by Daniel Kalla
“That is good,” Kubota muttered. “Very good.”
“Is there something wrong, Colonel?” Franz asked.
Kubota gazed up at the ceiling while his left hand trembled silently on the desk. “I find myself more directly involved in the affairs of the Jewish refugees than ever before, Dr. Adler.” His eyes then locked onto Franz’s. “And yet, ironic as it may sound, I have never been in less of a position to advocate on behalf of your people.”
* * *
Franz was still mulling over the conversation as he approached the ghetto checkpoint at Wayside Road. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman hurrying across the street, holding a bamboo sack at her side. Turning his head, he was surprised to recognize Sunny. As a refugee, Franz was unable to go beyond the sidewalk that represented the boundary of the ghetto without one of Ghoya’s passes, so he stood and waited for his wife at the curb.
Face flushed, Sunny greeted him with a kiss to his cheek.
“Where have you been?” Franz asked.
Sunny raised her bag but avoided his eyes. “Joey and I went to the market for supplies.”
“So where is Joey?”
“He stayed behind after we left the market.” She lowered her voice. “He is confident he will return with more ether.”
Franz forced a chuckle. “He is our Chinese Simon.”
“We could use the real Simon. More than ever. Those black marketers . . . I worry for Joey.”
“Joey is shrewd. When it comes to the black market, he’s more worldly than either of us.” Franz laid a hand on her elbow. “Sunny, Colonel Kubota has returned.”
Her mouth fell open. “You saw him?”
Franz described his summons by Ghoya and the subsequent meeting with Kubota. “It’s more than just how aged he looks. His spirit is broken, too. He was very clear that he would not—that he could not—offer us any assistance. Even when it comes to Ghoya.”
“The colonel has done enough already, Franz.”
Franz closed his eyes and nodded. “When Ghoya’s men came for me, I was certain they knew about Charlie.”
Sunny laid her hand over his and squeezed. “Oh, Franz, I must tell you—Joey already recognized Charlie as the Boy General.”
The warmth of Sunny’s touch evaporated. “So easily?”
“From photographs in newspapers and magazines.”
“So it’s only a matter of time until others recognize him, too,” he grunted. “The wrong people.”
“What else can we do, Franz?”
“We can let him go home.” He prickled with shame even as the words left his lips. “After all, that is what he wants.”
“But Franz, you said . . .”
“What I said was correct. To send him out now . . .” He rubbed his temples and avoided her eyes. “But there is an entire community to consider.”
Chapter 14
A throng of students, ranging in age from seven to eighteen, lined up at the door of the Kadoorie School, anxious to escape the airless old building. Hannah didn’t mind the jostling. She barely even noticed how overheated she felt in her wool tunic. She’d hung on to it from her days at the Shanghai Jewish School, though her new school had no uniforms.
Freddy Herzberg had that effect on her. Hannah had not felt as excited in months. He had invited her to his home. She still couldn’t believe that a whole Hershey’s chocolate bar was waiting there for them. Hannah had not seen, let alone tasted, chocolate in over a year. Her mouth watered every time she thought of it, but just as importantly, it also meant that Freddy didn’t mind her meeting his parents. The small offer had revived her crush. Perhaps Leah Wasselmann won’t be Freddy’s girlfriend forever?
“Herzberg gratitude,” Freddy had labelled the promised chocolate during lunch break, as it was still called, though few students had the luxury of a regular noontime meal. “For the hero who put food back on our table.”
“It was nothing. Just a short walk.”
“Yeah, but smack through the heart of enemy territory!”
“You make it sound a lot more impressive than it was.” She brushed off his praise, through her chest fluttered with pride.
Hannah had told Freddy about her run-in with Ghoya but downplayed her panicked reaction. She could hardly believe that the hysterical little man had let her leave the ghetto after the grilling he gave her. Once she cleared the checkpoint, she had to walk over a mile to reach the address on Avenue Joffre that Freddy had made her memorize. He need not have bothered to give her directions, though; the building was a block away from the flat where she used to live with her aunt and father.
