Rising Sun, Falling Shadow (11 page)

Franz had hardly slept and, according to the night nurse, neither had Charlie. Around midnight, the injured man had begun to tremble violently, as though he were having a seizure. His temperature spiked, and the fever didn't break until sunrise. All the while, Charlie refused more painkillers.

Franz slipped between the curtains surrounding Charlie's bed to find the young general locked in an urgent conversation with Ernst. His complexion was tinged grey and his face drenched in perspiration. Still, Charlie greeted Franz with a stoic smile.

Ernst looked up, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. His beard was still scraggly, but his hair had been combed back and his suit was less rumpled. “Ah, Franz. Good morning. Everyone survived the night. Isn't that a delicious little miracle?”

“Every morning.” Franz turned to the patient. “How does the leg feel, Charlie?”

“Less painful. Perhaps I will be able to stand on it soon?”

“Good, yes. Hopefully.” Franz found it difficult to hold the man's gaze. “May I have a look under the dressing?”

Charlie nodded. Franz pulled up the sheet and gently removed the bandages from the wound. The redness around Charlie's knee had lessened and the skin was less painfully taut, but the fresh surgical wounds puckered. Their black edges troubled Franz. They did not look promising, especially without further surgery. He loosely rolled the bandages back into place, feeling like more of a fraud than a doctor.

“What is your opinion?” Charlie asked.

“The wound has a long way to go,” Franz said in a circumspect tone.

“Don't we all?” Ernst studied the cigarette he now held between his fingers. “My last smoke until God knows when I find some more. I hear they last longer when you don't light them.”

Franz cleared his throat. “Charlie, are you still keen to leave Shanghai?”

Ernst shook his head in dismay. “What nonsense is this? He is in no shape to leave the hospital. You were clear about that yesterday.”

“That was yesterday,” Franz mumbled weakly.

Charlie studied the ceiling for a pained moment, then nodded. “I think it would be for the best, yes.”

“Look at you!” Ernst cried. “You're the colour of a storm cloud. We will never get you home.”

“We can try,” Charlie said.

Ernst turned angrily to Franz, shaking a finger at him. “Was ist passiert? Why the change of heart?”

“People recognize Charlie.”

Ernst's eyebrows rose in surprise. “Which people?”

“Joey.”

“Can you not trust the boy?”

“Of course we can trust him. But he recognized Charlie straight away. Others will too. He is too well known to keep hidden here.”

“Ah.” Ernst nodded bitterly. “So you are no longer willing to risk the exposure.”

“This is not only about me,” Franz said evenly.

Ernst was about to respond when Charlie propped himself up. He gasped from the effort and swayed from side to side but held himself upright. As soon as he caught his breath, he turned to Ernst. “The doctor would be a fool not to send me away,” he snapped with sudden authority. “And I would be an even bigger fool to stay. I would never risk a whole company for the sake of one fallen man. It is no different for Dr. Adler and this hospital.”

“You are not just any man,” Ernst pointed out.

“They have removed the bullet,” Charlie said firmly. “It was the only reason you persuaded me to come, Ernst. It is time to go.”

Franz reached into the pocket of his lab coat, dug out a bottle of antibiotic pills and passed it over to Charlie. “Sulpha medicine. To help keep the infection in check. You will need to take one tablet three times a day until they are gone.”

Charlie accepted the bottle with a shaky hand. It contained the last of the hospital's antibiotic supply, but to Franz this was little more than a token gesture. “Thank you, Doctor,” Charlie said.

“This is bloody lunacy,” Ernst muttered. “Can you not see it?”

“I am leaving, Ernst,” Charlie said. “It is decided.”

“What is decided?” Sunny asked from behind the curtains. She pushed them apart and stepped inside. Jia-Li followed her in before the drapes fell closed behind them both.

Exasperated, Ernst looked from Franz to Charlie and back. “These two agree that Charlie is far too hale and hearty to waste any more time in hospital.”

“No one said that,” Franz said quietly.

“There are risks either way,” Sunny said, giving Franz a supportive look that did little to alleviate his conscience.

“A pleasure to see you again, Ernst,” Jia-Li said.

Ernst extended his hand to her. “Ah, well, if it isn't my saviour herself.”

Charlie viewed him quizzically. “Your saviour?”

