The Far Side of the Sky (20 page)

Kingsley moved a few feet down the bed and tossed the sheet off the boy. He felt along the boy’s leg until his fingers came to rest at a prominence just below Bai’s knee. “The tibial tuberosity,” he said.

Measuring two fingers below the bony prominence, Kingsley applied the needle directly to the skin overlying the tibia. He gripped the dull end of the needle against his palm and leaned down onto it with all his weight. The needle pierced the skin and bone with a nauseating crunch. He let go of the needle and it stayed upright, vibrating like a sword thrust into stone.

Kingsley reached for a glass syringe, attached it to the needle and slowly pulled back the plunger with his thumb. The syringe filled with a reddish gelatinous and flecked substance. “Bone marrow,” he announced. Satisfied, he uncoupled the syringe and secured the tubing to the end of the needle. He lifted up the intravenous bottle and held it high in the air. Fluid began to flow in a steady drip.

“How does the fluid run from the bone marrow to the heart?” Sunny asked.

“It passes through the network of veins lining the marrow,” he said. “Or so I have read.”

Kingsley insisted on holding the bottle himself as the fluid ran into Bai’s bone marrow. No one spoke. Sunny knelt down beside Bai’s sister. “What is your name, little one?”

“Hua,” the girl said in a shy voice.

“Ah, like the flower. How fitting.” Sunny moved a little closer and the girl stopped rocking. “You are a good sister to stay with Bai like this.” “I don’t want the ancestors to take him away,” Hua said. Sunny smiled. “Nor do I.”

“It will be harder for them to take him if someone watches,” Hua said matter-of-factly. “Yes, it will.”

Hua gestured to the needle sticking out of the leg. “Will that nail him to the ground, so the ancestors can’t take him?” Sunny stifled a laugh. “I hope so, yes.”

The girl turned her attention back to her motionless brother.

Five or six minutes passed. Sunny became aware of a new silence that had descended on the room. The boy’s respirations had quieted; he was breathing more easily.

The intravenous bottle had emptied. Kingsley disconnected it from the far end of the rubber tubing. As he was reaching for a second full bottle, Hua suddenly yelped. Sunny’s eyes darted from the little girl to her brother. Bai blinked a few times and smacked his cracked lips together, as though trying to wet them.

Sunny looked over to Kingsley. With only a trace of a smile, her father turned his attention back to exchanging the old intravenous bottle for a new one.

Sunny touched Hua’s shoulder. “The ancestors won’t be able to take your brother now.” “I’m glad,” Hua said.

“I am too, little one.” Sunny glanced at her father again, her heart swollen with pride and affection.

D
ECEMBER
16, 1938, S
HANGHAI

A week after the Adlers and Ernst had moved into the cramped third-floor quarters on Avenue Joffre, Franz’s disorientation had still not cleared. The non-stop street noises and the ubiquitous peddlers, beggars and corpses abandoned on sidewalks only compounded his sense of culture shock. And food tasted different, even familiar delicacies from the French bakeries and cafés.

Hannah and Esther shared the bedroom, while in the main room, Franz slept on the sofa and Ernst on a bed of cushions. As he had on the ship, the artist disappeared for long stretches without explanation. He always returned full of amusing anecdotes—life as a bewildered foreigner in Asia—but Franz sensed the loneliness behind his happy-go-lucky attitude.

Esther busied herself with relentless homemaking and nesting. Some of the local peddlers already called to her by name from the street below. She had stocked the shelves in their little apartment with a set of secondhand dishes, pots and cutlery, bartered in exchange for a pair of earrings and a small brooch. She had imbued their apartment with a sense of home,
down to the dried flowers on the windowsill and a row of German novels lining the shelf, but her efforts only heightened Franz’s homesickness.

Hannah was adjusting to her new life better than the adults. She had already befriended Natasha Lazarev, a nine-year-old Russian girl who lived with her parents and two brothers on the top floor of their building.

With Hannah at the Lazarevs and Ernst gone for the day, Franz sat at the table cradling a cup of tea and watching his sister-in-law scour the rusted sink. A beefy red scar coursed along the inside of her arm, but Franz could see from the way she feverishly scrubbed that her injury no longer impeded her. “Why do you always avoid rest, Essie?” he asked.

