Rising Sun, Falling Shadow Part 31

She jerked her head from his shoulder. "Our advantage? How is that possible?"

"What they did to those men from the Underground-that was beyond barbaric." He squinted in disgust. "But surely it no longer matters whether or not the old man thought you were a collaborator. No one will be coming for you now."

"No, I suppose not," she said. "The old man, maybe he didn't tell the Kempeitai about me after all."

Franz looked at his wife. Sunny's eyes danced with both affection and desire. He couldn't remember her ever looking more beautiful. Slowly, almost teasingly, she lowered her lips to his. They shared a long kiss, and she gently ran her fingernails across his neck and shoulders. He resisted the urge to slide her dress up over her hips and instead, reluctantly, pulled his face away from hers. "Esther and Hannah could return at any moment," he said.

"We live in dangerous times, Dr. Adler," she said throatily.

The others had gone to the shop for rice and hot water. Hannah loved carrying Jakob through the streets. It reminded Franz of how she used to insist on lugging her beloved rag doll, Schweizer Fraulein, with her everywhere when she was younger. For his part, while Jakob adored his cousin, he had begun to resist being held. He had started crawling a few weeks before and was far more interested in exploring the ground for himself.

Just as Sunny leaned in for another kiss, the door shook with three heavy knocks. She went rigid in his arms. Another softer series of raps followed. "Franz, it's me," Ernst's voice could be heard through the door.

Sunny's body relaxed. Franz rose to his feet and hurried over to the door.

After a quick handshake, the artist marched over to Sunny and kissed her on both cheeks. "You just grow more gorgeous by the day."

Sunny waved away his mock flirtation. "Is everything all right, Ernst?"

A cigarette and a lighter materialized in his hands. "Well, I am still trapped in that twisted little neighbourhood-Wiesbaden on the Whangpoo, I call it-but I have few complaints otherwise."

"And Simon?"

"Ah, that reminds me." Ernst dug in his back pocket and fished out a crumpled envelope. "For Essie, of course."

"How is he managing?" Sunny asked.

Ernst heaved a sigh. "I am not certain how much longer I will be able to retain my house guest. Hard to blame him, though. He's desperate to be with his family."

Franz folded his arms. "Even if that means endangering us all?"

Ernst lit his cigarette. "In my experience, seldom do common sense and emotion correlate."

"Yes, I have noticed the same," Franz conceded.

"Simon simply has to wait," Sunny declared. "Never has the time been worse for reckless behaviour. I will speak to him."

"Best of luck with it." Ernst whistled out a stream of smoke. "You are right about the atmosphere, though. On my way over here, on Broadway, I saw something . . . ghastly."

Sunny looked down at her feet. "Those men hanging from the beam?"

"You saw them, too?"

"They were from the Underground," she murmured. "I knew one of them."

"It's a hazardous business, this subversion." Ernst's eyes narrowed as he looked quickly from Sunny to Franz. "Unfortunately, the j.a.panese are not the only ones in Shanghai in a vengeful mood."

"What are the n.a.z.is up to now?" Franz asked.

Ernst whistled. "Von Puttkamer's plans are heating up."

"He told you so?"

"No, he wouldn't include me in those kinds of discussions. But there has been more activity. More meetings."

"How do you know it concerns the Jews?" Sunny asked.

"You remember Gerhard?" Ernst said, lowering his voice. "That young man in the baron's entourage?"

Franz had only a vague recollection of the young man who had accompanied von Puttkamer on his tour of the ghetto. What he remembered most clearly was the boy's unflinching scowl. "What about him?"

"Gerhard has taken a bit of a s.h.i.+ne to me." Ernst rolled his eyes. "Not in that way, of course. Apparently, I remind the lad of his uncle or some other unG.o.dly relative who is under the impression that he can paint. Regardless, Gerhard has taken to confiding in me of late."

Franz took a step closer. "What has he told you?"

"Believe it or not," Ernst said with a chuckle, "Gerhard is suffering a crisis of conscience."

"Why?"

"Gerhard doesn't care what happens to the adult Jews-'it's a better world without them,' as he so charmingly puts it-but he is troubled by the idea of harming children."

"Scheisse!" Franz groaned. "What are they planning?"

"A bomb."

Franz felt as though his innards had turned to stone. "They're planning to bomb the ghetto?"

"Where? How?" Sunny's voice cracked.

"Even Gerhard doesn't know. Von Puttkamer has not shared the target with anyone, it seems like." Ernst viewed them with a helpless shrug. "All I know is that the baron has promised something . . . spectacular."

"'Spectacular.'" The word lodged in Franz's throat.

Sunny rubbed her temples. "Do you have any idea when they will do this . . . this terrible thing, Ernst?"

"Soon," Ernst said. "Gerhard doesn't know the precise date, but von Puttkamer is intent on carrying out the attack before the New Year."

"But that's less than two weeks," Franz said.

Sunny reached out and clutched his elbow, squeezing tight. "We cannot just wait. We must do something."

"Do what?" Franz cried. "Tell Ghoya? The Kempeitai? No. Colonel Kubota is the only one who would have listened to us."

Sunny turned back to Ernst. "You must get more details from Gerhard."

"And if he doesn't know any more?"

Sunny looked over to Franz, her expression businesslike. "We have to mobilize the ghetto. Post our own watches outside public buildings."

"Organize the young men. A good idea, yes," Franz mumbled, snapping out of his shock. "What about after curfew? How can we watch at nighttime?"

"The Germans will not be allowed on the streets after curfew either," Sunny pointed out.

"Let's hope not," Ernst said.

Halfway up the pathway to the hospital, Franz stopped to study the old structure. Five years earlier, before it had been converted into a hospital, the building had barely withstood the j.a.panese aerial bombing. As his gaze ran over its patched roof, taped windows and pockmarked walls, he realized it wouldn't take much for it to collapse now.