Ernst nodded. “Last year, when the Kempeitai were scouring Shanghai for Shan and me, this . . . this vision arranged for two rather shady—or perhaps ‘colourful' is the word—characters to whisk us out of the city in the dead of night.”

“Lum and Vu colourful? Never.” Jia-Li laughed. “Shady, yes, but not colourful.”

“Oh, Jia-Li, how I wish I had my brushes.” Ernst sighed. “I've painted you in my head a thousand times since I last laid eyes on you.”

“I am not sure whether or not to take that as a compliment.”

“Why not?”

“The only subjects of yours that I am aware of are the wild pheasants,” Jia-Li said, referring to the lowest class of dockside prostitutes. Ernst's portraits of the wretched young women had made his reputation in the pre-war Shanghai art scene. “And the victims of the Nanking massacre, of course.”

Ernst brushed her comment away with a flip of his wrist. “I'm done with all that. I've seen more than enough ugliness for a lifetime. Next time I paint—if there is a next time—I will capture only beauty and light on the canvas.”

Jia-Li glanced over at Charlie. “Ernst, will you not introduce me to your friend?”

“How rude!” Ernst gasped. “A year away from civilization and I've lost all my manners. As though raised by wolves. Jia-Li, allow me to introduce Charlie.”

Jia-Li approached the bed. Her huge brown eyes lit up. “Ko Jia-Li.” She added several words in Chinese.

Charlie wiped his brow with his sleeve and chuckled. “So you are responsible for sending Ernst to our village,” he replied in English.

Jia-Li nodded to Franz and Sunny. “I only arranged the truck. The rest is their doing.”

“Then I hold you all equally responsible,” Charlie said as he lowered himself back onto the mattress, exhausted.

Sunny laid a hand on his elbow. “Charlie, we thought Jia-Li might help arrange your transport out of Shanghai.”

“That would be most helpful,” Charlie said. “My men can meet me outside the city, but for them to travel inside is somewhat of a challenge.”

“A challenge?” Ernst groaned. “Suicide, more like it. Only blind luck got us through the Japanese soldiers on the way in.”

As he studied Charlie's wan complexion, Franz doubted that anything could be more of a threat to the man's well-being than his near-gangrenous leg. He felt small for keeping the thought to himself.

“I would be honoured to assist you.” Jia-Li bit her lip, appearing uncharacteristically bashful. “You do so much for China.”

Charlie looked away, embarrassed. “I am one of millions.”

“One in millions.” Ernst turned to Jia-Li. “How would you get us out of the city alive?”

“Not us, only me,” Charlie said.

“I would come too, of course.”

“No, Ernst. You must stay.”

Ernst's face fell. “I have to escort you home. I gave my word.”

“We need you here in Shanghai,” Charlie said definitively.

“I never even told Shan that I was leaving.”

Sunny wrapped an arm around Ernst's shoulder and drew him nearer. “He will understand.”

“You clearly do not know Shan as I do,” Ernst muttered.

Jia-Li coughed into her hand. “My boss's boss, Du Yen Sheng, is an influential man. He supplies the Japanese with certain commodities.”

“Opium?” Franz asked.

“Among other things, yes,” Jia-Li said. “They truck it in from the countryside. His men are among the few Chinese who receive gasoline rations and permits to drive.”

Sunny frowned. “In the back of an opium truck? That is how you intend to send Charlie home?”

Jia-Li rolled her shoulders in a can't-be-helped gesture. “There is a truck arriving today. After unloading its cargo, it will head straight back out of the city.”

Charlie wiped his brow again, but sweat continued to drip off his face and down his neck. “And they will take me?”

Jia-Li nodded. “I have to warn you, Charlie. It will not be comfortable.” She glanced down at the sheet covering his infected leg. “Under all the boxes and crates there is a false compartment that they use for such . . . emergencies.”

Charlie held Jia-Li's gaze for a moment. “Trust me. It will not be the worst ride of my life. What time does the truck leave?”

“At one o'clock precisely,” Jia-Li said. “You would have to meet them at a warehouse near the wharf.”

“How do we get Charlie to the wharf in broad daylight?” Ernst consulted his watch. “In less than three hours?”

Jia-Li held up a hand helplessly.

“Utter lunacy,” Ernst said again.

Franz had a sudden revelation. “The Japanese allow us to bury our dead.”

Ernst rolled his eyes. “Well, that will come as some consolation to Charlie and his men.”