Along the way, she had passed numerous Japanese soldiers on the streets. The sight of them terrified her, but aside from a few curious glances and one vicious scowl, Hannah went otherwise unnoticed. A Russian man with a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks met her at the door to the apartment. He swayed at the threshold, reeking of alcohol, while trying to persuade her to join him inside for lunch. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he offered her something he called “plain shchi,” which as best she could tell was some kind of meaty soup. Hannah wriggled free of his grip, handed him the brooch and, explaining that she was late to meet a friend, hurried away.
Hannah returned home feeling exhilarated. She was not a helpless cripple after all. She wouldn’t mind doing it again, she told Freddy. He assured her that more missions awaited her. “There’s a lot more than just food money involved, too,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper that thrilled her. With her new-found sense of purpose, and Freddy’s attention, her months-long melancholy dissipated like a rising fog.
Hannah was so eager to head home with Freddy now that she didn’t notice her father among the crowd of students and parents—a few of whom wore the traditional black coats and hats of the Hasidim, despite the heat—until he called to her from the sidewalk.
“Papa, why have you come?” she asked as soon she reached him. “Is something the matter?”
“Who is your friend, Hannah-chen?”
Hannah flushed. Before she could say anything, Freddy thrust out his hand. “I am Freddy Herzberg. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Adler.”
Franz returned the boy’s handshake. “Will you excuse us, Freddy? I must take Hannah home.”
“Can it not wait an hour or two, Papa?” Hannah pleaded. “Freddy and I were going to his apartment to open the—” She caught herself. “We have homework to complete.”
“No, Hannah. This cannot wait.”
Though her father spoke quietly, Hannah could tell from his tone that something had upset him. Still, she persisted. “Please, Papa. I will be home very soon.”
Freddy held up his hand. “It’s all right, Hannah. We can do the homework tomorrow. I will not touch it until you are free.”
“But, but . . .” Hannah was dying to sink her teeth into a chocolate bar, but she was equally upset about missing the chance to accompany Freddy home. She doubted that either opportunity would wait for her.
“You will come home now, Hannah,” Franz said with cool finality.
Burning with embarrassment and disappointment, she did not even make eye contact with Freddy as she mumbled her goodbye.
Franz did not speak for several blocks as they headed along East Yuhang Road. Once they turned off onto quieter Ward Road, he stopped abruptly and placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. “Hannah, did you leave the ghetto without telling me?”
She felt ambushed. “I . . . well . . . I . . . I did, Papa.”
The pressure on her shoulder intensified as his fingers dug into her tunic. “Why?”
“I went to visit Natasha.”
Natasha Lazarev, who had lived with her family near the Adlers’ apartment, was the first friend Hannah had made upon landing in Shanghai. But in recent years, as their lives and interests diverged, they had seen less of each o
ther.
Her father’s eyes simmered, but his tone remained calm. “And you didn’t think to ask me before leaving?”
“You . . . you were at the hospital.”
“Which is not so far from home.”
She looked away. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“Not necessary?” His voice rose in volume and pitch. He glanced over either shoulder before gritting his teeth and continuing in a hushed, angry tone. “Not necessary to tell me that you planned to stroll out of this . . . this prison as though you were just off to the park? How could you be so foolish?”
She shifted from foot to foot. “I should have told you, Papa.”
He stared at her for a long painful moment. “There was a time, Liebchen, not so long ago, when we shared everything.”
His disappointment pierced her deeper than his harsh words. She was overcome by remorse along with a sudden urge to confess everything: her feelings for Freddy, the smuggled brooch, Ghoya’s outburst and the priceless chocolate bar. But for reasons that she didn’t fully understand, she lowered her head and said only, “Next time I will ask, Papa.”
