Nightfall Over Shanghai (17 page)

The explosions weren't much louder, but Franz couldn't remember having felt the ground shake under his feet before. He couldn't see anything beyond the early dawn light sifting through the trees, but he knew the fighting must have moved closer to the field hospital.

He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly five o'clock. He was accustomed to ignoring hunger pangs, but he craved an espresso. In Vienna, a stiff shot of coffee used to get him through the longest days of surgery. Each day at the field hospital seemed to bring more wounded men with even worse injuries than the soldiers preceding them. Franz sometimes lost himself in the work; technically, it was among the most challenging of his surgical career. With unlimited supplies of equipment, anesthetic and other medications, he could perform more complex operations in this tent in the middle of a war zone than he could have inside the refugee hospital. But he would have given his right arm to be back in Shanghai.

Franz wondered if Sunny had managed to keep the hospital open and operational. No one was more capable than she, but how could she run a hospital while raising a baby on her own? Well, not entirely alone; he had no doubt that Esther was helping. Hannah
too. Over the past year, his daughter had outgrown her rebellious, early adolescent stage and matured into the person he had hoped and expected she would become. He was pleased that she had found Herschel, the kind of boy who would always put her first. Perhaps they would marry one day? It broke Franz's heart to think that no matter whom she wed, he would probably not be there to witness it.

Shaking off the despondent thoughts, Franz ducked into the convalescence tent to perform his rounds. The bed where the bespectacled private had lain was now empty. The badly burned patient from the day before was still alive, and Franz was surprised to see Captain Suzuki sitting at his bedside. Suzuki, who rarely spoke to his post-operative patients, appeared to be huddled in conversation with the man.

Franz bowed a greeting to the captain and got a nod in response. The always-deep circles under Suzuki's eyes were dark as coal. “Did they bring you kusaya this morning?” he demanded.

“I would have preferred eggs and sausages, but yes they did, thank you.”

“Do you remember what I told you on the subject of gratitude?”

“That you will never give me reason to thank you.”

“Precisely,” Suzuki said. “Any spells today?”

“Not so far, no,” Franz answered honestly.

“The day is just beginning,” Suzuki grunted.

Franz turned to the patient. His partly open eyes were glassy and unfocused, his breathing choppy. At one point, the man stopped breathing for several seconds before he gasped a loud inhalation.

“He has only a few minutes left,” Suzuki said.

Not certain whether to leave or stay, Franz stood watching the patient's stuttering respirations. Finally, he asked, “Do you know this man, Captain?”

“I met him only yesterday.”

“I see.”

Suzuki was quiet for a few moments. “I imagine dying of burns is one of the most ghastly ways to go.”

Franz remembered the day he first met Suzuki at the Country Hospital, and the special attention the captain had given to a badly burned patient there. “Do you believe there is a good way to die, Captain?”

“Quickly. Honourably.” Suzuki pointed to the patient. “Not like this. Having your body burned and then waiting for death to catch up. No one deserves that.”

Franz sensed something more to it, but he didn't ask. Instead he said, “Shall I check on the other patients?”

“No need. I rose early this morning. I have already attended to them.” Suzuki sighed. “You should go to the operating room.”

“Are we expecting another day of heavy casualties?”

Suzuki responded with a grim chuckle. Another boom echoed outside and the ground shifted slightly. “The combat seems to have moved closer to us, sir,” Franz said.

“I can't imagine how that is possible,” Suzuki said wryly. “That would involve a retreat. And the Imperial Japanese Army moves in only one direction. Forward.”

***

The field hospital was overwhelmed by the slew of casualties that rolled in throughout the morning. There were too many wounded men to manage them all in the operating room. The tent overflowed
with soldiers wrapped in blood-soaked dressings. Some lay quietly on stretchers, others writhed and moaned on the bare ground, their suffering palpable. They began to triage patients outside the tent. Franz pulled dislocated shoulders and hips into their joints, and reset broken bones without the benefit of an X-ray or, at times, even a stretcher.

At one point, Suzuki pulled Franz aside. “From now on, we will take only the most straightforward injuries into the operating room.”

Franz pointed to a man whose eyes were clenched shut as he clutched a grave open abdominal wound. “What about the others?” he asked.

