Rising Sun, Falling Shadow Part 15

"Ernst, you exaggerate," Franz said. "Only a teenage crush, surely. She is just a schoolgirl, after all."

"Love is love."

"What has she told you?"

"Nothing, really." Ernst tapped his temple. "You might not know it from my recent work, but I still have the eye. I am attuned to emotion. Besides, the girl positively glows at the mere mention of his name."

Franz bristled at the thought of his daughter having romantic feelings. He knew precious little of Freddy or his family. Besides, she was his little girl. Franz was not ready to accept any of it. "Precisely, you are an artist. p.r.o.ne to romanticism, fantasy and excess."

"Guilty on all counts." Ernst held up both hands in a mea culpa. "Still, I am not wrong about Hannah."

Eager to change the subject, Franz looked up and down the street to convince himself that no one was within earshot. "Have you visited Simon and Charlie recently?"

Ernst nodded. "This morning. I spent most of the time trying to talk Charlie out of sneaking out of the city."

Franz sighed. "Never mind his leg, with those weakened lungs of his . . ."

"Charlie wouldn't stand a chance on two legs, let alone one. But at heart, he is a soldier. It's all he knows, really."

"Will he stay, then?"

"This week, perhaps." Ernst inclined his head. "He will not stay indefinitely. Of that, I am certain."

"We must delay him as long as we can."

"Agreed." Ernst leaned in close enough for Franz to catch a whiff of his hair grease. He lowered his voice. "I went to that rally last night."

Franz frowned. "Ernst, you are still a fugitive."

Ernst flicked at his long hair and then stroked his beard. "The j.a.panese don't recognize me. And those philistines I sell art to as Gustav Klimper have never heard of Ernst Muhler or any real artist of my generation."

Franz was not convinced, but he was too intrigued to argue. "The rally?" he prompted.

"Von Puttkamer spoke. He is something, that baron."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, the usual n.a.z.i doublespeak and claptrap. More nonsense about how all the recent retreats and withdrawals are part of some brilliant strategy. As best as I can tell, Hitler and Goring plan to win the war by fighting backwards."

Franz laughed nervously but didn't comment.

"Still, von Puttkamer is very persuasive." Ernst lowered his voice to a hush. "He spent much of the time talking about you."

Franz felt his gut tightening. "The refugees?"

"All of the city's Jews. The Russians and Shanghailanders too."

"What did he say about us?"

"That you have no business being here."

"Some surprise," Franz snorted.

"Like a scratched recording, I realize. However, there was something different about it this time."

"Different in what way?"

Ernst dug a cigarette out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket and lit it. "He sounded almost . . . smug. As though . . ." He frowned, searching for the right words. "He kept talking about what he called the 'Jewish question.' It was as if he had some kind of plan."

More than fearful, Franz suddenly felt drained, as though he had not slept in days. Almost five years and ten thousand miles separated him from Vienna-and Kristallnacht-and yet here he was being dragged back into the snake pit of anti-Semitism. It would never end. "Did the baron mention any specifics?" he mumbled.

"None." Ernst shook his head. "Maybe it's nothing. I could be wrong. I hope I am. But on my way out, I overheard a group of young men talking about their visit to the ghetto and how it could not come soon enough."

Fighting off a shudder, Franz considered von Puttkamer's recent visits to their neighbourhood. He had long suspected that they represented some form of reconnaissance, but what could the n.a.z.is possibly have in mind? An old-fas.h.i.+oned pogrom? Like the way the Cossacks used to raid Jewish villages?

Ernst kept talking, but Franz was lost in his own thoughts. Before long, the artist stopped and stared at him expectantly. "Should I go, Franz?"

"Go where?"

"To meet von Puttkamer," Ernst said impatiently. "In person. He and my neighbour were school chums in Berlin. He says he will take me to dinner with the baron and his inner circle."

"You really think you can infiltrate that group?"

"Why not?"