Chapter 15
As always, Sunny felt strangely at home inside the brothel. She had visited Jia-Li intermittently at the Comfort Home since they were both teenagers. Most of the prostitutes welcomed Sunny like an old friend. The proprietor, Chih-Nii, had been playfully trying to recruit her for years. “Half Eastern, half Western, you would be a delicacy to both worlds,” the madam would say. “We could make a fortune together, my Eurasian buttercup.”
Ushi had escorted Sunny into the drawing room, then went in search of Jia-Li, leaving her alone on the chaise longue. Sunny studied the paintings that had belonged to the house’s original French owners, wondering again why the portraits still hung on the walls. Perhaps Chih-Nii thought they imbued the room with a sense of history or European flair? Sunny found them depressing. She was relieved not to have left any pictures of her family behind when she and Franz had been forced out her parents’ home. She cringed at the idea of someone using photographs of her parents to add character to her old home.
Jia-Li entered the room in a form-fitting, embroidered maroon cheongsam, slit up one side to the top of her thigh. Her bright lipstick was perfectly applied, and not a strand of hair was out of place, but to Sunny, Jia-Li was never quite as composed as she pretended to be at the Comfort Home. While Sunny was well aware of the circumstances that had forced her friend into this world, she never understood how someone as beautiful and intelligent could continue to sell her body. Or why, now that she had been free of the opium pipe for over a year, she still needed to. She thought about Jia-Li’s recent financial generosity toward the Adlers with another flush of guilt.
“I thought I was meeting you Thursday,” Jia-Li said as she kissed the air on either side of Sunny’s face.
Sunny took in the smells of cinnamon and jasmine. “I am sorry, ba˘o bèi, this could not wait.”
Jia-Li lowered herself into the chair beside Sunny, lighting a cigarette as she did. She brought her lips to the holder and inhaled languidly, then broke into a luminous smile. “I welcome any visit from you, regardless of the reason, xiăo hè.”
“You might not say that after you hear me out.”
“Let me guess,” Jia-Li said through a stream of smoke. “You want to speak to Simon.”
“Very much so. But that’s not why I have come.”
Jia-Li arched a painted eyebrow. Sunny glanced around suspiciously. “We are alone,” Jia-Li assured her. “You can speak freely.”
Sunny was tempted to tell Jia-Li about her meeting with Wen-Cheng. Sharing her secret would have been a huge relief, but somehow the subject felt too raw to broach inside the confines of a brothel. Instead, she said, “There is a patient at our hospital. A Chinese man with a nasty leg infection.” She paused. “From a gunshot.”
Jia-Li released an elegant ring of smoke. “I take it this man is wanted by the Rìběn guı˘zi?”
“He would be if the Japanese knew he was in the city. Very much so.” Sunny nodded. “We cannot keep him at the refugee hospital. He stands out like a sore thumb, as Simon would say. Besides, there is nowhere to hide him.”
“Shanghai used to be the easiest place in the world to lose yourself,” Jia-Li said wistfully. “But such hiding places have become another precious commodity, haven’t they?”
“Ba˘o bèi, I hoped that maybe . . .”
“How sick is he, Sunny?”
“He could lose his leg at any time. He might not even survive long enough to be moved anywhere.”
Jia-Li shook her head. “He would only fare worse here. It’s so musty downstairs.”
“At least he would be safe.”
“Safe?” Jia-Li gasped. “The Kempeitai have raided us twice more since the day Franz and Esther came with the baby. Chih-Nii is beside herself. She is refusing to take in anyone else. And she is desperately trying to get rid of the ones who are still here. There is talk of trying to sneak them out to the country.”
Sunny had not held out much hope that the Comfort Home could help Charlie, but she still felt a sting of disappointment.
“Look at you, xiăo hè.” Jia-Li leaned forward and stroked Sunny’s cheek with the back of her hand. “It breaks my heart to see you so sad.”
“There is nothing more to be done for this man. We cannot keep him. He will die, and we might die because of him.”
