Part 16 (1/2)

The perplexity left Franz's face and he broke into a small grin. ”It's grander than you might imagine. Nogomi has a fancy Chinese desk and antique Victorian furniture everywhere. He's in the centre of the top floor of the hotel and has a stunning view of the s.h.i.+ps and sampans floating on the Whangpoo. But his desk faces away from the window.” He nodded to himself. ”I will never forget how it smelled. So strongly of jasmine. But I never spotted a single flower in the whole room.”

Hannah lowered Jakob into his makes.h.i.+ft playpen on the floor. He looked up at her, seemingly more disappointed than upset. She excused herself, explaining to the others that she had to meet a friend to finish their homework. Sunny flashed her a knowing look but said nothing.

Freddy Herzberg was already waiting out front for her. He wore the much-admired bomber jacket that his parents had given him at the beginning of the school year, though the weather was still warm enough to go comfortably in s.h.i.+rtsleeves.

”Hiya, Banana.” The nickname still made her blush. ”What took you so long?”

Freddy threw an arm around her neck and pulled her toward him in a friendly headlock. She picked up the alcoholic scent of his aftershave and realized that he must shave every morning like her father did. For some inexplicable reason, this excited her. As their faces neared, she thought-hopefully, nervously-that he might kiss her. But it wasn't to be-at least, not now.

”I was helping my family with supper,” she said.

He laughed. ”How hard is it to make rice and water?”

”You shouldn't joke, Freddy. At least we have food.”

He flashed a broad grin. ”If you want to call it that, Banana.”

As always, Freddy spoke English. Hannah had a hard time imagining him in Vienna; lately, she was even having trouble seeing him as Jewish. He sounded and acted far more like Mickey Rooney than someone who was born ”Fritsch Herzberg.” Then again, she had heard that many of the matinee idols in Hollywood were Jews who anglicized their names. Surely not Mickey Rooney?

”You ready to go across again tomorrow?” he asked.

In the past month, Hannah had smuggled more than just jewellery out of the ghetto for the Herzbergs. Two weeks earlier, she had practically waddled past the checkpoint after concealing perfume bottles in her skirt. She was terrified that they would clank together and draw the attention of the refugee guard. Rumour was that Ghoya had been demanding better ”results” from his pao-chia guards-meaning more arrests and confiscations. The day before, two more refugees had been flogged on the ghetto's main street after being caught sneaking back into the ghetto twenty minutes after curfew.

”Pop has an idea that will fill our plates with a lot more than rice,” Freddy continued.

Her face tensed. Every time Freddy's father had a new idea, it seemed to involve something risky. ”Oh, what is it now?”

Freddy folded his arms across his chest. ”Nah. Doesn't sound like you want to hear it. Just forget it.”

She reached out and touched his elbow. ”Tell me, Freddy.”

A big smile spread across his face. His eyes swept the street and he lowered his voice. ”Okay, up until now, all we do is carry stuff out. Basically, we're fencing the last of our own belongings for a few miserable bucks.”

Hannah could feel the muscles in her neck and chest tightening. ”And so?”

”Some people inside the ghetto still have money.” He chuckled. ”We are, after all, Jews, aren't we?”

Hannah didn't like his tone, but still holding on to his elbow, she merely nodded.

”What do the people stuck inside the ghetto need most, Hannah?”

”Food, medicine, clean water . . .”

”Yeah, yeah, yeah. The essentials.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. ”But what one thing do they really want?”

It took a moment, but she had the answer even before Freddy raised two fingers to his lips. ”Cigarettes.”

”Cigarettes,” he echoed, beaming.

She dropped her hand from his elbow. ”You want me to smuggle cigarettes into the ghetto?”

Freddy nodded eagerly. ”Think about it. Outside the ghetto, you can buy cigarettes from the Chinese merchants on Nanking Road at ten or twenty cents on the dollar. A single run, and we could make twenty or thirty dollars. Maybe more.” He stared at her hard. ”Imagine how much more than just rice that would put on our dinner tables.”

She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. ”How would I carry cartons of cigarettes past the guards?”

Freddy patted the front of his bomber jacket and chuckled. ”First step is to get you a roomier coat.”

CHAPTER 24.

”Do you think anyone still calls it the 'Jewel of the Bund'?” Jia-Li asked Sunny as they strolled past the columned entrance of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank.

”It's not much of a jewel anymore.” Sunny vividly recalled how people used to line up to rub the paws of the two bronze lions that had once perched at either side of the entrance, guarding the bank. So many Chinese believed in the superst.i.tion that promised good fortune from the lions' touch that their metal paws had been buffed to gleaming nubs.

”I used to love coming here with you and your father.” Jia-Li motioned to the unmarked intersection. ”Remember? He would always buy us those delicious ci fan tuan they sold at that corner stand.”

”Nothing tasted better,” Sunny agreed with a pang of melancholy, thinking about her father more than those achingly sweet sticky rolls. Her father had taken a dim view of the paw-rubbing ritual, like he did most Chinese superst.i.tions. He was a man of science, a dedicated physician and diabetes specialist. He was also a devoted anglophile, and the British bank was his favourite building in Shanghai. He appreciated the towering structure for its grandeur, but he loved the old bank even more for the empire it represented.

A huge Rising Sun now hung from the bank and, today, it flapped listlessly in the breeze. Sunny had no idea what the j.a.panese used the building for, but soldiers were guarding the entry to keep away civilians. The lions, like her father, were long gone; rumour had it the j.a.panese had taken them away to be melted down.

”It's been almost five years, bao bei,” Sunny said. ”I still miss Father as though he died only last week. Will that ever stop?”

Jia-Li shook her head. ”Nor should it, xio he. You keep him alive in your memory.”

”I hope so.”

”I miss him too,” Jia-Li said. ”He was far more of a father to me than that weak man who pa.s.sed for mine.”

Sunny had fonder memories of Jia-Li's father. He was a jovial man who always had a silly joke at hand or loose change to spare for the girls. However, he had never been around much, and gambling debts drove him to take his own life when the girls were only thirteen years old. Sunny suspected that Jia-Li's feelings had more to do with her father's suicide than how he'd actually treated her. She viewed his death as a betrayal; it had saddled the family with a large debt. But Sunny had learned from previous experience to keep those thoughts to herself.

”Besides, you have Franz now,” Jia-Li pointed out.

”Yes, yes, I do,” she murmured as she looked out toward the harbour.

Jia-Li pounced on the wistfulness of her tone. ”What's wrong, xio he?”

”Nothing.”

Jia-Li stopped. ”Tell me.”

Sunny slowed to a halt. ”You know Franz. He carries the burden of the hospital on his shoulders. The whole refugee community, for that matter.”

”You think he cares too much?”

”It is all too much. The hospital, the refugees, Simon, Charlie, Ernst-Franz feels responsible for them all. He works himself to the bone, and when he does go to bed, he is so restless. He doesn't sleep more than a few hours each night.” She shook her head. ”It's simply too much.”

”Have you spoken to him?”