“I did nothing but rest on that ship for almost a month.” She shrugged. “Besides, for me, rest is no rest at all. You understand, Franz?”

“I do.” The smile slid from his lips. “After Hilde died, between the new baby and the hospital, I hardly slept. But it was almost better that way.”

She stopped scouring. “I dread the nights. That is when I miss him most.”

The image of Karl and Esther snuggling on a couch and laughing quietly at some private joke popped into Franz’s mind. “I am not sure that ever changes, Essie.”

Esther’s shoulders straightened and she began to scrub again. “Have you opened your father’s letter yet?”

He shook his head.

“What if his news is good, Franz?”

“Do you think it could be?”

“No.”

The loose knob rattled and the door creaked open. Franz looked over as Hannah entered.
“Guten tag,
Papa, Tante Essie,” she greeted politely, but Franz saw that she was on the verge of tears.

“Was is los, liebchen?”
he demanded.

Hannah shook her head but said nothing. She crawled onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her.

“What happened, Hannah?” Esther asked, drying her hands on her apron as she walked out of the tiny kitchen. “Did you have a fight with Natasha?”

Hannah shook her head again. “Natasha’s brother wanted to know if …” Her voice faltered. “If I had ever been in the circus.”

The anger ripped through Franz. Hannah had faced taunts from insensitive, cruel or oblivious children most of her life, especially during those final months in Vienna, but rarely had he seen her so hurt. He resisted the urge to rush upstairs to confront the little boy himself, remembering how disastrous the previous interventions had proven.

Esther waved her hand.
“Ach,
Hannah, you don’t listen to such nonsense. You are too smart and too special for that.”

With her face still buried in Franz’s shoulder, Hannah muttered, “Ivan is only six.”

“You see,” Esther said as she approached. “He doesn’t know.”

Hannah looked up at her aunt, defeated. “I thought it would be different here, but nothing changes, Tante Essie.”

Esther stroked Hannah’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, darling, such ignorance and heartlessness is everywhere. You cannot change those people. What you have to do is rise above them.”

“How do I do that, Tante Essie?”

“You ignore them,” Esther said. “You don’t allow them the satisfaction of a reaction. And know in your heart that they are nothing but narrow-minded. What those people say does not matter. Never ever let them stop you, Hannah. You understand?”

“I will try,” Hannah promised.

“That’s my girl,” Esther said.

Hannah wriggled free of Franz’s grip and hopped out of his lap. She threw her arms around Esther and hugged her. “I’m so happy you came with us.”

“Me too.” Esther kissed the child’s head. “Me too.”

Hannah let go of her aunt. “I thought Onkel Karl would be here by now.”

Esther turned to Franz, her eyes seeking permission to tell Hannah. He hesitated a moment and then, with a sinking heart, nodded.

Esther knelt down in front of the girl. “Onkel Karl is not coming, Hannah.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Not ever?” “No.”

Hannah’s face scrunched with suspicion. “He is dead, isn’t he?” “Yes, Hannah,” Esther breathed.

The tears Hannah had been holding back earlier welled in her eyes as she looked frantically from Esther to Franz. “He was never going to come here, was he?”

“No.” Esther ran a finger under her eye and sniffed once. “He died that night, Hannah. The night of the fires. Kristallnacht.”

“I knew it!” Hannah cried. “The Nazis killed him, didn’t they?” “Yes,” Franz said softly.

“And Opa Jakob?” Hannah demanded, her face creased with hurt and anguish. “Did they kill him too?”

Franz held up his hands. “I don’t know.”

“You do. You must!” Hannah backed clumsily away from both adults.

“Your grandfather was supposed to come over on the next ship to Shanghai, but I think his lungs might be too weak for the journey.”

“He’s never going to come either!” Hannah spat.

Franz shook his head once and dropped his hands to his side. “I don’t think he will.”

“It’s not fair!” Hannah spun and rushed to the bedroom.

Franz started after her, but Esther caught him by the forearm. “Give her some time.”

He knew she was right, but he desperately wanted to comfort his daughter. The betrayal in her eyes pierced his heart.

Ten minutes passed and Hannah had still not emerged. Franz slipped on his coat and hat and then knocked at the bedroom door. “I have to go to an appointment now, Hannah. I will see you at dinner, all right?” He lowered his head. “I am so sorry,
liebchen.”

