days and killing thousands, more than a hundred thousand perhaps, her father had written to say. There were charred bodies all over the city, and most of the people he saw alive were homeless, living under tarpaulins, shacks made of burned wood, pieces of corrugated metal—anything that could serve as a roof. The malnutrition had been bad before the bombing, he stressed, but now the majority of the capital’s citizens were on the brink of starvation. He and her mother had hidden in a bomb shelter in the ministry, he’d assured her, as safe as the emperor, he’d said, but their house had been flattened, all of their possessions turned to ash.

  Her father stressed that he’d repeatedly begged Emi’s mother to join her in Karuizawa, but she would not go. A stubborn woman from the old generation, he’d called her.

  She was wrong, thought Emi, as she looked out at the town after she and Claire had arrived on the ginza. Her mother, she was sure, would have loved to see what was in front of her.

  The street was full of people, gaijin and Japanese, as word about Hitler had traveled from both the Swiss and Swedish embassies. There was diplomatic staff everywhere—Russians, Swiss, Swedes, and Turks—and no Germans at all. No citizens or soldiers.

  “Germany will have to surrender now,” said Ayumi, when she saw Emi. She was near tears herself. “And after Germany surrenders, what choice will Japan have? We will surrender. Then the war will be over. Finally,” she said, one of her daughters behind her, holding the waist of her pants. “We will have peace again.”

  A man from the Swiss delegation whom Evgeni was friendly with was behind them as well. He came around and smiled at them, his elation apparent. “Germany will surrender this week,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Emi looked around at the ginza and thought about the day she spent with Leo in the Heldenplatz in Vienna. The Austrians were crying tears of joy to see Hitler, and now the foreigners in Japan, and even some Japanese, were crying tears of joy because he was dead. Leo must know, she thought to herself. He had to.

  The Swiss diplomat was right. Germany surrendered to the Allies on May 7, and in Karuizawa, all the talk turned to what Japan was going to do next. The German soldiers in town had started to disappear, though the citizens were permitted to stay. Of the soldiers, it was said by the diplomats that they were going into hiding, headed to Gora in Hakone. With them went Emi’s fears of getting arrested for theft from their farm. Japan had not yet found peace, but she could put one of her fears to rest.

  The hopes that Japan’s surrender was imminent were shot down by firm statements issued by the government soon after Hitler’s death and Germany’s surrender. The prime minister had implored the people of Japan to keep fighting like kamikaze pilots. Shigenori Tōgō, the minister of foreign affairs, made it clear that Germany’s defeat would make no difference in Japan’s fight against America and Britain. Japan was not dropping their weapons.

  “Not yet,” said Ayumi to Emi and her children, who were gathered in the store to listen to the radio announcements. “Not quite yet.”

  CHAPTER 36

  EMI KATO

  AUGUST 1945–JANUARY 1946

  At precisely twelve noon on August 15, the radio crackled in the lobby of the Mampei Hotel. First, there was nothing but static, then the voice of Emperor Hirohito, which most of the Japanese people had never heard, came over the airwaves. For the first time in Japan’s history, the emperor was addressing the entire nation.

  “To our good and loyal subjects,” he said, barely audible, even on the hotel’s expensive radio. “After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions obtaining in Our Empire today, we have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary measure. We have ordered Our Government to communicate to the Governments of the United States, Great Britain, China, and the Soviet Union that Our Empire accepts the provisions of their Joint Declaration.”

  The emperor kept speaking, in his formal way, so formal that even Emi and Ayumi could barely understand a word. The little that Emi could understand was being drowned out by the bad connection, but the foreign diplomats in the room assured the crowd that what the emperor had announced was Japan’s surrender.

  “Finally,” said Emi to Ayumi, who was holding her children tight against her legs. “It’s finally over.” She soon felt the embrace of Claire Ohkawa, the only person in the room who ignored every cultural norm.

  “All those poor dead boys,” said Claire crying. “Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Tokyo. Why didn’t we surrender sooner?”