“I was thinking that we could send Charlie to the warehouse inside a casket.”

“But Franz, you know how paranoid the Japanese are,” Sunny said. “They often look inside the caskets when they are being transported through the streets.”

“Yes, you are correct,” Franz muttered.

Sunny squinted. “Unless . . .”

“Unless what, Sunny?”

“The night soil men come through the ghetto all the time.”

Jia-Li grimaced in disgust. “Surely, xiăo hè, you are not suggesting . . .”

Reddening, Sunny turned to Charlie with an apologetic frown. “Charlie, we could wrap you in bamboo and other coverings. If we stood you up inside the barrel, with all that . . . waste . . . above you, no one would dare look inside.”

Charlie only shrugged. “War is war.”

 

For the first time in days, clouds crowded the sky. The temperature had dipped to one more typical, and tolerable, for late spring, and yet today Sunny was sweating more heavily under her dress than on the previous scorching afternoon. She wondered how she could possibly be of any help to the Resistance when a simple reconnaissance mission was making her so nervous.

Franz seemed calm as he walked beside her down Ward Road, but Sunny sensed that something other than Charlie's predicament was troubling him.

She had noticed a similar coolness the night before when they had lain in bed together, discussing Simon's intent to leave the Comfort Home. “I convinced him to stay for another few days while I arrange things with Yang,” she said as she stroked his arm.

“You think your housekeeper will take him in?” Franz asked.

After the Adlers had been forced to move into the ghetto, Yang had followed them into the same neighbourhood, claiming she had nowhere else to live but in her youngest sister's apartment. Sunny knew, though, that Yang had other siblings who resided in better areas and would have also welcomed their big sister into their homes. “Yang has an extra room in her flat since her sister moved in with her son,” she said.

“But you know how terrified Yang is of the Japanese,” Franz pointed out. “And she refuses to speak anything other than Chinese.”

“She will speak English if she's forced to. Besides, she's lonely. She may be crusty, but she is desperate to help. Why do you think she moved into the ghetto?”

“To be close to you.”

Sunny nestled in tighter, her chest pressing into her husband's side. “I like being close to you,” she said in an inviting tone.

He turned his head and gave her a listless kiss on the cheek. “I'm exhausted, darling. Good night,” he said as he rolled away from her.

Sunny had little time now to dwell on her husband's uncharacteristic coolness as they walked past two more Japanese soldiers, these ones standing on the corner and laughing uproariously at some private joke.

Her heart fluttered even faster. “Franz, there are so many soldiers,” she said quietly in German. “It's a long trip to the wharf in broad daylight. Especially for a night soil man.”

“True.”

“Who knows how many times he might be stopped? What if the soldiers hear Charlie inside? What if something else goes wrong?”

“We have no choice,” Franz muttered, focusing his gaze on the men approaching them from the other end of the block.

“There must be another way to get Charlie there,” she said. “If only I could—”

Franz clamped a hand on her elbow. He spun away from the street to stare at the boarded-up window of the empty storefront.

Sunny mimicked his pose, wondering what the sudden threat could be. “What is it, Franz?” she whispered.

He lowered his head and turned to retrace their steps, pulling her along with him. “Those men behind us—don't look back!” he said in a hush. “The short one is Ghoya.”

“The one who calls himself the King of—”

“Yes. And the other man. I recognize him from the newspaper.”

“Who is he?”

“Baron von Puttkamer,” Franz said.

“Is he a refugee?”

“A Nazi. People call him the ‘Goebbels of Asia.'”

A shrill voice called out to them. “Dr. Adler, Dr. Adler!”

They froze in place. Franz squeezed Sunny's elbow before releasing her. She understood. He would do the talking.

They slowly turned to face the approaching men. Ghoya wore a fedora and a flamboyant pinstriped suit. The man beside him, in contrast, was tall, athletic and fashionably dressed in a navy blazer and tie. He strolled down the street like someone who expected to have an entourage trailing him. Two younger men kept a deferential distance behind him. One resembled a youthful Ernst, while the other was Asian but looked neither Chinese nor Japanese. Korean, Sunny decided.

Ghoya reached them first. “Ah, Dr. Adler. Allow me to introduce you to one of your countrymen.” He held his small hand out to the man beside him. “Baron Jesco von Puttkamer.”

