Rising Sun, Falling Shadow (18 page)

Franz took another sip of his coffee, but he had been nursing the cup for half an hour and it had gone cold and tasteless. The café's proprietor, Herr Steinmann, shot him another impatient look. The restaurant wasn't crowded, but Franz had been tying up the most desirable table, in the corner by the window, for too long.

Franz far preferred the richer and more bitter coffee that Frau Schilling brewed at her bakery two blocks over. Besides, he couldn't really afford the beverage, in spite of assistance from Jia-Li and Ernst. It sickened Franz to have to depend on the charity of friends. And even with their help, the Adlers might have gone hungry the week before had Esther not sold the last of her mother's brooches.

Franz glanced over at the table beside his, where a couple sat with three young boys, who appeared to range from about four to eight years old. The father was using an old army knife to cut a piece of apple strudel into slices, while the boys watched him, practically vibrating with anticipation. As soon as the delicate operation was complete, the children snatched their slivers in delight. Franz noticed that neither parent reached for the pastry.

Franz heard the café door open and looked over to see Sunny step inside. Their eyes locked across the room. Heartsick, he thought again of what Liese had told him about seeing Sunny with Wen-Cheng. Hard as he tried, he could not shake the mental image of them lying naked together in a rundown rooming house near the Old City.

Franz had yet to find the right moment to confront Sunny with what Liese had told him. Even if he could have put aside the current crises with Charlie, Simon and Yang, he still wasn't convinced that he wanted to discuss it. Where could he possibly begin? As Sunny hurried over to him, her hips swinging ever so slightly with each step, his pulse quickened. He could not imagine losing her.

Sunny had barely settled into the seat across from him when Herr Steinmann appeared at the table, hands on his waist. “Perhaps the lady would like something to eat or drink?” he asked pointedly.

“A cup of tea,” Franz answered for her. “And I will have another coffee.”

Steinmann shook his head. “And what food might I interest you in?”

Sunny gave him her most disarming smile. “Only the drinks, thank you.”

Steinmann snatched up Franz's cup and saucer and marched off. As soon as he was gone, Sunny leaned over the table until her and Franz's lips almost touched. “Everyone is ready,” she whispered.

“The soldiers are still outside?” he asked in a tone as low as hers.

She nodded toward the window. “Everywhere.”

“Scheisse,” he muttered as he saw a pair of infantrymen troop past the window with rifles slung over their shoulders.

“It can't be helped, Franz.” Sunny motioned discreetly out the window to the intersection, where Joey, barely recognizable in the rags of a coolie, stood holding up a rickshaw. “When Jia-Li comes to the doorway, I will check the street and signal when it is clear. Then she will hail Joey.”

“Anyone might stop them along the way. If one of the soldiers were to recognize Charlie . . .”

“Why would they stop them? They will be just another Chinese couple riding in a rickshaw.”

“Who can afford a rickshaw ride these days?”

Sunny squeezed the back of his hand. “There are still people in Shanghai with means.”

Franz's chest ached at her touch, but he didn't withdraw his hand. “Not in the ghetto,” he said.

“Charlie and Jia-Li won't be in the ghetto for long.”

Herr Steinmann came back and lowered a cup in front of each of them with exaggerated care. Franz didn't touch his coffee, but he found the aroma soothing. At an unaccustomed loss for words with Sunny, he stared out the window at the doorway of the building where Charlie and Simon had apparently spent the night hiding in another refugee family's flat.

Sunny sipped her tea. “Franz, what do you think von Puttkamer is planning?”

Franz shook his head. “What are Nazis always up to? Something terrible for us.”

“Do you really believe they would attack the ghetto?”

“Without question.”

“Right under the nose of the Japanese?”

“I doubt anything would deter them. Their hatred is not rational. It knows no bounds.”

“Yes, but how can they just invade the ghetto when their own allies have already claimed it?”

“Perhaps they will raid after dark?” He lifted his cup and whispered into it. “Or maybe they intend to plant booby traps?”

“If Ernst can find out the details, then surely we will be able to stop them.”

“Can anyone stop them?” Weariness descended over Franz, exhaustion as intense as any he had ever known. The continual threats to his community's existence seemed to coalesce into one giant storm cloud. “How long can one continue to bail water from a ship that is already submerged?”

“For as long as it takes, Franz. You are—” She suddenly turned to the window.

Franz followed her gaze to the building's entryway, where Jia-Li stood calmly in a black cheongsam, which was uncharacteristically conservative for her with its low hem and high collar. Sunny rose and slipped over to the door of the café. Moments later, Franz saw her rush past the window. Craning his neck to take in as much of the street as he could, he spotted a pair of soldiers—not the ones who had passed earlier—patrolling the intersection at the far end of the street. Sunny must have given Jia-Li the all-clear signal because she waved her arm to hail the rickshaw.

As planned, Joey trotted up to the door. Moments later, Charlie appeared at the entrance, propped up on his crutches, wearing a suit and fedora.

As Charlie and Jia-Li were climbing into the carriage of the rickshaw, Sunny re-entered the café and slid back into her seat.

