Part 8 (2/2)

”That, too, of course.”

Wen-Cheng considered it for a moment. ”You are not a refugee, Soon Yi.”

I am not really anything, she thought. ”My husband is. And so is my stepdaughter. If I was ever implicated, it could be just as damaging.”

”My wife is dead. I have no children.” Wen-Cheng paused. ”Franz is right. You cannot afford to be involved. Forget all of this, and go home to him now.”

But Sunny could not. The j.a.panese had raped her homeland. They had murdered her beloved father. And she would never forget Irma or those two teenagers, or the imploring look the taller boy had given her. Sunny folded her arms across her chest. ”I am ready to contribute.”

Wen-Cheng's expression had hardened, and his eyes darkened. ”Once you commit, there is no turning back.”

”I realize this.”

Wen-Cheng dropped his cigarette to the dirt and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. He had always been a fastidious dresser, but his once-gleaming black shoes were now so scuffed they appeared grey. ”How far are you prepared to go, Sunny?”

Sunny had no idea, but she answered anyway. ”As far as is necessary.”

”Even if your actions lead to death?” His stare was unsettling. ”And not only for j.a.panese soldiers.”

Sunny could feel doubt creeping over her like a blush, but she refused to waver. ”As far as is necessary.”

CHAPTER 13.

Franz looked at Colonel Tsutomo Kubota with equal parts awe and relief. Ten months had pa.s.sed since their last conversation, and Franz had never expected to see him again.

Ghoya hopped off the desk and immediately bent forward at the waist in a deep bow. ”Taisa Kubota,” he said, then mumbled a few more deferential words in j.a.panese.

Kubota limped toward them from the doorway with the aid of a cane. Franz was struck by how much the colonel had aged in a year. His face was pale and lined, and his once proud posture had given way to a hunched stance. Franz noticed that his left hand trembled coa.r.s.ely.

Kubota nodded once to Franz, then turned to Ghoya. ”I hope you do not object to my presence at this meeting?” he asked in English.

”But of course.” Even though Kubota had just witnessed Ghoya lambasting Franz from atop his desk, the little man now gestured affectionately toward Franz. ”The good doctor here was just apprising me of the situation at the refugee hospital.”

”So it appears,” Kubota said dryly.

”Yes, yes, most honourable taisa,” Ghoya said, seemingly oblivious to the colonel's sarcasm. ”It is impressive that the Jewish people have been able to keep open such a busy hospital.”

”They do have a reputation for industriousness,” Kubota said.

Ghoya nodded wildly. ”I have noticed it myself. It's true. Most true!”

”Mr. Ghoya, would you mind if I borrowed Dr. Adler for a few moments?”

”Certainly not, Taisa Kubota.” Ghoya arched his back. ”I still have many refugees to see concerning pa.s.ses. I have time for almost nothing else these days.”

Kubota led Franz out of the office and to a staircase around the corner. Franz noticed that the colonel mounted the steps with only his right foot, dragging his left foot behind as he held the railing with one hand. At the landing, he tucked his cane under his arm, straightened his shoulders and limped down the hallway. At the end of the corridor, he opened a door and stepped into an office that was no bigger than Ghoya's and furnished just as plainly.

Kubota motioned to the chair in front of his desk as he walked around it. ”Ah, Dr. Adler, you appear just as I remember you. These days, that is high praise indeed.”

Franz was markedly thinner than when they were last face to face, but he merely nodded. He couldn't return the compliment with any sincerity. Franz wondered if Kubota's one-sided tremor and stiffness were the result of a stroke. He waited to see if the colonel would volunteer a medical explanation, but none came. ”I did not think I would see you again so soon, Colonel,” Franz finally said.

”To be frank, Dr. Adler, I did not imagine that we would ever meet again. However, in my experience, fate rarely takes our expectations into consideration.”

Franz was so accustomed to hearing rudimentary English from j.a.panese soldiers that he had almost forgotten that Kubota-who was Cambridge schooled and had lived among the Shanghailanders for years-was so eloquent. ”If I may say so, I am most pleased to see that you have returned, Colonel.”

Kubota looked away. ”In the past year, I have been posted to Burma and Malaysia. And yet this does not seem like a homecoming at all.”

”Shanghai is not the same as it used to be, is it?”

”Very true, Doctor,” Kubota said. ”Of course, I have also returned to a vastly different posting. I now oversee the Bureau of Stateless Refugee Affairs.”

Kubota's tone and expression remained neutral, but Franz sensed shame behind his words. The colonel had once ranked second in command only to the city's military governor, General Nogomi. He had returned to Shanghai as an administrator of a half-mile-square ghetto and its unwanted residents. Franz felt responsible for the colonel's fall from grace. Had he not pleaded for Kubota's help the year before when the SS had lobbied the j.a.panese for permission to annihilate the refugees, the colonel would surely never have been demoted. However, had Kubota not intervened and appealed to the High Command in Tokyo to spare the Jews, Franz might well not have lived to feel his current guilt.

Franz coughed into his hand. ”Colonel, I cannot tell you how indebted we are to you. And I am so deeply sorry-”

Kubota shook his left wrist clumsily. ”We have a saying in j.a.pan: Kako wo mizu ni nagas.h.i.+mashou. Let the past drift away with the water.” He nodded. ”I trust Mrs. Adler is well?”

”Yes, thank you. Sunny is fine. She will be delighted to hear that you have returned.”

”I am most pleased to hear it.” Kubota's smile was fleeting. ”And your friend, Mr. Lehrer? I understand that he disappeared from the Chapei Civic a.s.sembly Center.”

”We have not seen Simon in months.” Franz misled with the truth. ”We are very concerned for him.”

”Most understandable.” Kubota sounded distracted. ”Have you heard news of Dr. Reuben and his wife?”

The Reubens were third-generation Jewish Shanghailanders. Samuel, a surgeon of many years' standing, had given Franz his first job in the city, but there was no love lost between the two. ”I have not heard a word about Samuel and Clara since they were interned last winter.”

”They are getting by. I visited them myself in the Lunghua Camp last week.” Kubota emitted a small sigh. ”Even though they are British citizens, I was able to convince the camp commander that the Reubens have a long-standing affiliation with the refugees.” He paused to wait for a reaction, but Franz said nothing. ”I have made arrangements to transfer the Reubens here. To the Designated Area.”

”I see.”

”I was hoping that you might help them adjust to life in the Designated Area. Perhaps even find work for Dr. Reuben in the refugee hospital?”

”Of course, Colonel. We could always use another surgeon.” While Samuel and he had rarely seen eye to eye, Franz owed his life to the colonel. For his sake alone, he would do anything he could for the Reubens.

”Thank you.” Kubota nodded. ”Incidentally, I agree with Mr. Ghoya. It is most impressive that you have managed to keep the hospital functioning.”

”In no small part thanks to you, Colonel. Even after you departed, the supplies from the Imperial Army have continued to arrive regularly.”

Kubota only frowned. ”My colleague, Mr. Ghoya, his methods are somewhat . . . unconventional. Nonetheless, I believe he is committed to his role.” He paused. ”It is not my place to intervene on matters under his jurisdiction.”

”I understand.”

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