“The nurses will dress those with larger wounds. If they survive, we will operate later.” The captain locked eyes with Franz. “Anyone with a weak pulse or low blood pressure receives a very generous dose of painkillers. Do you understand?”

“Enough to stop their breathing?”

“Enough to keep them comfortable!”

Franz lost track of the time and of the patients. He doubted he had ever sutured as many wounds or reset so many bones in a day. Finally, in the early evening, Suzuki announced that the team had to take a break so soldiers could wash away the blood and debris that were contaminating the operating room.

Franz stepped outside the tent to stretch his back. It occurred to him that, although his neck ached and his hands were stiff and fatigued, he had not experienced any light-headedness since rising. Perhaps Suzuki's diagnosis and treatment were accurate, he thought. But what difference would it make in the long term?

Franz saw the collection of trucks and other vehicles that had transported the casualties to the camp. Across the way, he spotted
Helen leaning against a tent post, smoking a cigarette. As he joined her in the waning twilight, she offered a tired smile. “Just when you imagined it couldn't get any worse,” she said.

“Sometimes it seems as if it can only get worse.”

“I suppose.” Helen tucked a red curl behind her ear. “You performed miracles today.”

“You too. But it feels as though we're only stalling the inevitable.”

“For you or them?”

Franz smiled. “All of us.”

“For what it's worth, I was impressed.”

Franz smiled in gratitude. “The man with the extensive burns …”

Helen took a long drag from her cigarette. “He died.”

Franz nodded. “I found the captain sitting at his bedside this morning. I think he might have been consoling him.”

She frowned. “He does pay special attention to burn victims.”

“I wonder why. Perhaps there is some—”

She cocked her head and held up a hand to interrupt. “Do you hear that?”

He listened carefully until he picked up on the low hum.

She pointed southward. “Over there, Franz. Planes.”

Squinting in the low light, he saw three planes flying from the south in tight formation. They appeared to be heading west. Their pitch was lower than the familiar whine of the Japanese Zeroes, and their shapes didn't fit any of the aircraft Franz had seen patrolling overhead. He glanced over to Helen, whose eyes were fixed on the sky. “Those aren't Japanese,” he said.

“No,” she agreed.

The planes' wings tilted, and they banked toward the field hospital. The hum rose to a roar as the fighters descended. Shouts went up throughout the camp. People sprang into action. Franz
grabbed Helen by the wrist and yanked her around the side of the tent. He dropped to his knees and pulled her to the ground beside him under the cover of a canvas overhang. He hovered close enough to feel her breath against his cheek.

The rat-a-tat-tat of aerial gunfire filled the air. The road where Franz had just been standing sprayed puffs of dirt as the shells exploded. The thunder of engines was deafening as the planes zoomed overhead. Franz sighted a pair of predatory eyes and a mouth full of jagged teeth painted across the nose of one of the planes. Stars and stripes were tattooed along its fuselage.

Helen covered her head and screamed as the supply tent across from them rattled and then collapsed under the strafing. Heart thudding in his ears, Franz threw himself on top of her, shielding her body with his.

Glass shattered as the nearby trucks were hit by a barrage of gunfire. Helen squirmed beneath him. “Don't move,” Franz cried.

The planes flew past the camp, but he kept her pinned beneath him. He watched the planes bank again and turn back. As they strafed the camp a second time, he could hear the whiz of bullets around them. The ground a few feet away erupted in more sprays. Helen trembled violently beneath him.

Franz braced himself for another pass, but this time the din of the engines faded. He looked up and saw the planes retreating southward. Soldiers scattered all around, but Franz didn't release Helen until he was convinced that the planes wouldn't return. Finally, he rose to his feet and helped Helen up.

She continued shaking as she leaned against him. He supported her with an arm across her shoulders. “We could have died, Franz,” she murmured.

“I think they were targeting the vehicles.”

“Was it the Americans?”

“American planes, at least,” Franz said. “The Flying Tigers. But I've heard they've trained Chinese pilots to fly them too.”

“Why would they attack a hospital?”

“Maybe they can't tell what it is from the sky.”

“Or maybe they just don't care.”

Her shivering subsided, but Franz heard sniffling and saw that she was crying. “They are not coming back, Helen.”