Before Franz could list the many reasons that came to mind, the growl of an engine drew his attention. Moments later, a j.a.panese military vehicle pulled up to the curb beside them. As soon as it crunched to a stop, the driver climbed out and hurried over to open the rear pa.s.senger door. A young officer emerged, followed by Ghoya in his usual pinstriped suit. After Ghoya, Colonel Kubota emerged and struggled to pull himself upright in the street. He waved off the young officer's extended hand and eventually reached his feet without a.s.sistance.

Ghoya motioned to Franz and exclaimed, "Dr. Adler!"

Franz's stomach plummeted. His eyes involuntarily s.h.i.+fted to Ernst, who, despite a slight pallor, looked as calm as ever. Ernst had once practically ripped a painting off Kubota's wall to protest the atrocities the j.a.panese were visiting upon the Chinese, particular the family of his lover. Franz knew that Ernst's new hairdo and beard would never deceive the colonel.

Ghoya led Kubota over to them. The little man waved a hand at Ernst as though he were not even present. "This man. I do not recognize him, Dr. Adler. He is not a refugee?"

"No." Franz said, meeting Ghoya's gaze. "We are old friends from Vienna."

"Is he a Jew?"

Franz's heart beat in his throat. "No, as I said-"

"I have been called worse." Ernst chuckled as he extended a hand to Ghoya. "My name is Klimper. Gustav Klimper."

Looking surprised, Ghoya met the handshake. Ernst turned and offered a hand to Kubota. The colonel viewed him carefully, but his lined face gave away nothing. Finally, he transferred his cane to his unsteady left hand and reached out with his right. "I am Colonel Kubota." A small smile appeared on his face. "Your name, it sounds very similar to that famous Austrian artist."

"Gustav Klimt."

Kubota nodded. "Yes. I greatly admire Klimt's work. In fact, I have become somewhat partial to Austrian art in general." He paused. "Except, of course, those paintings that possess more political overtones. They do not interest me in the least."

CHAPTER 23.

Hannah pressed her lips to the soft folds of Jakob's belly and blew noisily. The infant squealed with delight and broke into a giggle that spread through the room. Even Franz chuckled as he knelt in front of the Chinese stove. Moments earlier, he had been mired in frustration as he struggled to ignite the damp charcoal briquettes.

"He adores you, Hannah," Sunny said from where she stood beside Esther at the countertop, picking maggots out of uncooked rice.

Hannah shrugged. "He would love anyone who blew on his tummy."

"He might laugh for anyone," Esther said. "But love? No, Sunny is correct. You are one of his favourites."

Jakob stared up at Hannah with liquid brown eyes and a wide grin. She warmed at the thought of being her little cousin's favourite. "Rabbi Hiltmann says that it's a bracha-a true blessing-to have a baby in our home."

"I agree with the rabbi." Sunny's eyes darted over to Franz, whose back was turned to the room as he wrestled with the uncooperative briquettes.

Hannah had seen that look on her stepmother's face before. She often gazed at Jakob with more than just affection; there was longing in her eyes, too. For months, Hannah had been expecting her father to announce that a baby sibling was on its way.

One day the week before, as she helped Sunny change Jakob's diaper, Hannah had asked her, "Do you and Papa not want a baby?"

Sunny smiled as she slid off the wet rag. "Who wouldn't want to have little Jakob?"

"No. A baby of your own."

Sunny's hand froze, the soaked diaper dangling from her hand. "It's not so simple, Hannah," she said quietly.

Hannah remembered one of her teachers at the old Jewish school telling her that, as much as she loved children, she and her husband were not capable of having their own. Hannah flushed with embarra.s.sment, a.s.suming that Sunny meant something similar. "I'm sorry. I did not . . . er . . . know that you could not . . ."

"No, Hannah, it's not that." Sunny smiled. "I believe your father and I could have babies. I-we-would love nothing more than to have a little playmate for Jakob. But it would mean another mouth to feed." She looked away. "I am not convinced that would be fair to anyone, especially the child."