Franz studied the soldiers at the far end of the block, but they seemed to take no notice of the departing rickshaw. He held his breath as Joey jogged by the café, pulling Jia-Li and Charlie behind him. All three were staring dead ahead.

Sunny reached for Franz's hand again. “As long as no one stops them at the checkpoint.”

“Even if they get so lucky, what about Simon?” he asked. “How will we get him out past the checkpoint? The soldiers will assume he is a refugee. They would definitely stop him.”

“Not if he's inside a night soil man's barrel.”

His stomach turned, but they had yet to come up with a better plan for getting Simon past the guards. As they finished their drinks, Sunny gently caressed Franz's knuckles. He stared down at the table and kept his hand still.

“Franz?” Her voice cracked.

He looked up to see that her eyes had misted over. “Yes?”

Her hand froze on his. “I have something to tell you.”

Franz tensed, bracing himself.

“Not here,” she said. “Let's walk.”

With the dread of a man on his way to the gallows, Franz rose to his feet. He dropped a few coins on the table and followed Sunny to the door.

They walked two blocks in silence before Sunny stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face him. She glanced in either direction and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Last spring, I . . . I contacted the Underground.”

The street swam around Franz. “The Underground? What are you talking about, Sunny?”

“I approached Wen-Cheng. I knew he was working with the Resistance.” She swallowed hard but maintained her husband's gaze. “He didn't want to involve me, but I insisted.”

Franz was speechless. Suddenly everything made sense.

Her face trembled. “The worst part has been hiding it from you all these months. All the secrecy. I am so sorry, Franz.”

“So that was why you were in the Old City with Wen-Cheng?”

Her head jerked up in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

“Liese saw you.”

“And you didn't say anything?” she asked incredulously. “Why not, for God's sake?”

Franz only stared back at her.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh, Franz, no! I would never . . .”

“I didn't know what to think.”

Sunny stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. She scattered kisses along his neck and cheeks. When her lips found his, he kissed her back, tasting the salt of her tears.

Despite his overwhelming relief, a different form of uneasiness took hold of Franz as they held each other on the street. He realized it might have been better for everyone had his wife's secret been as simple as a romantic dalliance. He broke free of her embrace. “Sunny, if you were to be caught . . .”

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I was so angry with them for what they did to Irma and those boys. For what happened to Father. And I was ashamed with how little I had done. It seems so foolish and rash now, but I only wanted to contribute—to make some little difference—and instead I may have ruined everything.”

Franz grasped her upper arms. “What exactly have you done, Sunny?”

“Not so much.” She composed herself and wiped her eyes dry. “All they have asked me to do so far is gather information.”

Franz suddenly understood. “General Nogomi's office! That is why you were so interested, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she admitted, ashamed.

“This cannot continue, Sunny. You must cut your ties with them.”

“I want to, believe me, but Wen-Cheng says . . .” Her voice cracked again. “I am not sure they will let me.”

“They have to! I will tell Wen-Cheng.”

Sunny looked down at her feet. “It's not only General Nogomi's office they are interested in.”

“Who else's?”

“They want me to get inside Colonel Kubota's office.”

The hairs on Franz's neck stood up. “Are they planning to harm the colonel as well?”

“I . . . I suspect so, yes.”

“This is insanity, Sunny. He is the only ally we Jews have ever had here.”

“I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen.”

“Who?”

“My contact . . . He is the only one I ever met besides Wen-Cheng.” She paused. “He's an old man, infirm—pitiable, really. But there is more to him than meets the eye. There is anger, and something else . . .”

“What else, Sunny?”

“There's something . . .” She shut her eyes. “Very dangerous about him.”

 

Hannah couldn't control her trembling. She had already started toward the checkpoint twice but had turned back each time. She was sweating underneath her bulky coat. The corners of the cigarette cartons dug through her shirt and into her sides, as though she were buried up to her neck in a trash can.

Hannah couldn't help but think again of Freddy and Leah, whom she had stumbled upon at the noon break behind the schoolhouse. They stood, sharing a cigarette, in the same spot where days before Freddy had kissed Hannah. He was his usual unflappable self, but Leah looked as guilty as a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Your imagination is playing tricks! But it was futile. There was no mistaking the intimacy between them. Why would Freddy ever choose me over Leah? She is so beautiful, and I am just a cripple.

Hannah suddenly spun around and vomited against the wall of the nearest building. An old Chinese couple stopped to stare at her. Evading their eyes, she wiped her mouth and hurried down the street. The money will help my family, Hannah told herself.

But it had never been about money. Besides, Esther had been so suspicious the last time. Hannah remembered her aunt's expression of disbelief as she stared at the five-dollar bill without reaching for it. “Where did you get so much money, Hannah-chen?”

“I told you, Tante. A friend from school felt sorry for me—for us.”

“For us?” Esther said evenly. “We are among the fortunate.”

Hannah nodded to Jakob, who was happily tugging at the buttons on Esther's sleeve. “With the baby and all.”

Esther frowned. “Which friend?”

“She asked me not to say.”

Esther nodded knowingly. “She did, did she?”

“Please, Tante Essie,” Hannah said. “I knew Papa would ask so many questions. That's why I came to you. Besides, what does it matter where the money came from? We can put it to such good use.”

