Part 26 (1/2)
As Sunny headed to the bedroom, Franz's thoughts drifted to his American friend. He had last seen Simon two days earlier, at the refugee hospital, as they waited together for Joey to show up with a vehicle to move him.
Dressed in the straw hat and ragged pants of a coolie, Joey arrived rolling a honey wagon ahead of him like a wheelbarrow. Even the normally unflappable Simon was distressed by the stench that seeped out from the oversized barrel.
”I washed it myself, Mr. Simon,” Joey explained apologetically. ”And look.” He reached into the barrel and pulled out a worryingly full bucket of waste.
Franz and Simon peered inside the barrel and saw that the s.p.a.ce beneath the bucket, where Simon was to hide, appeared relatively clean. Simon looked a little green, but he forced a chuckle. ”Wonder if my family back home still thinks I'm living in the lap of luxury.”
Joey brought a hand to his chest. ”Boss, with me driving, it will be a short ride.”
Simon motioned to the slos.h.i.+ng bucket. ”Slow and steady, Joey, while I'm riding under that thing.” He closed his eyes. ”Slow and steady.”
Franz patted Simon's shoulder. ”It will not be too long.”
Simon breathed through his mouth. ”I can survive an hour or two. I think.”
”I meant that we will soon find somewhere more suitable for you to live.”
”I'm kind of looking forward to rooming with Ernst,” Simon said. ”I get a kick out of him. He's so cynical-he would make a good Jew. A good New Yorker, too, for that matter.”
”Except he lives in the heart of Germantown.”
”So what?” Simon rolled his eyes. ”I'm not marching in any parades.”
”The last time Sunny visited, Baron von Puttkamer came over unannounced.”
”I'll keep a low profile,” Simon promised. ”As long as I am near Essie and my boy, I don't care if I have to hide under the sofa while Goring and Goebbels have tea.”
Joey helped Simon into the barrel. As he crouched down inside, he looked back up at Franz with uncharacteristic hesitation. ”This . . . this can't last forever, can it?”
”The tide is turning against the j.a.panese and the Germans,” Franz said, hoping he didn't sound as half-hearted as he felt.
”Ready, boss?” Joey asked.
Simon gave him a wry grin. ”Remember, Joey: slow and steady.”
The young man slid the waste-filled bucket into the slot above his head and carefully wedged it into place.
Franz was still thinking about Simon as the door to the flat opened and Esther entered, holding Jakob over her shoulder. As soon as she lowered the baby to the floor, he stirred, reaching for his favourite wooden rattle, giving it a drowsy shake.
Franz noticed Esther's pallor. ”What is the matter, Essie?”
”Oh, that man . . .” Her voice was shaky.
”What man?”
”Mr. Ghoya.”
”What has he done now?”
Esther's eyes swept down to Jakob before focusing on Franz. ”I went to see him to ask for a pa.s.s to visit Simon.”
”And?”
”He asked me all sorts of strange questions. Still, he seemed to be in a good mood. Everyone in line had said so. He even signed my pa.s.s.”
”So what went wrong?”
”Well, he asked me where I lived.” She squeezed her forehead. ”When I told him, Ghoya asked if I knew you.”
As Franz rose to his feet, the wounds on his back throbbed. ”You didn't tell him that you lived with Hannah and me, did you?”
”I didn't know what to say. That little man, he became so agitated. He started screaming.” Her face crumpled. ”He jumped onto his desk, Franz! Can you imagine? Such a scene.”
”You told him?”
”Only that you used to be my brother-in-law. Not that we lived together.”
”What did he say?”
Esther slumped down into the chair that Franz had just vacated. ”Ghoya said that no one in our family would ever leave the ghetto again. No, he didn't say it. He shrieked it.”
”Oh, Essie.”
”What am I to do?” Esther murmured. ”I will never be allowed out, and Simon cannot get back inside. He will never see his son again.”
”Yes, he will,” Sunny said from the doorway. ”I will take Jakob to him.”
CHAPTER 36.
October 18, 1943 Jakob hadn't made a sound during their journey through the International Settlement, but despite the baby's cooperation, they made slow progress. Sunny stopped to feed him a bottle of milk and then again a block later to change his diaper in the backroom of a teashop that was run by a friendly old Shanghainese woman. Sunny couldn't resist taking other breaks along the way, too, to rub noses with him, tickle his belly or swoosh him through the air-anything to elicit another one of his giggles.
Sunny was happy for the distraction. She'd spent much of the past few days, and sleepless nights, thinking about her last conversation with Wen-Cheng. Two days earlier, he had whispered a request to meet her in private. As soon as they were alone in the staff room, Wen-Cheng asked, ”Have you found a way into Kubota's office yet?”
She held out a hand, palm up. ”I cannot do it.”
”Cannot or will not?”
”You, too, Wen-Cheng?” She hung her head. ”Does it really matter which?”
”No.” He sighed. ”It's better this way. Whatever the Underground intends for you to do will only have terrible consequences.”
”What will they do now?”
”The old man and the others, they have grown impatient.”
”So they will make other plans?”