by Daniel Kalla
“Yes, yes, naturally,” Ernst said with little concern.
“And it is still a hospital. You cannot bother anyone else while you are working there.”
Ernst scoffed. “An artist who influences his setting is nothing more than a fraud.”
“Regardless, Ernst—I know you.”
The monkey started to hop up and down on Ernst’s shoulder. He hooted and cried, in obvious agitation. Ernst reached up to stroke the animal’s chest again. “It’s all right, Wilhelm. It’s just the planes. They come every day. Papa won’t let them harm you.”
Franz looked up. The skies were clear. A few more seconds passed before he became aware of the soft vibration under his feet. Then he faintly detected the distant rumble. “Come,” he said. “We’d better find shelter.”
“Shelter from what?” Ernst asked. “The heat?”
“The planes.”
“The planes?” Ernst laughed. “They come every day. What threat are they to us?”
“I promised Sunny,” Franz muttered.
“You go ahead and find shelter. Wilhelm and I are going to find a drink somewhere.”
“All right. I’ll see you later at the hospital,” said Franz.
The hum of the planes intensified. The volume suggested that they had to be flying lower than usual. Suddenly, a whistling noise pierced the roar. Franz glanced up and saw dark objects falling from the underbellies of several of the bombers. In moments, explosions boomed and violently shook the ground at his feet. A series of other denotations followed. Franz spotted fire and smoke only a few blocks away. “The ghetto, Ernst,” he cried. “They’re bombing the ghetto.”
Franz raced over and grabbed the stunned artist by the arm. Frantic, the monkey leapt onto Franz’s back and bit him on the shoulder. He shook the animal off without letting go of Ernst or slowing his pace.
They ran for the Ward Road shelter, a block over, the pavement beneath them undulating constantly from the aftershocks of the man-made earthquakes. Explosions seemed to be detonating everywhere at once. The taste and smell of smoke filled Franz’s mouth and nostrils. He kept checking over his shoulder in the direction of his apartment. He didn’t see any smoke rising from there, but he was still desperate with worry. “Please, God, please,” he mumbled under his breath.
By the time they reached the shelter, refugees and Chinese were streaming into the cramped space from every direction. Those inside cried in protest as more and more people squeezed themselves into the already full space. Franz didn’t even bother trying to get inside. Instead, he scanned the nearby buildings and chose the one with the sturdiest-looking entrance archway. A number of Chinese men and women stood clustered beneath it. Franz took a step toward it, but Ernst seemed stuck on the sidewalk, his expression dazed. “Kaiser Wilhelm,” he cried. “Wilhelm! Where are you?”
Franz flashed back to the sight of Helen dashing along the pathway at the field hospital as the planes chased her down. He roughly shoved Ernst toward the protection of the archway. “The monkey will be fine. We need to get under cover. Now.”
They tucked themselves into the corner of the entryway. The noise was deafening: the relentless roar of the bombers, the terrifying whistling of the falling munitions and the intermittent booms of explosions near and far. The nervous chatter in Chinese beside them never let up. Franz’s breath caught in his throat each time he heard the rumbling of a detonating bomb, followed, all too often, by the bone-chilling whoosh of a building collapsing. He couldn’t help but imagine his own flat imploding, his family trapped inside.
The bombers came in wave after wave, undeterred by the screaming air-raid sirens and the ineffective Japanese anti-aircraft fire. A few anemic squadrons of Zeroes zipped out to defend the attack but, as best Franz could tell, none even reached the bombers before being knocked out of the sky by the American fighter planes.
Franz was watching one such lopsided dogfight when Ernst tapped him on the shoulder. Eyes wide, the artist pointed in the direction of the Adlers’ apartment. Franz’s gaze followed. The moment he saw the plume of rising smoke, he jostled free of the people around him and sprinted for home.