As Franz made his way onto the ward, he wondered what the point was in continuing to offer patchwork medical care to the wretched Shanghai Jews. Even if the n.a.z.is didn't target the hospital, how could he be of any help if the saboteurs attacked the ghetto? What did he have left to offer anyone? It all seemed so futile.

Still, Franz suspected that he would go out of his mind if he deviated from his routine. There were post-operative patients to tend to and, other than Sunny and him, no other surgeons were left at the hospital.

Franz had not been sorry to see Wen-Cheng go. His suspicions about Wen-Cheng's involvement in Colonel Kubota's death aside, Franz had never fully curbed his jealousy. Although he trusted Sunny completely, he couldn't jettison his doubts, irrational as they were, that Wen-Cheng might somehow find a way to win her back.

Franz spotted Max down the hallway and caught up with the internist as he stepped into his makes.h.i.+ft laboratory. Max pointed to the slides beside his desktop microscope. "Two more confirmed cases of cholera," he sighed. "Even the parasites are not taking a winter break from tormenting us Jews."

"We have bigger problems."

"Than cholera?" Max raised an eyebrow. "You remember our last outbreak? That daughter of yours turned out be one of the luckier ones. We were burying people for days and days. I doubt we have ever seen-"

"The Germans are planning to bomb us, Max."

The older man's face fell. "What? Here in the hospital?"

"Somewhere in the ghetto."

Max slumped into his chair and listened in silence as Franz shared what he knew. "We have to convene an emergency meeting of the community leaders," Franz concluded. "We must organize a watch."

"To monitor the ghetto?"

"It's not so large," Franz said. "There can only be so many possible targets. Besides, it wouldn't be easy for the n.a.z.is to sneak in unnoticed, if we were watching for them."

"So let's say one of our young men is fortunate enough to catch the n.a.z.is planting a bomb," Max said. "Then what? How would we stop them?"

"We haven't worked out those details. At the very least, they would be able to warn people."

Max cupped his chin in his hand. "Why bother, Franz?"

"To save lives."

"Yes, but for how long?" Max asked. "Next month-next week, perhaps-it will be something else. Starvation? Another disease? A bigger bomb? Or some other n.a.z.i scheme that is even worse than the last?"

"You can't think that way," Franz said, though he couldn't help share in his friend's pessimism.

"Don't you see, Franz? The n.a.z.is . . . Hitler . . . they will never let us be. And for whatever reason, G.o.d refuses to intervene. 'The chosen people?'" Max scoffed. "Couldn't be further from the truth! It would be far more accurate to call us the 'cursed people.'"

Franz thought of Max's daughter and her family. The man had every right to his views, but Franz would still need his help in mobilizing the community. "Listen, Max, this is a crisis. Now is not the time for-"

The sound of heavy footsteps cut him off. He heard shouting from somewhere down the hallway and hurried out of the lab to investigate, Max on his heels.

Two soldiers stormed toward them. Franz froze at the sight of their white armbands. Not now! Don't take me now, of all times.

A gaunt Kempeitai officer stopped in front of them. He swung a finger from Max to Franz and back. "Feinstein, Maxwell!" he barked.

Max's face paled and he shot Franz a terrified glance. "Don't tell my Sarah, Franz," he whispered. "Her weak heart. She cannot know that-"

"Feinstein!" the Kempeitai screamed.

Max stepped forward. "I . . . I am Dr. Feinstein," he stammered.

"You come!"

"Why?" Max held up his hands. "I have done nothing wrong."

"Come now!"

Max turned to Franz. "Think of an excuse, Franz. Anything! Sarah can never know what-"

The Kempeitai officer slammed his fist into Max's stomach. As Max doubled over in pain, the soldier caught him by the hair. He jerked Max's head forward and swung his knee into it, breaking his nose with a crunch.

Franz moved toward Max, but the other Kempeitai man clamped a hand across his shoulder and spun him backwards.

Gasping for breath, Max struggled to straighten up. Blood poured from his nose and down his face. His lips parted into a grotesque smile. "The chosen people, ach!" he grunted. "Protect my Sarah, Franz."

CHAPTER 42.

Franz's fingers had gone numb despite the gloves' wool lining. He had been standing in the cold outside the Bureau of Stateless Refugee Affairs for hours. Even though he had reached Ghoya's headquarters minutes after the curfew lifted at seven o'clock, at least twenty refugees were already lined up ahead of him. The queue now snaked behind him as far as he could see, and the doors still had not even opened.

As Franz waited in line, his imagination ran wild with possible scenarios involving von Puttkamer and his "spectacular" bomb plot. He had no interest in conversing with the others in line, but the talkative man one spot ahead of him had insisted on drawing him into conversation, even though Franz had turned away and feigned difficulty hearing.

"You remember me from the hospital, Dr. Adler? Ja, surely. I am Samuel Eisler. My sister, Gisela Silverstein, Frau Silverstein, yes? You removed her gall bladder in the spring of '40."

"Ah, of course, yes," Franz said, but he had only a faint memory of the operation and none whatsoever of Eisler. "How is your sister?"

"She is fine, but she is a real kvetcher, you know? Always troubled by something or other."

Eisler wanted to talk. He had apparently been a successful tailor in Munich and had married the most beautiful girl at his local synagogue before his Goldgraber of a wife ended up leaving him for a rich lawyer. Franz learned this and much more as they waited for Ghoya's office to open.

"Did you hear that American broadcast last week?" Eisler said next, heedless of the risk of being overheard. Listening to Allied stations was forbidden-people had been shot for less-and there were at least a few j.a.panese soldiers within earshot.

Franz turned away. "I have no access to a wireless of any kind," he said, loud enough for the nearest guard to hear.