“Captain Heine said many parents have signed their children up. As I mentioned earlier, only a limited number of children are accepted to enter Britain. You must make a decision as soon as possible.”
But I couldn’t decide. Then, two days later, on the day the train was scheduled to leave, Lola called me, and when she heard about the transport, she instantly agreed to have Eva sent to Britain. Hurriedly, Fengshan made the last-minute arrangement for Eva to join the group on the train, and Lola promised to do all she could to slip out of the slum to see her niece off.
I said, “Lola, if you wait, the ocean liners will return from China in a few months. I’ll help get you tickets, and you can sail to Shanghai with her.”
“Who knows what will happen in a few months, Grace? Eva has a chance to escape. She must take it.”
Part of me agreed with Lola, and part of me resisted. Had Eva been my daughter, would I have chosen to send her away, or would I keep her by my side, no matter what would happen?
Still, I packed all the new clothing I’d bought for Eva, gave her my suitcase, and told her she was going on a trip that Lola had arranged, and then we waited for Lola.
Half an hour before the train was to leave, Lola still hadn’t shown up.
I had no choice but to take Eva to the train station myself. At the entrance of the consulate, Eva stepped back, shaking her head. Who would say that she was the only one afraid of the outside world? I picked her up and carried her to the car.
When we reached the train station, it was ten minutes before eight o’clock. The train was ready for departure. Children, some looking to be Eva’s age, some older than Monto, were boarding two carriages, numbered 14a and 14b. The parents were weeping, dabbing their eyes, giving their children goodbyes and last advice.
I got out of the car and nearly flew to the platform with Eva in my arms. Near a post with a gaslight, I was greeted by Miss Bracey, a woman in a plaid skirt and a black coat, standing next to a uniformed officer who was jotting down something at a desk. In her polite manner, she asked for the transportation fee and Eva’s name and birthday, which Fengshan had filled out earlier; then an officer gave me a placard with a three-digit number attached to a string—Eva’s seat number, also her identification number. The train was ready to depart; most children had already boarded.
“I guess it’s time to go, Eva,” I said, trying to stay cheerful. Lola had decided to send her niece away, and she couldn’t even come to say goodbye to her. And really, this was thoughtless, sending her niece to a foreign country. Would Eva have food to eat on the train? Would she be able to sleep? And what if the train was stopped by the Gestapo? Who would look after her in England? I wished Lola had given it more thought.
“Is Tante Lola coming?” Eva asked.
“She got caught up with something, I think.”
Eva’s lips trembled; she glanced at the children boarding the train, their suitcases, and the parents crying and kissing their children. “Do I have to go?”
I knelt in front of Eva and straightened her coat collar. “Tante Lola arranged this trip, Eva. She wants you to be safe.”
“I want my music box.” Which we had left behind in her apartment.
“In England, you might be able to find another music box.”
The last child had boarded the train; Miss Bracey looked at her watch.
“Is Tante Lola going to meet me in England?”
It was cruel to lie to a child, but it was even crueler to tell her the truth. “Oh yes.”
“I’d rather stay here with you.”
Just like that, I wanted to hold her and tell her she didn’t need to go. I wanted to keep her, for I had grown attached to her, her small body, her German accent, her trusting eyes. But how unfair this world was—even though I wanted to be hers, she could not be mine.
Miss Bracey was walking toward us; the officer was holding the door. “You have to go now, Eva.”
Eva lifted her suitcase with both hands and shuffled to the carriage. She looked so small, delicate, carrying the suitcase half her size, the only thing she had, a nine-year-old with a splintered family, without a friend, without a country.
The door shut behind her; the steel-toned light from the station’s bare bulbs grazed the shuttered windows. A chain of squeaks rattled in the air. The train chugged forward, diving through the icy shards, into the ridge of darkness.
The wind barreled down the track from the opposite direction and swept over me. Never had I felt this cold. Would I see her again? Would Lola see her again?
The train wavered, plunging into the distant horizon; the tracks shuddered. Before me, a gibbous moon, ragged with streaks of red, floated in the distance, so close, yet so far away, and the heart of winter was black, full of ice.
CHAPTER 40
FENGSHAN
Near Christmas, all consulates in Vienna and embassies in Berlin were closed for the holidays and would remain closed for three weeks until after the new year. What did 1939 have in store for China? Fengshan refrained from speculation and held on to some hope that the ambassador would not take notice of the additional visas he issued.
It was indeed the holiday season, as Captain Heine had said. The streets of Vienna, where many Gestapo and Brownshirts and Hitler Youths roamed, sparkled with strings of blue, red, purple, and white lights. People flocked to the opera houses, concert halls, theaters, and movie theaters. The opera of Empress Sisi, the perennially popular Hapsburg empress, was in demand daily, lighthearted comedies featuring a duo of controlling mother and innocent daughter were popular in movie theaters, and the music of Strauss and Mozart waltzed in ballrooms and concerts. Children frolicked on the snowy slopes with their toboggans and skis; families packed the giant Ferris wheel cars in the Prater. Hausfrauen strolled the Christmas markets selling many household items, crystal candle holders, fur coats, woolen jackets, and even extravagant Gobelins tapestries. Many had been used in and likely removed from opulent mansions to be sold at jaw-dropping prices.
Sadly, for the Jews waiting in Fengshan’s consulate, the concerts, markets, theaters, ballrooms, and hotels were prohibited. They had no entertainment, no joy, no dancing, no shopping; their only dream was a safe existence or an exit from Vienna.
As part of his duty as consul general, Fengshan attended several balls and parties organized by the government. It was awkward—the grandiose Hofburg palace that had been decorated with the coat of arms now fluttered with swastika flags. In the ballrooms, the Hapsburg royalty wearing the Order of the Golden Fleece, the officials clad in their full Tyrolean uniforms who had stood arm in arm with their wives in pillbox hats, and the aristocrats in suits with gold-trimmed waistcoats and gleaming cuff links were gone. They were replaced by flamboyant arms dealers, whose factories were rumored to be building a thousand bombs a day, accompanied by opera actresses clad in the latest clothes, and high-ranking Gestapo in their black uniforms.
Eichmann, Captain Heine had said, had attended the balls hosted by the film industry in Vienna. Fengshan was glad he had not come across him again. Overall, the Germans at the parties were friendly enough, but when he danced with several fashionable women, he was warned not to partner with them again because it was suspected they had Jewish blood. He smiled politely, though disgusted, commenting that he was a gentleman of etiquette, and it was not his intention to ignore anyone, a Jewess or not.