“Maybe not now, but they will,” she sobbed. “You've been right all along, Franz.”

“About?”

“We are never going to make it out of here.”

“Don't say that.”

“It's true.”

“Helen, you're in shock.”

She leaned her head in close to his. “I've never seen things more clearly.”

He rubbed her shoulder. “It will get better. You will see.”

She touched his other hand lightly. “You saved my life.”

“Not at all.”

She left her still trembling fingers on his hand. “I think I would go out of my mind if you weren't here with me.”

Even in the weak light, Franz recognized the look in her reddened eyes. “It's important to have friends, especially at such vulnerable times,” he said.

Helen leaned forward and pressed her moist lips against his. Franz let his mouth linger on hers, overwhelmed by the intimacy and warmth. Then reality showered over him like ice water. He jerked his face from hers and stumbled back a few steps. “I … I …” Words deserted him.

Where is Hannah?” Sunny asked.

“I believe she has gone out with Herschel,” Esther replied.

Hannah hadn't intended to eavesdrop on her aunt and stepmother. She almost spoke up from where she lay on her bed in the loft, but she felt awkward announcing herself in mid-conversation. She was supposed to have gone out with Herschel, but she still couldn't bring herself to face him. Nothing more had happened with Freddy aside from that one electrical touch, but her feelings alone were betrayal enough.

“So that awful Ghoya won't tell you where he has sent Franz?” Esther continued.

“He never will, either,” Sunny said dejectedly.

“We just have to wait a little longer, then.”

“Waiting is the one thing I cannot do.”

“What choice do you have?”

Sunny didn't answer right away. “I went to see Father Diego.”

“Oh, Sunny.” Esther's voice dropped so low that Hannah had trouble hearing her. “What would Franz say?”

“How can I possibly know? He's been gone almost six weeks. Who knows what's happened to him in that time?” Sunny's voice rose in anguish. “Or if he's even alive.”

“
Bays di tsung!
” Esther said in Yiddish and then repeated herself in German. “Bite your tongue. You can't ever think such things.”

“Why not?”

“It only tempts fate.”

“You Jews are as superstitious as the Chinese,” Sunny scoffed. “Besides, what more can possibly go wrong?”

“Joey!”

A moment of agonizing silence came next. Even Hannah held her breath.

“If you were to be caught spying,” Esther continued unapologetically, “you would never see him again. Is that fair to your son? And how could I possibly manage two babies on my own?”

“When did I ask you to?”

“You don't need to ask, Sunny,” Esther cried. “You should know that. We are family.”

“How can I just do nothing, after all they've done to us?” Sunny said. “To Yang. To Charlie. To Simon. And now to Franz. There's nothing I wouldn't do to get him back. Absolutely nothing.” She hesitated. “I … I told Ghoya as much. Do you understand?”

Hannah didn't fully appreciate Sunny's insinuation, but she inferred from Esther's long pause that her aunt must have. “Of course I understand. He's your husband.”

“Oh, Essie.” Sunny's voice cracked. “It was a disaster. I'm so ashamed.”

“You were only trying to help Franz.”

“And yet I think I made it even worse.”

“I am sure that's not so,” Esther said. “Sunny, if you were to become a spy, it wouldn't help to bring Franz home or to change anything, except for the worse.”

Sunny's voice became firmer. “If there was one less Japanese ship in the harbour because of the intelligence I supplied, or if my efforts helped shorten this war by one second, then surely it would be worthwhile.”

“Not to your family. Certainly not to Franz. Or to Joey.”

“Besides, it doesn't matter,” Sunny said. “There's nothing I can do to help the Allies anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“My reconnaissance is useless. Father Diego told me as much. His radioman was arrested, and without a transmitter to relay the information, they can't pass it on in time to the people who would need it.”

“Good,” Esther said. “It's settled, then. You see? This is fate.”

Before Hannah had even thought it through, she blurted, “I know someone with a radio, Sunny.”

“Hannah?” Sunny called up to her. “You have been in your room this whole time?”

Hannah got to her feet and hurried down the ladder. Esther was sitting on the couch with her knitting needles and yarn dropped in her lap. Jakob played with his wooden blocks on the floor at her feet. Sunny was cradling Joey in her arms. Both women stared at Hannah in obvious alarm. “How much have you heard?” Sunny demanded.