  “I don’t know,” said Emi, hugging her back. “But it’s over now.”

  She needed to talk to her parents, to finally see them after so long. And maybe now she could find out about Christian and put to rest the fear she’d been carrying that he was dead. Maybe she could confirm that the Hartmanns were safe in Shanghai. She could write a letter that might get delivered. Her life, the one she had put on hold, felt nearly within reach.

  “Mr. Mori survived,” said Ayumi, looking at him. He was sick, but still with them. “My daughter survived. There were too many dead,” she said. “But look how many are still here.”

  After the Moris were home safe, Emi walked to the shrine behind the hotel, the one on the hill leading to the Germans’ farm, which had been raided down to the grass seeds after they left town, and said a prayer for her parents, thanking them for sending her away from Tokyo, for helping her survive the war and allowing her to discover the strange, charming enclave of Karuizawa.

  Two weeks after the emperor’s broadcast, their town was in the hands of the Americans. Emi stood by the side of the ginza with Claire as the Americans flooded the town, driving slowly through the streets, hanging out of their military jeeps. One car stopped in front of Claire and its occupants honked and howled. When Claire yelled a profanity at them, a young soldier climbed out and asked her whether she spoke English or just cursed in it.

  “Of course I speak English,” Claire said, as the soldiers whooped at her Aussie accent. “So does she,” Claire said, nodding at Emi. “And German.”

  “And Japanese,” said Emi. “But so does she,” she said, pointing at Claire. The boy talking to her was tall and blond, far more confident than Christian, but reminded her so much of him that she could almost smell the oranges in Crystal City. She had sent a letter to the address Christian had given her in Pforzheim, hoping that now the letter might make it overseas, and that if it did, that there would be a house left standing to receive it and people inside. She knew now that the Americans had bombed Shanghai. The Swiss delegation had again produced that information, but they’d informed her that it had been almost all Chinese who’d died. But about Christian, she struggled not to think the worst. She was sure the war would not feel over until she knew he was alive.

  The baby-faced soldier who was flirting with Claire said, “I don’t even want to know why you girls speak all those languages. Hell, I don’t even care if you’re spies at this point.” He turned to the other men in the jeep and told them to make room for the two women. “’Cause we could use your help. Come on. Jump in,” he said, reaching for Emi’s hand. “Help us out, will you?”

  “I will not,” said Emi, pulling her hands behind her back. She was
n’t ready to start working for the Americans, who had come close to charring her parents while their allies had possibly killed Christian Lange. “Why should we help you?”

  “Because we’re going to open the German warehouse,” he said. “And you speak German. I doubt there are any German soldiers left in hiding here, but you never know. Now, if you don’t care what’s inside, then don’t come.”

  Claire grabbed Emi’s hand and dragged her toward the car. “She’s coming,” she said. “Lift us into this thing.”

  “Fine,” said Emi, allowing herself to be pulled up. “But if there is food there, I’m taking some. I’m taking a lot.”

  “We’re all taking a lot,” said the soldier, slamming the car into gear. “We’re cleaning them out and handing it over to you all. This town looks hungry.”

  The German warehouse, in the countryside in the opposite direction of the Mampei Hotel, and which neither Emi nor Claire had known about, was stocked with canned food, every inch of every shelf covered. Emi and Claire gasped when the door was opened, and Emi thought how much easier it would have been to take a can of beans than to try to steal a pig. Along with the canned goods, there were barrels of lard, sacks of potatoes and rice, jars of pickled radishes and plums, buckets of root vegetables, and even dried meat.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Claire. “The town has been eating grass while the Germans had all this?”

  “The German Navy captured freighters full of supplies for the Allied troops. More than once we were told. And a lot of it ended up here,” said the blond soldier, putting the cans in bags.

  “I take back every nice thing I ever said about them,” Claire whispered to Emi. “But I guess grass tastes better than gunpowder.”

  The American troops started removing the food by the truckload. Claire and Emi were about to leave since they saw there was no translation needed. Theft seemed to be understood in every language.