"Fair? What does that have to do with anything? If you want a baby, we would all help. We would find a way. He could have some of my rice. I'm so sick of it anyway."

"Oh, Hannah." Sunny leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "You are so special, you know that? I hope you don't object, but I think of you as my child-well, hardly a child-but you understand."

"I would never object." Hannah wrapped her arms around Sunny in a tight hug. Her stomach fluttered guiltily when she remembered having led her father to believe that Sunny was somehow responsible for her low mood months back.

Hannah let go of Sunny. "Can I ask your advice?" She felt her face begin to warm again and looked down at Jakob, who shook his rattle contentedly.

Sunny bit her lip, stifling a grin. "Does it concern Freddy?"

Hannah nodded without looking up.

"He's a charmer, that one."

"Exactly. He is so charming to everyone. I cannot tell if . . . if Freddy views me any differently from the others."

"But surely you already know, Hannah. He spends so much time with you. He is always looking for you."

"That is only because I help his family."

Sunny's eyes narrowed. "You help his family? How so?"

"No. No!" Hannah waved her hand, desperate not to raise suspicion. She had not yet told anyone about her illicit courier activities. "I . . . I help Freddy with his homework. He is hopeless at mathematics. And sometimes I help Frau Herzberg around the home while I am there."

Sunny nodded impa.s.sively. "Listen, Hannah, no boy would spend so much time with a girl simply for help with mathematics. Or for any reason like that. Unless he felt something more for her."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so." Sunny grinned. "Look at you. You're so beautiful. What boy wouldn't want to be with you?"

"I am not like other girls. I'm only half-Jewish. And . . ." she held up her left hand.

"Oh, Hannah, I know what it means to be different, too. Look at me. I am neither white nor Chinese." Sunny winked. "But being a little different only makes you that much more special."

Jakob pulled Hannah out of the memory by pawing at her arm for attention. Hunching forward, she blew into his belly again and was rewarded with another eruption of giggles.

Sunny looked over to her husband. "Franz, I had to pa.s.s Astor House yesterday. I had not seen it in ages."

"Oh?" Franz said, still struggling to light the stove. "Why were you in that part of town?"

"I met Jia-Li for tea. She insists on going to the Bund, even though most of the restaurants and stores are closed." Sunny dug another maggot out from the rice. "The j.a.panese still govern the city from that lovely old hotel, do they not?"

"As far as I know, yes," Franz said.

"You have been inside the governor's office."

Franz craned his neck to look at her. "Only the once."

"There were still so many guards posted out front of Astor House." Sunny shook her head. "If I know the j.a.panese, General Nogomi must have a grand office. Is he in one of the penthouse suites?"

Franz shrugged. "He was last year. On the sixth floor."

"What was his office like?"

Franz flung his free hand up in the air. "I hardly noticed. We were only there to plead our case. You remember we had to beg Nogomi to stop the n.a.z.is-" Making eye contact with Hannah, he stopped short of finis.h.i.+ng the sentence. He would have preferred to s.h.i.+eld her from the truth, but at school she had already heard all the rumours about the n.a.z.is' plot to exterminate Shanghai's refugees.

"Still, I can only imagine that Nogomi's office must be quite something," Sunny persisted.

"The meeting didn't go as planned, remember? The general threw us out. And then I ended up in Bridge House."

Hannah remembered her father returning from Bridge House with his face bruised almost beyond recognition and a plaster cast covering one arm from fingers to elbow. She had pestered him for details, but all he would offer was a forced chuckle and jokes that the food was inedible and the mattress uncomfortable. Hannah knew from his eyes that he had endured h.e.l.l during his week of captivity, but she never heard him discuss it.

"With any luck, none of us will see the inside of the general's office again." Franz looked up at Sunny. "Why are you so interested in what it looks like?"

She exhaled softly. "As you say, Nogomi almost sealed our fate. Everything that happens in Shanghai, for all of us . . . it all rests with him and that office. I am curious to picture it in my head."

"Me too, Papa," Hannah said. Even Esther nodded her agreement.