CHAPTER 48
As usual, the rumble reminded Sunny of Father Diego’s warning. But for the past two months, the American planes had passed overhead almost daily without posing any threat to the ghetto and, gradually, Sunny’s sense of urgency about the aircraft had receded. However, as the low-pitched sounds grew louder, she dutifully changed Joey’s diaper and packed a bottle of water for him, conscious of how stifling hot it would be inside the shelter.
Esther and Jakob had gone off to visit Simon, but Hannah was still in the loft. How the girl coped in the furnace-like heat up there was a mystery to Sunny. “Hannah, the planes,” she called to her. “We have to go.”
“You and Joey go ahead,” Hannah replied. “I have to change. I’ll meet you there.”
“You will come soon?”
“In a few minutes. I promise.”
“All right. Don’t dawdle, please.”
Sunny lifted Joey off the floor. He offered her one of his placid smiles and reached for her face, gently exploring her cheek with his fingers, as he liked to do. She felt the familiar stirrings in her chest and kissed him on the forehead, wondering again how her world had ever existed without him in it.
Supporting Joey on her hip, she headed out the door. On the street, she had the odd sense of an approaching storm. Looking up, she noticed the dense formation of aircraft heading straight toward the city. She had never seen as many planes together or heard such a thundering. She assumed the Allies must have a major target in mind, and she silently wished them success in their mission.
As she made her way toward the shelter, she heard an unfamiliar whistling. Then she heard three booms somewhere behind her. The transmitter! she thought as the ground shifted beneath her feet and Joey cried out in surprise.
Sunny wheeled around and rushed back toward the flat, Joey in her arms. She burst through the door.
“Hannah, come! Now.” Hannah had already come down from the loft and was dashing, wide-eyed, toward her. Without another word, they raced out the door and down the block toward the shelter. Bombers and fighter planes filled the skies like a mass of hungry crows. Bombs were falling everywhere, the din deafening.
The shelter was already teeming with locals, but Sunny elbowed her way through a group of Chinese women and found a spot against the wall for the three of them. There must have been at least fifty people in the confined space, Sunny thought. It reeked of bodies and cooking oil, and the fear was palpable. Several children were whimpering; even a few adults were crying. One old Chinese woman was muttering hysterically over and over in Shanghainese, “Today we meet our ancestors.”
Sunny glanced over to Hannah who, despite being pale with fear, looked composed. “Where is Papa?” she asked.
“He was meeting Ernst at the hospital.”
“What if …”
“Don’t even think it, Hannah. He promised me he would seek shelter at the first sign of the planes,” Sunny said, trying to convince herself as well as her stepdaughter.
Hannah lapsed into silence. Sunny rocked Joey back and forth while humming a Chinese lullaby in his ear. After a few minutes, she heard a voice tentatively calling, “Hannah? Are you here, Hannah?”
Hannah straightened, almost bumping her head on the low roof of the shelter. “Herschel, is that you?”
Herschel squeezed into view between the others. “What are you doing here?” Hannah demanded.
His face reddened. “I was not far away when the bombing began and …”
“You decided to check on Hannah,” Sunny said.
“Yes … no … I didn’t know of any other shelters near me,” he stuttered.
Hannah squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “Thank you.”
The blasts intensified and the shelter shook with each new detonation. Sunny tucked Joey under one arm and cradled his head with the other. The woman
beside her began to wail in distress. A few others yelled at her to shut up.
Three ear-splitting booms rocked the shelter in rapid succession. The force of the blasts propelled Hannah into Sunny. More cries and sobs filled the shelter, silenced only by the thunderous whoosh that came next. Sunny realized that one of the nearby apartment buildings must have collapsed, but she could not tell which one.
“There’s a fire, Sunny!” Hannah said, her eyes filling with fear.
Smoke drifted into the shelter. Through the crack in the sandbags, Sunny saw flames.
“What if the shelter catches fire?” Hannah asked.
“It can’t,” Herschel reassured her before turning to Sunny for confirmation. “Can it?”
“No.” Sunny shook her head confidently without actually knowing the answer.
