by Alexa Kang
Clark flashed a glance at Zhou.
Zhou drew a deep breath. “We’ve lost prisoners before. The police guards make very little money. If you pay them enough, they’ve been known to reshuffle their routes and transfer people to different places. The problem is, Johann Hauser is a white foreigner. He’s too conspicuous. Other Chinese prisoners they lose can disappear and hide. Hauser, even if we can send him somewhere else, where would he go?”
“I can take care of that,” Clark said. “I think the German consulate would like nothing better than the return of one of their own.” He held up his pen in both hands and smiled.
“If that’s the case,” Zhou said, “I can find out who’s in charge of transporting him tomorrow. If the Germans would pay them twenty dollars each, I can let you know where and what time the Germans can pick him up.”
“Are you sure this will work?” Eden asked. Her heart was beating so fast. She’d never done anything against the law like this before. “Will the Chinese guards get into trouble?”
Zhou laughed. “Technically, yes. But who will the SMP go after? The Chinese prison guards would deny knowledge. The SMP won’t be able to do anything about it.”
Clasping her hands, she turned to Clark. His reassuring smile set her mind at ease.
On her way home, she said a silent prayer. By this time tomorrow, Johann Hauser would be returned to his people. She prayed she had done the right thing. He would never know the role she’d played in his release. But she hoped that, one day, should it be in his power to help someone Jewish escape certain death or extreme suffering, that he would remember that he, too, had once been freed by God’s grace. If what she did would preserve the last bit of compassion within him, then she would have no regret for what she’d done.
In his office, Clark laid out the terms to the German consul on the phone. Earlier, when Zhou and Eden were discussing their plans, Zhou had told him to arrange for the Germans to pay twenty dollars each to the police guards who would be turning over Johann Hauser. The price Clark had in mind was much bigger.
A delivery of machine guns and ammunition to General Zhang Zhi-zhong’s Ninth Army Group would be just about right.
The German consul thanked him and he hung up the phone. General Zhang would be pleased. Eden, too, could now have a peace of mind.
For himself, the arrangement to free the Nazi was only a secondary priority. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the business card of one Samuel Hurst, an American man about town who dabbled in multiple businesses. His source of income and actual occupation were never very clear despite being a longtime friend of many Shanghailanders of fame and stature.
Right now, he was about to become the name behind the China Press.
Soong Mei Ling, China’s first lady, was waging a one-woman publicity campaign to get the foreign countries onto her side. An American-owned foreign newspaper that would serve as her mouthpiece in Shanghai would only help, especially an established one like the China Press. The cost of acquiring the newspaper would be well worth the price.
He picked up the phone again, ready to place a call to Soong Mei-Ling’s brother, T.V. Soong, the former governor of the Central Bank of China and former minister of finance for the Nationalist government. If he could convince the Soongs of the value of the acquisition and to secretly front the money, Samuel Hurst could purchase the China Press and serve as its nominal sole shareholder.
If his plan worked, Eden could get her job back.
He hoped this would at least make up for some of what Eden had gone through. What he couldn’t help her with was how she’d been made an outcast in her own community. Word had gotten to him from Mauricio Perez, who’d heard it from Ava Simms, that Eden’s own friends had condemned her. Even her own parents disapproved of what she was trying to do.
Defying expectations was a tough thing to do. He of all people knew this well. Where did she find the strength to hold on to her own? He himself couldn’t do it.
Could he?
A loud knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. Clark put the receiver back on its cradle as Tang Wei walked in and closed the door. “I’m hearing a lot of rumors coming from Xian. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m worried.”
“What rumors?”
“You know Japan is proposing self-rule for Inner Mongolia. Everybody knows it’s a ploy. They want to set up another puppet regime like they did in Manchuria.”
“I know. It won’t happen. Chiang will never accept it. Stalin would not allow it.”
“Stalin, I can’t speak to. Chiang? What’s he going to do? Can he keep hold of Mongolia when he’s got his army fighting the Communists down south?” Tang took his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up. “Mongolia isn’t even the issue. The Party won’t admit it, but a Japanese attack will happen. It’s only a matter of when. Chiang’s taking too long to crush the Communists. I had hoped the fight with the Communists would be over by now, but it’s dragging us down. Not to mention Mao is getting stronger, not weaker out there in the west. His troops are loyal. Committed. He’s doing a good job rallying resentment against the Japanese and Chiang too. This will be a drawn-out struggle. Chiang can’t fight a war on two fronts. I’m not the only one who’s worried.”
“Do you want me to talk to the Americans?”
“For what? Ask them for aid again? All Roosevelt and his Congress do is talk. If they ever make up their minds, it’ll be too late.” He lowered his voice. “Chiang’s going to Xian next month. He’s going to demand Zhang Xue-Liang push through with his plan to wipe out the Communists.”
Zhang Xue-Liang was commander of the army in northern China and ruler of the northeast provinces. He had pledged his allegiance to Chiang.
“There are rumors Zhang might rebel.”
Entirely conceivable, Clark thought. Japan’s control of Manchuria and plans for expansion into Inner Mongolia would threaten Zhang’s region the most.