No handshakes were offered, but von Puttkamer nodded crisply in what Sunny understood to be the Prussian manner. “Dr. Adler.” He did not introduce his two subordinates and ignored Sunny altogether.

“I was just taking the baron and his men on a tour of the Designated Area,” Ghoya announced.

Franz's expression remained neutral, but Sunny sensed his soaring apprehension. “Of course, Mr. Ghoya,” he said, keeping his tone steady. “However, the baron and I are no longer countrymen. The German government rescinded my citizenship years ago.”

“Technically, that is correct, Dr. Adler,” von Puttkamer said in a low, silky voice. “Still, I understand that most of the Jewish residents in the Designated Area are German-born. Citizens or not, my government maintains an active interest in all such peoples.”

His tone was conversational, polite even, but the words “active interest” sent a chill through Sunny. Franz fidgeted uncomfortably but said nothing.

“Yes, yes,” Ghoya said. “The baron is most interested in seeing how the Jews get by here. Most interested. I was just taking him to the school now.”

Hannah! Sunny immediately thought. Leave those children be! she wanted to scream. What does the school matter to you thugs?

Franz stiffened. “The school? Really? There is not much to see inside that ramshackle building.”

“No doubt.” Von Puttkamer nodded. “Still, I am most interested to see it for myself. Do Jews not prize education above all else? How else can all your little ones grow up to be lawyers and bankers?”

“And doctors,” Ghoya added with a giggle.

“So many Jewish doctors,” von Puttkamer grunted. “Which reminds me. Mr. Ghoya was telling me that you have built your very own hospital here in Shanghai.”

Sunny's eyes darted over to Franz. His jaw was clenched even tighter now. “It's not much more than an abandoned building with a few beds inside,” he said.

“It is much more than that!” Ghoya exclaimed. “You told me so yourself.”

“We have hardly any medicines or supplies left in our cupboards, Mr. Ghoya,” Franz said. “The hospital is basically a convalescence home. A place where we can sometimes keep people a little more comfortable before they improve or they die.”

“I think you are being most modest,” von Puttkamer said. “I would very much like to tour this hospital of yours.”

Franz shrugged his shoulders and held out his palms. “You would be wasting your time, Baron.”

The younger German man lunged forward, looking for a moment as if he might tackle Franz. “The baron does not take advice from a rotten Jew!”

Von Puttkamer smiled in a paternal manner. “Please excuse Gerhard's exuberance, but my young colleague does have a point, Dr. Adler. I would like to see the hospital for myself.”

“Yes, yes,” Ghoya said. “We will go there right after the school and the temple.”

* * *

Sunny resisted the urge to run as she and Franz returned to the hospital. “How long do you think we have, Franz?”

“Half an hour? An hour at the most. How long can it possibly take them to tour the synagogue and school?”

“So there is no time for the night soil barrel,” she said.

“Absolutely not. We must get Charlie out of the hospital immediately.”

“I'll find a straw hat.” Sunny thought aloud. “We have to just bundle Charlie up in a rickshaw and send him to the warehouse. I will go with him.”

Franz stopped and caught her arm again. “No, Sunny! If you were to be caught . . . I should go.”

“You are not allowed out of the ghetto without a pass. It's too risky for you, Franz.”

“Then Ernst will have to take him.”

“That would draw even more attention. No one will take notice of two Chinese riding together.”

“Joey, then.”

“It's not fair to ask him.” She marshalled her courage. “I will do it. There is no other choice.”

Before Franz could argue further, they reached the door to the hospital. Panicky voices could be heard inside. Ernst's was the loudest.

Franz took off down the corridor, and Sunny followed. They reached the ward to see Charlie staggering across the room in a shirt but no pants. Ernst supported him on one side, while Max Feinstein supported him on the other. The dressing around his leg had unfurled, and blackish blood trailed behind him. Panting heavily, Charlie was reaching his hands out in front of him as though trying to catch imaginary butterflies that were fluttering past his head.

“You have to go back to bed, Charlie,” Ernst commanded, but Charlie continued to grasp at air.

“He is delirious from the infection.” Max shook his head. “His fever is through the roof. Gangrene must have set in.”

Sunny rushed over. Wordlessly, she pushed Ernst aside and slid an arm behind Charlie's back. Even through his damp shirt, she could tell that his skin was on fire.

“The railway station,” Charlie mumbled to her in Mandarin. “Don't you see? It is the key. We must get to the station.”