More explosions shook the ground but, from the diminished volume of the blasts, Sunny could tell that the bombing had moved a few blocks away. The smoke, however, continued to thicken. The air tasted acrid. Sunny fanned the fumes away from Joey’s face, concerned he could asphyxiate inside the poorly vented shelter. People began to cough. Several climbed out of the shelter. Sunny decided that she needed to get Joey into the open air too, despite the risk. “Stay here,” she instructed Hannah and Herschel. As she shouldered her way toward the steps, she heard Franz’s frantic voice. “Sunny? Hannah? Are you down there?”
“Yes, here, Franz,” Sunny cried, overcome with relief.
Franz jumped down into the pit. He swallowed Sunny and Joey in a tight embrace. “Where’s Hannah?” he demanded.
“Here too. With Herschel. He came to find her.”
“Oh, thank God. Thank God.” Franz closed his eyes and looked up. “And Esther and Jakob?”
“They went over to see Simon earlier.”
“Oh, thank God,” he repeated.
“What is it, Franz?”
“Our apartment—it’s gone.”
***
The smoke cleared, but they were forced to huddle underground for another taut half hour before the explosions finally petered out and it was safe to leave the shelter.
Sunny’s legs felt rubbery as she stared at the pile of rubble where, an hour before, her home had been. The sight was surreal. The buildings on either side of theirs stood undamaged, but their apartment must have taken a direct hit. Sunny thought, with sudden concern, of the quiet old Chinese couple who lived in the flat next door. She gagged at the thought of how close she and Hannah had come to being crushed under their own roof.
Franz draped an arm over her shoulder. “Unlike families, new apartments are not difficult to find.”
Sunny swallowed. “I suppose, yes.”
Franz pointed up the street. One dazed man stumbled along, clutching his lacerated head as blood dripped between his fingers. Another was tying his shirt around his own thigh in an effort to stop the bleeding below. “The victims,” he said. “They will need us at the hospital.”
“If there still is a hospital.”
“We must go find out.”
“And if the bombers come back?”
Franz glanced up at the sky. It was clear of everything besides a few puffs of cloud. “What could be left for them to bomb?”
Sunny nodded. “All right. But first let’s check on Essie and Simon.”
“Yes, good idea.”
Hannah went off with Herschel to find his grandparents, promising to meet Franz and Sunny at the hospital in an hour—sooner if the bombers returned.
Franz carried Joey in his arms. As they walked the half mile to Herr Lessner’s flat, Sunny was surprised to see how random the bomb damage was. One block was entirely spared. On another, every building on one side of the street had partially or fully collapsed. People wandered up and down what was left of the sidewalk, calling out for loved ones. Others lay on the pavement. Some writhed and moaned from the pain of new injuries. Several were still and lifeless. Sunny hated the sense of helplessness, her inability to offer any measure of comfort to the victims. What good were all her training and experience when she couldn’t assist in the time of greatest need?
Her nerves were raw as they reached the block where Simon was staying. The street had been hit hard, the building on the corner partially collapsed. Still holding Joey, Franz ran ahead. He stopped halfway down the street, his shoulders slumped and his chin falling to his chest.
Sunny raced to catch up to him. She gasped when she caught sight of the Lessners’ building. Only half of it was standing, and the roof on the far side had caved in.
Franz handed Joey over to her and headed for the building. “Where are you going, Franz?” Sunny demanded.
“I have to go find Simon.”
“It’s not safe,” she cried. “The rest of the roof could collapse at any moment.”
“I must, darling.”
Sunny heard a cry and recognized Esther’s voice. She looked over her shoulder and saw her sister-in-law on the other side of the street. Clutching Jakob’s hand, Esther dodged across the roadway, waving frantically and calling out in German for help.
“Essie!” Sunny shouted to her.
Spotting Sunny and Franz, Esther rushed toward them. “Simon is inside,” she cried. “We must get him out!”
Franz nodded hopelessly. “I will go see, Essie.”
“I will too,” Sunny said.
“No,” Franz said.