But if he did rebel, territorial control wouldn’t be his only motive. Zhang had shown himself to be a patriotic defender of China against Japan. Once, he had publicly executed two pro-Japan officials in front of an assembly of dinner guests to eliminate Japanese influence in his own command.
“People are getting restless,” Tang said. “They’re nervous about a Japanese attack. If Chiang won’t listen to them, they might throw their support behind someone who would.”
Clark grimaced. So much was at stake, and every alliance the Party had built was so fragile. “You think that could happen?”
“We’ll see how it all plays out.” Tang tossed his cigarette into the ashtray. “Whatever happens will be entirely out of our control. I’m telling you what I know so we can be ready. If any big changes happen, look out for yourself.” He got up and walked out of the room, leaving behind a still burning cigarette stub which noxious orange flame would not be put out.
At home in her room, Eden read through the classified ads of every newspaper published that week. Now that she’d ruined her career prospects as a reporter, it was time to find something else to do.
The story that made headlines this week was the mistaken transfer of the rape and murder suspect Johann Hauser back to the Germans. According to the Northern China Daily News, the Chinese police had somehow misinterpreted the SMP’s request and transported Hauser to the wrong prison. From there, it was unclear which person in charge at the wrong prison had contacted the German consulate to inquire about what they should do with the German prisoner. The Germans, it was claimed, took advantage of the error and swiftly retrieved Hauser and whisked him back to Berlin. The German consul promised there would be a trial by the German court to determine Hauser’s guilt.
Eden couldn’t help but smile. How many heads were rolling at the SMP?
Whatever the case, her parents were only too glad that she was no longer involved.
The phone rang. She could hear her mother picking up.
“Eden!” her mother shouted from the living roo
m. “The call’s for you.”
For her? Could it be Miriam?
She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Eden? This is Estella, Clark’s sister.”
Estella? “Yes?”
“I haven’t seen you in a long time. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Would you like to meet me for high tea at the Astor Hotel?”
What a pleasant surprise. Estella had never called her before. Did Clark put his sister up to this to cheer her up? A sweet rush of tenderness filled her heart. “Thank you for inviting me. I’d love to come.”
“Wonderful. Let’s meet at the hotel tomorrow at three. I’ll see you there.”
Eden hung up the phone. Her old friends were never going to forgive her. Perhaps it was time to make some new ones.
The Astor Hotel, an old establishment of Shanghai built in the mid-1800s, had once been the city’s premier gathering place. Known as the Waldorf-Astoria of the Orient, it had the honor of being many of China’s “firsts.” The first building in China to be lit by electricity, the host of China’s first Western circus, the place where China held its first prom and celebrated the birthday of the Empress Cixi.
The glory days of the Astor had passed with the construction of the Cathay Hotel owned by the renowned local businessman Victor Sassoon. Nonetheless, the Astor’s afternoon teas were still popular in the winter.
For Eden, this would be her first time to enjoy the Astor Hotel’s famous tea dance.
The uplifting melodies of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons welcomed the guests as Eden came up the grand staircase. The stairs led her into a classically designed dining room filled with enough white linen-covered tables to seat five hundred guests. The host, a foreign man in a black tuxedo, led her to a table by the window overlooking the Garden Bridge across the Whangpoo River. Estella had already arrived, together with another young lady.
“Eden!” Estella stood up and gave her a hug.
“Hello.” Eden returned her greeting, pleasantly surprised by Estella’s sudden warmth.
The dining room host pulled out her chair and she took her seat. The other young woman at the table, whom Eden had never met before, eyed her from the head down. Like many Chinese girls, she had a sweet, docile smile. Unlike other Chinese girls, her dainty lips masked a pair of razor-sharp eyes that rasped like the claws of a tigress.
Estella sat down and made the introductions. “This is Shen Yi. You can call her Betty. She’s Clark’s fiancée.”
Fiancée? Clark’s fiancée? Did she hear that right?
“Hi!” Betty tilted her head, in the cute way meant to show innocence. “You are Clark’s friend. Happy to meet you.”
“Yes.” Eden forced herself to smile. Her heart, inside, was twisting in pain. “I’m happy to meet you too.”
“Sorry. My English not very good.” Betty pouted.
“She’s been taking lessons.” Estella poured the rose tea into Eden’s cup. “She’s studying very hard to catch up with Clark. Clark’s become so Westernized after six years in America. Sometimes, he gets carried away. He forgets his place back home. He forgets how hard it is for Betty to keep up.”
Was Estella hinting at something? Eden couldn’t tell.
The waiter brought them their cream cakes and sandwiches.
“Oh, I love these!” Estella thanked the waiter. She served Betty a mini strawberry cake and Eden a mini lemon cake. For herself, she chose the slice of Napoleon. “It’s been difficult for them to be apart from each other for so long.”
Eden pushed the lemon cake with her fork. What a fool she had been. No wonder Clark always kept his distance. All this time, she’d been in her own fantasy, imagining something that was never there. Kind as he was, he never let on that he knew, saving her from ultimate embarrassment.
“Clark and I wrote letters when he was in America.” Betty took a bite of her cake. “I’m proud of him. My friends don’t have fiancés with American university degree.”