The darkness drained from Esther's eyes, and her lips curved into one of her wise smiles. She reached out and stroked Hannah's cheek. “Oh, Hannah, you must understand. It always matters where the money comes from.”

In the end, Esther accepted the money, but Hannah knew she could not go back to her aunt with more unexplained cash. Her father would surely find out, and his disappointment would be the least of her worries if she were caught by the guards. It was such a great gamble. This is the last time!

Hannah stood up straight and combed her fingers through her hair. She took a deep breath and headed toward the Muirhead Road checkpoint. As she approached the intersection, she saw the pao-chia guard on duty across the street. She recognized his lanky frame and sharp features. It was Herr Einhorn, a senior member of congregation at the Ohel Moishe Synagogue. Hannah had often seen him parading self-importantly around the refugees' temple. With his hawkish face and suspicious eyes, Einhorn was one of her least favourite guards.

She considered backtracking to enter the ghetto at the far end, via the Wayside Road checkpoint. However, the Japanese soldiers who had been at the post when she had exited the ghetto were nowhere in sight now, and it seemed better to take advantage of their absence. Nauseous with anxiety, she lowered her chin and crossed the road to the checkpoint.

Hannah waited at the curb while Einhorn scrutinized the exit pass of the man in line ahead of her. After several questions, which seemed to her more detailed than the usual cursory screen, Einhorn finally waved the man through.

Suddenly racked with doubt, Hannah began to back away from the checkpoint, but Einhorn beckoned her forward. “Come ahead, Fräulein.” He chuckled. “I won't bite.”

Hannah bundled her coat tighter around her and took two hesitant steps toward him.

“I know you.” Einhorn smiled coolly. “The surgeon, Adler. You are his daughter.”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “You were here last week as well, were you not?”

Fear welled in the pit of her stomach. “I have a Russian friend who lives in Frenchtown,” she explained, trying to stay calm.

Einhorn wrinkled his nose. “Neither the French nor the Russians have been great friends to the Jews.”

Hannah looked down. “I lost track of the time, sir. I am late to return. I was supposed to help my stepmother prepare dinner.”

“Yes,” he said. “Your father married that local Oriental woman, did he not?”

“She is Eurasian, sir. Her mother was American.” Hannah was baffled as to why she was explaining Sunny's background to this nosy man.

“War changes things.” Einhorn shook his head disapprovingly. “And people, too.”

Hannah had no idea how to reply to this, so she stared at the ground, praying that he would lose interest in her.

“Well, Fräulein, you had best hurry home. I am sure your stepmother will not be pleased by your tardiness.” He laughed to himself. “Not that the Chinese tend to be punctual themselves.”

Hannah could have cried with relief. Forcing herself not to run, she kept her eyes glued to the sidewalk as she hurried forward in a fast walk. As she passed close enough to smell his hair oil, Einhorn remarked, “You are wearing a very heavy coat for this time of year.”

Hannah froze.

“Would you mind just opening up the front of it for me?” he asked.

Dread enveloped Hannah. She considered bolting but realized that it would only make matters worse. Not trusting her feet to cooperate, she turned slowly toward him. “I have a slight cold, sir.” She repeated the words she had been rehearsing much of the way back from Frenchtown. “My father—the doctor—suggested that I remain bundled up.”

“Sound advice, yes.” Einhorn nodded. “But I'm afraid Mr. Ghoya has given me very clear instructions.”

“I have nothing to hide.” Hannah coughed into her hand. “But there are many buttons, sir. It is cumbersome to—”

Einhorn looked at her sternly. “Please open your coat, young lady.”

Her belly suddenly tensed and she vomited, splashing the front of her coat.

Einhorn jumped back. “What is wrong, Fräulein?”

Hannah's legs buckled. She felt as though she were watching from outside her body as she swooned, then fell to the ground. She landed hard on her buttocks and then toppled backwards.

The sky spun, then Einhorn's face filled her field of vision. Her nostrils filled with the scent of his pipe tobacco. “Are you all right, girl?” he asked.

Mouth dry, she nodded weakly into her collar, which had bunched up around her neck. Einhorn reached out to clear it from her face. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his hands froze on the garment. “What is under this?” he demanded.

She stared at him. “Cigarettes,” she finally croaked.

“Smuggling?” he gasped. “This is not good, Fräulein. Not good at all.”

“Please, sir. This is the last time. I swear it.”

“I have to report this,” Einhorn said. “You have left me no choice.”

Hannah reached up and grasped his bony wrist. “If my father . . .”

A sympathetic look crossed Einhorn's face, and he glanced around them. “Do you realize how much trouble I could be in if I do not report this?”

“Please,” she moaned.

He hesitated, then, with a heavy sigh, began to arrange her coat collar around her neck. “Get up,” he snapped in a low voice. “Do not breathe a word of this to anybody. And never ever attempt such foolishness again. Ever!”

“Never, I swear to God,” she said as she struggled up to a sitting position, still feeling woozy. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

As she climbed unsteadily to her feet, she heard the sound of boots slapping heavily against the pavement nearby.