But Sunny didn’t even respond. Instead, she passed Joey to Esther, who took him in her arms without looking down. “I begged him not to go back inside,” Esther mumbled, sounding stunned. “He insisted. He said he had to help Herr Lessner. Then the roof just …”
Sunny and Franz warily approached the entrance to the building. They listened intently, as much for the sound of the walls or the roof creaking as for signs of life.
“Simon?” Franz called. “Are you in there?”
Nothing.
“Simon? Can you hear me? Say something!”
After a moment, Sunny heard a muffled voice. She listened carefully and made out the words “I can’t move.”
“I’m coming, Simon,” Franz called. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he added, “Wait here, Sunny,” then disappeared inside the building.
She was tempted to follow him, but she restrained herself for a tense minute or two until Franz called to her. “All right, I think it’s safe.”
Sunny stepped into the Lessners’ flat. The floor was strewn with broken dishes, overturned furniture and fallen pictures. Franz was next to a wall that had partially given way. “Where are you, Simon?” he called.
“Here,” Simon’s voice was louder and came from the next room. “I can’t move.”
Franz turned sideways and manoeuvered through a small opening in the damaged wall. “I’m coming, Simon.”
Sunny took a deep breath and followed her husband through the gap. On the other side, the ceiling had partially collapsed and she had to crouch to her knees. Heart pounding in her throat, Sunny felt claustrophobic, as if she had just crawled into a narrow cave. She navigated around chunks of roof and wall before she spotted Simon. He was lying on his back, his arms and chest free but covered from the waist down by a heavy oak chest of drawers.
Franz crawled over to him. His fingers darted to Simon’s neck, feeling for the pulse.
“I’m still alive, Franz.” Simon sputtered a laugh. “I just can’t move my legs.”
“Are you in much pain?” Franz asked.
“No. None.”
Franz nodded gravely. “We will get this off you.”
Franz pushed hard at the dresser, struggling to move it. Sunny crawled up beside him and shoved too. The dresser hardly budged. She was shocked by its weight. Finally, with both of them grunting and heaving, they were able to shift it aside. It fell free of Simon’s legs with a loud clunk.
Sunny winced as she glimpsed Simon’s right ankle, grotesquely twisted and obviously broken. “Simon, your foot,” she whispered.
Simon grabbed her b
y the wrist. “It doesn’t hurt at all, Sunny,” he said, his voice fearful. Her stomach sank even before he added the words “I can’t feel my legs.”
CHAPTER 49
Although the refugee hospital had been spared from the bombs, nothing Franz had seen in his time at the front prepared him for the pandemonium that greeted them there. People were lined up out on the street, refugees and locals jostling for space and yelling for attention.
“My arm is broken,” one man cried.
“My grandmother has terrible pain in her chest,” shouted another.
Some of the wounded were too weak to stand and had to kneel or lie beside their relatives.
Franz tried to elbow his way through the crowd, but a few men angrily blocked his path. “I am a doctor here,” he shouted over the din. “I need to pass now.”
One of the two young Chinese men who had agreed to help carry Simon in—after Esther offered them her mother’s watch—translated his words into Chinese. Finally, the reluctant crowd parted so that they could all snake their way into the hospital, carrying Simon on the blown-out door that passed for a stretcher.
The scene inside was even more chaotic. Injured people were everywhere, filling every stretcher and covering almost all of the floor space. Berta and the other nurses were a blur of activity, darting from patient to patient, slapping on dressings and administering shots of painkiller. Two older doctors—one of them the psychiatrist, Dr. Freiberg—looked lost as they tended to wounds that neither had likely seen since their days in medical school.
“Berta,” Franz called to the head nurse, “we need to find a space for this man. Urgently.”
Berta turned to Franz with an incredulous expression, as though he had just asked her to find him the Holy Grail. She raised her shoulders and shook her head helplessly.
“Please, please, you must,” Esther begged. She was ghostly pale as she stood beside her husband’s stretcher, gripping his hand fiercely.