Eden forced another smile. “You should be proud. He’s a very good person. Smart, thoughtful, and generous.”
“My father and mother prepared my dowry,” Betty said proudly.
Dowry?
“They make me a worthy bride.” She nodded, for extra emphasis.
“My mother’s more eager for grandchildren than a dowry,” Estella said. “She’s like all Chinese mothers. She can’t wait for Clark and Betty to marry so she can have grandchildren. She has names chosen for them already. Now that Clark has settled into his job, I think they’ll pick a date very soon.”
“Congratulations.” Eden put a bite of lemon cake into her mouth. The lemon cream tasted unusually sour.
Betty picked up her cup of tea. “I want white Western-style wedding dress and the red Chinese qipao. Eden, you help me pick my Western wedding dress, okay?”
“I’ll try. I don’t know much about fashion.”
“Yes, you do.” Betty gave her a knowing look, like they were old friends. “You very pretty. You dress beautiful.” She cooed. “You know how to seduce men.”
Eden held her fork on her plate. She couldn’t tell if Betty had misunderstood the word “seduce,” or if she’d meant what she said. She thought she saw a hostile look flit across her face, but she couldn’t be sure. Did she imagine it?
“She’s right,” Estella said. “You are beautiful, Eden. There must be so many men here who want to court you. There are a lot of wonderful eligible bachelors in Shanghai. British, American, French, Italian, Swiss. You can have your pick.” She held up a finger. “I know! Next time the British consulate hosts a reception, I’ll invite you. British companies send many young single men to Shanghai on assignments. I’ll introduce you to all the good ones. Those boys have contracts to work here for three, four, or five years, but their companies only allow them to marry nice white girls. They can’t find many girls like you. They’ll be so pleased when they meet you. I bet they’ll all fall head over heels in love with you.”
Eden swallowed her tea, wanting to wash down the lump in her throat. Why did everything they say feel like a stab to her core? No. She was reading too much into things. This was an afternoon tea. Of course subjects like fiancés, weddings, potential suitors would come up. Her own shame for feeling attraction to another woman’s fiancé must be playing tricks on her.
“I’m very happy for you,” she said to Betty with all sincerity. To herself, she made a promise. She would not contact Clark anymore. He was engaged. However much she wished things could be different, her foolish fantasies had to end.
36
Shanghai Justice
Two weeks after her termination, Eden returned to the China Press headquarters to pick up her last paycheck. When she arrived, Dottie asked her to stay. “The editor-in-chief wants to speak to you.”
What did Zelik want? Eden wondered. Was he still receiving bomb threats? Did he want her to write an apology or a retraction to help him stave off critics who might endanger his staff?
She went into his office. At the desk, she found Charlie Keaton reviewing the galley proof of the next edition of the newspaper for print.
“Charlie?” She walked up to him. The nameplate on the desk had been replaced. It now read “Charlie Keaton.”
“Eden!” Charlie welcomed her. “Good to see you. Please, take a seat.”
“What happened? Where’s Mr. Zelik?”
Charlie tucked his chin. “He’s been let go. The China Press is under new ownership. The buyer’s an American. He wants the paper to turn a new page. He wants a younger leadership. It was a condition of the purchase.”
“You’re the new editor-in-chief?”
He stared up, looking a little sheepish. “Honestly, it came as a surprise to me too.”
Eden looked around the room. All the things that belonged to Zelik were gone. The photos of him playing golf with the old China Hands, the globe he used to display on the shelf, the Chinese porcelain vase from the Sung Dynasty he’d bought at an auction five years ago
. All gone. Only the faint scent of the tobacco he smoked with his pipe still lingered.
“Where’s Zelik now?” she asked.
“When I last talked to him, he said he was moving to Hong Kong. An old friend of his owns a news magazine there. He invited Zelik to join as a contributing editor.”
Contributing editor. Quite a step down. It must be hard for him after spending twenty years of his life here. He’d done so much for the Jewish community too.
She looked up and saw Charlie smiling at her.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I should say congratulations.”
“Thank you,” he said. “There’s another condition the new owner stipulated. He wants me to invite you back to work.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He said he was extremely impressed by your articles. Especially the ones about the Lillian Berman murder case. He wants you back on, if you’d agree, with double the salary.”
Eden gripped her purse “Charlie, I’m speechless.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” Eden stammered. “Of course. I’d love to. It’s just . . . I feel bad about Mr. Zelik.” She thought of all the times she and Zelik had met in this room. He was never easy on her, but he never stopped mentoring her. “He’s a good man.”
“I agree. But don’t feel bad. Change is a constant in this city. You always have to be ready for it.”
“What about the bomb threat? Are you worried it might invite danger if I come back?”
“No.” Charlie waved his hand. “Johann Hauser’s gone. This was yesterday’s news. People have already found other things to be upset about.”
A staff member pounded on the office door. “Charlie!”
Charlie made an annoyed face. “What?”
“We just got a call. Roland Vaughn shot himself in the head at his apartment last night. He left a suicide note. He confessed to killing and raping Lillian Berman. The SMP commissioner will be holding a press conference in two hours.”