“We will, yes,” Sunny reassured him as she forcefully guided him back toward the bed. Charlie didn't resist, but he could barely hold himself upright. Max and Sunny had to drag him onto a stretcher, manoeuvering him past a line of patients, who watched with expressions ranging from bewildered to petrified.

With Franz's help, they hoisted Charlie back onto the bed. He kept trying to lift his head up off the mattress, despite being too weak to hold it up. “The explosives,” he mumbled. “How will we get the explosives in?”

Max squinted at Franz. “You must take him to the operating room and remove more tissue. Surely it is his only hope.”

“There is no time, Max,” Franz blurted. “Ghoya is on his way over. Von Puttkamer too.”

Max's face blanched. “That vicious Nazi is coming here? Mein Gott! Why?”

“I have no idea,” Franz said. “We must get Charlie out of here before they arrive.”

“Why would they care about Charlie?”

Sunny waved her hand. “We will explain later, Max,” she said in a tone that left no room for argument. “Go get Joey. Straight away.”

Max hesitated as if to argue but then turned and went in search of Joey.

Franz gazed at her. “What do we do now, Sunny?”

He looked as lost as she had ever seen him. “Joey and I will take Charlie home,” she said.

“Home?” Franz asked incredulously. “To Hannah, Esther and the baby?”

“Just until we can find somewhere more suitable.”

“And what will we possibly do for him there?”

She looked down at the blackened wound on Charlie's thigh. It had begun to blister around the edges. “We have to take care of that,” she said softly. “You must bring home the necessary equipment.”

Franz watched Charlie thrash at the air above him. “Ernst was so right. This is lunacy.”

Joey popped his head through the curtains and seemed to immediately understand what was happening. “What do you need?”

“Go get a coolie with a rickshaw—someone you trust, Joey—and have him wait out front,” Sunny instructed. “And find a straw hat if you can.”

As soon as Joey left, Sunny retrieved Charlie's trousers from their heap under the bed. With Max pinning his shoulders down and Franz holding his thighs, Sunny managed to slip the stained garment over his legs. Charlie screamed as the fabric rubbed against his raw wound. Berta arrived at the bedside holding a syringe of morphine and two Aspirin tablets. Together, they managed to sit Charlie up. He choked on the water but swallowed the pills. Sunny exposed a patch of skin on his shoulder and injected the painkiller, then wrapped a blanket around his torso while Berta dabbed at his brow with a compress. Throughout it all, Charlie kept muttering about railways and explosives.

“The coolie is waiting,” Joey said from the end of the bed, where he stood holding a ratty bamboo hat.

Franz turned to Sunny. “Let me come with you.”

“No. You have to be here when Ghoya arrives.”

Joey and Sunny hoisted Charlie to his feet. Joey secured the hat firmly on Charlie's head. He was like dead weight now and mumbling incoherently. Together they dragged him across the ward and down the corridor.

“I will check the street.” Franz darted out the door without waiting for a response.

Charlie's eyes were closed, even as he continued to mutter. Joey stared silently at the door. Sunny's pulse pounded in her ears. Moments later, Franz burst back inside. “There is a soldier at the end of the street. Just standing there. I'm not sure which way he will go.”

“And the coolie?” Sunny asked.

“He's at the curb out front.”

“We have no time to wait for the soldier to go.” Sunny shuffled Charlie toward the door and Joey followed her out.

They practically carried Charlie down the pathway to where the coolie stood beside his rickshaw, viewing them with only mild interest as he held tight the handles of his carriage.

Joey hopped inside the rickshaw and helped Sunny manoeuvre Charlie into the seat beside him. Just as she squeezed in herself, the soldier marched up to the rickshaw. He waved his rifle at Charlie and barked at them in Japanese. Joey and Sunny shrugged to indicate that they couldn't understand him.

The soldier took a step closer to the rickshaw. He studied Charlie, then motioned for them to remove his hat. Fighting to steady her hand, Sunny feigned indifference as she pulled the hat off Charlie's head. The soldier leaned forward and examined his face.

Sunny's breath caught in her throat.

Suddenly, Joey let out a loud cackle, and the soldier turned to him in surprise. Joey formed a bottle with his thumb and his fist and pantomimed drinking from it. He nodded toward Charlie. “This one starts very early in the morning,” he said, laughing.