“There is always something.” Jia-Li laughed quietly. “Besides, there are no rules left in Shanghai. Only guidelines. I will speak with Chih-Nii. We will figure out a way.”
Sunny kissed the back of her friend’s hand. “Thank you.”
Jia-Li leaned back in her seat pensively. “This man? Is he part of the Underground?”
“No. He is a soldier.”
Jia-Li nodded. “Ah, a member of the Kuomintang? That will be tricky.”
“Not exactly the Kuomintang.”
Jia-Li sat up straighter. “If he’s not Kuomintang—”
“He fights for the Communist army, though he is not politically inclined himself.”
“The Communists!” Jia-Li sprang out of her chair. She looked around urgently, then murmured, “Your soldier would be in greater danger here than with the Rìběn guı˘zi.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I’ve never been more so. Chih-Nii works for the Green Gang. You know this, Sunny. For Du Yen Sheng.” She whispered the name of the overlord of Shanghai’s criminal world. “Du is a sworn enemy of the Communists. He gets along better with the Japanese. His men would skin this man alive.” She paused and squinted. “Unless . . .”
“What is it, Jia-Li?”
“No one were ever to find out that he is a Communist.”
Sunny remembered how Joey treated Charlie like a matinee idol. “I am afraid that’s not possible. Someone is bound to recognize him.”
“Why? Who is he?”
“Bao Chun.”
Jia-Li’s eyes grew wide. “The Boy General? That Bao Chun?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a national hero.”
“But he’s also a Communist.”
“Yes, yes. We could never keep him here.”
Despondent, Sunny rose from the couch. “I will have to look elsewhere.”
“If it’s of any help to you, I might be able to arrange to get the general out of Shanghai.”
“Perhaps. I will see.” Sunny smiled gratefully. “As if I haven’t already burdened you enough, could I visit Simon now, ba˘o bèi?”
* * *
Ushi insisted on taking Sunny down to the cellar himself. He led her into the wine cellar, then slid down the tight passageway like a crab and into the concealed room.
Simon threw his arms around Sunny, almost knocking her to the ground. “Oh, Sunny!” h
e cried as he righted her. “Next to a visit from Esther and my boy, it doesn’t get better than this. You ready to see a grown man bawl?”
Simon was clean-shaven and smelled fresh, but he had lost so much weight that his eyes were sunken and his Semitic nose more prominent than ever. “You look well, Simon. Thin but well.”
He shook his head. “And you look more gorgeous than ever. I’m not only saying that because I’ve been trapped down here forever with only men. Though God knows you do make a nice change of scenery.”
Sunny glanced around, but Ushi had already vacated the room, and no one else was in sight.
Simon motioned to another door. “The others are behind there. We’re not supposed to have visitors, but if we do, the rest stay out of sight.” He wiggled his fingers in a give-me gesture. “Please, Sunny, tell me about Esther and my boy.”
“They are well. Every morning Jakob seems to have grown more. And he smiles now. He’s so adorable, Simon.”
Beaming, Simon dug his fingers into his shirt pocket and extracted a weathered photograph. He studied it for a moment before reluctantly handing it over to her. Franz had taken the photo. In the black-and-white shot, a smiling Esther held a wide-eyed Jakob up to the camera with both hands. Sunny remembered that Franz, who usually preferred to photograph buildings, had used his last roll of film on the shoot. At the time, she had wondered why her husband had insisted on snapping so many photographs. Now she understood.
Sunny returned the photo to Simon. “Picture Jakob with your big smile and you’ll know what he looks like today.”
Simon’s grin faded. “I am sick of picturing it, Sunny. I want to be with them. To hold my baby. To just smell him. And I want to kiss my wife again.” He screwed up his face. “Is that so much to ask?”
It really wasn’t, but Sunny couldn’t muster the right words in reply. Instead, she only shook her head.
Simon studied the cement floor. “I have to get out of here.”
“Soon, perhaps.”
“Not soon. Today.”
“You’re not thinking with your head.”