“All of it,” Hannah admitted.

“Hannah-
chen
,” Esther said, sounding more disappointed than cross. “You know better.”

Hannah lowered her head. “I was going to say something, but I'd already heard more than I should have.”

Sunny squinted at her. “What were you saying about a radio?”

“I know someone who has one,” Hannah said. “I am sure he would be willing to help.”

“Who?”

Hannah looked away again. “Freddy Herzberg.”

“Hannah,” Esther cried. “You are not still in contact with
that
boy?”

“We're in the same class,” Hannah said.

“Yes, but how do you know that he has a radio transmitter?”

This time Hannah met her aunt's eyes. “He showed it to me.”

Esther grimaced. “Oh, Hannah. After what happened last year? After what he put your father through?”

“It's different now. Freddy has changed.”

“People like him don't change,” Esther said.

Sunny shook her head adamantly. “Regardless, children cannot be involved in this.”

“We are not children,” Hannah said evenly, trying to not come across as too defensive. “I'm fourteen and he's a year older than me.”

“And he will never see sixteen if he gets mixed up in this nonsense,” Esther said.

“Your aunt is right,” Sunny agreed.

Hannah felt something hard on her leg and looked down to see Jakob pressing a block into her thigh. He grinned impishly. “Block, Anna, block,” he said. He still couldn't pronounce the
H
.

“Soon, Jakob.” Hannah turned to Sunny. “What if Freddy were to lend you his radio?”

“No. This is madness,” Esther insisted.

But Hannah could see that Sunny was wavering. “Let me talk to Freddy, at least,” she said. She was certain she could somehow make them see things her way.

***

Hannah didn't even try to fool herself into thinking that her excitement had anything to do with espionage or even helping her stepmother. The truth was that she wanted to see Freddy again.

She found him kicking a paper ball back and forth with his friend, Avi Perlmann, on busy Kung Ping Road, where the two boys often loitered. She was elated by the enthusiastic smile with which Freddy greeted her. Avi was not so welcoming. “What do you want, Adler?”

Ignoring Avi, Hannah said to Freddy, “I need to speak with you.”

“So talk,” Avi said.

“In private.” Hannah glanced at the shorter boy. “Go away,

Avi.” Avi's shoulders stiffened and his nostrils flared. “No one tells me what to do. Especially not some girl who—”

Before Avi could complete the insult, Freddy shoved him backwards. “You heard her, Avi. Scram. Get lost.”

Avi stumbled back a step or two. He glared at them before he spun on his heels and stomped away.

“He'll get over it,” Freddy said with another broad smile. “It's nice to see you again so soon, Banana.”

Fighting off a blush, Hannah said, “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

Freddy led her to a lane a few blocks away. Despite being lined with houses on both sides, it was devoid of pedestrians or other traffic. Hannah spoke in a whisper as she hurriedly described the situation, without mentioning Sunny by name. Then she told him of their need for a radio transmitter.

Freddy eyed her with awe. “You mean we'd actually get to guide the American bombers?”

“Not ‘we,' Freddy.” She shook her head. “They would only borrow your radio for a few hours. You would never even meet them.”

Freddy squared his shoulders. “Uh-uh. No way. I promised Pop I would never let it out of my sight.”

“So you won't do it, then?”

“I'll do better. I'll send the messages myself.”

Hannah shook her head. “They refuse to involve us in this. They say it's too risky for kids.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Kids?”

“Not teenagers either.”

Unruffled, Freddy pursed his lips. Hannah could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Surely they are going to send the intelligence in some kind of code? Like they do in the spy films.”

“I guess so, yes.”

“Then it's no more risk than what I'm taking right now.”

“How so?”

“All right, say the Japs do triangulate my signal. It would be gobbledygook to them. They wouldn't be able to tell if I was ordering cigarettes from Frenchtown or sending ship coordinates to the Americans.” He laughed. “Or, for that matter, playing rummy with a pal.”

Hannah saw his point, but she doubted Sunny would be swayed. “They will never agree to it, Freddy.”

He shrugged. “Then they won't have a radio to use, will they?”