Hannah did not reply. With a reassuring smile, Esther gestured for him to leave the child alone. Heavy-hearted, Franz turned and trudged out of the apartment.

On his way out of the building, he almost collided with Heng Zhou,
who was hunched under the weight of a grey canvas sack that was slung over his shoulder.

“Good day, Dr. Adler.” Heng struggled to lower the sack to the floor. “Amazing how the same bag of rice gets heavier each year.”

Franz wondered where Heng had acquired so much rice—and why—but he thought it rude to ask. “Lifting that sack would surely put me in traction.”

Heng smiled. “Your family has settled in well, Herr Doktor?” “We have, Mr. Zhou. Thank you.”

“I am so glad.” Heng chuckled softly. “To be truthful, I suspected as much when I heard the street peddlers calling out to Mrs. Adler.”

Franz nodded. “She will have them speaking German soon.”

Heng laughed again. “I would not be surprised. It amazes me how much more capable women are than men. You are lucky to have her.”

“Mrs. Adler is my sister-in-law. A widow. My wife is … I am a widower myself.”

“Ah.” Heng fixed his moist red eyes on Franz. “What a wonderful influence on your daughter Mrs. Adler must still be. Our home is sadly lacking a female presence.” Franz wondered if he was about to elaborate on the fate of his wife and daughter, but Heng merely offered another benign grin. “Please do not let me delay you any longer, Dr. Adler.”

“Perhaps you and your son might join us for dinner one day soon?” Franz suggested.

“We would be delighted.” Heng beamed. “Most delighted.”

Franz watched Heng stiffly hoist the sack over his shoulder again and totter for the staircase. “Mr. Zhou, are you sure I cannot assist you?”

“No, no, no,” Heng called without looking back. “This is good for my old back and legs.”

At the street corner, Franz hailed a rickshaw. “The Country Hospital,” Franz said slowly in English. Digging out his frayed guidebook, he was about to point to the spot he had marked on the map but the driver had already turned, lifted up the handles of the rickshaw and set off.

Franz had not realized how far west the hospital was. Along the way,
they passed sumptuous villas and sprawling gated mansions that could have been plucked from the finest neighbourhoods in Europe. The driver must have trotted at least two miles before he slowed to a halt in front of a striking building. Again, defying common practice, Franz tipped the driver handsomely. From the driver’s ear-to-ear smile, Franz wondered if he had drastically overpaid; he was still bewildered by the local dual currency and the difference between the “big” and “small” money.

The Country Hospital’s Renaissance design reminded Franz far more of a hotel or bank in Vienna’s upscale Ring Strasse district than a community hospital. Butterflies filled his chest as he stepped through the columned entrance and into the marble foyer, but the subtle smell of septic cleaners grounded him. Hospitals always had that effect, providing a sense of order and purpose that, for Franz, could not be found in the outside world.

Several people, many wearing lab coats or nursing uniforms, circulated through the foyer. A patient in a wheelchair was registering at the admissions desk. Franz scanned the faces but none matched Clara Reuben’s description of her husband. Biding his time, he studied the oil portraits of past medical directors lining the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and turned to see Sunny Mah, her slim frame almost lost under the thick starched apron and bib she wore over her heavy uniform.

Franz was pleased to see someone familiar, especially the likeable young nurse. He considered Sunny’s oval face the perfect blend of Western and Eastern features: teardrop eyes, straight nose, angular cheeks and milky white complexion. But, like other women who had caught his eye since Hilde’s death, her beauty was appealing in the same detached sense as a lovely piece of art or music might be. “Good afternoon, Miss Mah,” he said in English.

She smiled warmly. “Dr. Adler, do you work at two hospitals now as well?”

“No. At least, not yet. I am here to meet a Dr. Reuben about potential opportunities.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “You are acquainted with Dr. Reuben?”

“I have only met his wife, but she was kind enough to facilitate introductions.” He frowned. “Miss Mah, didn’t you work overnight at the refugee hospital?”

“No one else was available. And Dr. Feinstein was particularly concerned about two of the patients.”

“What is that English expression about the burning candles?” he asked.

“Burning the candle at both ends.”

“Exactly so.” He nodded. “Does sleep not interest you?”

“I am terribly fond of it, Dr. Adler.” Sunny smiled again. “I did manage two or three hours last night. The cot in the staff room is quite comfortable.”