“What’s their intended destination?”
“Palestine.”
The visas to China, it appeared, would be used as a device for the Jews to escape Vienna. If he were to follow Ambassador Chen’s order to halt the issuance of visas, it would be for this type of visa—visas to smugglers and illegal transporters.
“Herr Consul General, I beg you. You must hear me. Palestine is the country confirmed to us by the League of Nations. We have the right to live there, but Palestine, a British mandate, is beyond our reach. Britain restricts the immigration of German Jews on a large scale, believing a Jewish majority in Palestine will pose a threat and complicate their ruling in Palestine.”
This delicate situation of controlling the territory was nothing new. Fengshan knew too well that the Suez Canal, a corridor to India and other colonies, was vital for the British empire, and the British wanted absolute control in that region. What the young man didn’t say was that the Rumanian official feared he would antagonize the British, since his approval of the passage would violate the British order. As a diplomat, Fengshan was aware of the risk of antagonizing the British as well, and for the interest of his country, it was best to avoid rocking the boat.
“I’m sorry; this qualifies you as a smuggler, Mr. Galili. You’re conducting the illegal immigration of seven hundred seventy-five people.”
“Herr Consul General, I wouldn’t refer to it as illegal immigration; I would say it’s free immigration.”
Fengshan waved his hand.
“Herr Consul General, people will die if they turn back to Germany. Seven hundred seventy-five people.”
Fengshan’s heart grew heavy. “Is this the first time you’re transporting people to Palestine?”
Those black eyes locked on him. “We’ve been transporting Jews to Palestine since 1930.”
“Which organization do you work for, Mr. Galili?”
“It doesn’t matter what organization it is, does it, Herr Consul General? We have a crisis in this country, and we are doing all we can to save people’s lives.”
This was an audacious man. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Mr. Galili.”
The young man wrapped his loosened scarf tighter around his neck. “If it’s about saving people’s lives, Herr Consul General, we don’t have a choice.”
Fengshan sighed. “Do you have the passports with you?”
“They’re in four bags. I couldn’t bring them all.”
“Bring them to the consulate tomorrow and fill out the forms, Mr. Galili. I shall have the visas ready in two days.”
The young man let out a long breath. “Thank you, Herr Consul General.”
Fengshan’s hands were freezing. He rubbed them to keep warm, turning to leave. “May I have your real name, Mr. Galili?”
The young man smiled, and there in his intelligent eyes flashed the light of admiration and gratitude. “My name is William Perl. I’m the founder of Die Aktion, Af-Al-Pi, an underground organization that helps Jews leave Vienna. The members of Af-Al-Pi owe you eternal gratitude, Herr Consul General.”
Fengshan smiled and walked back to the consulate. His loyalty would always be to China, but when it came to saving people’s lives, a man’s obligation to his superior was no longer critical.
The next day, Vice Consul Zhou carried the package that contained seven hundred seventy-five forged passports to his desk. He looked anxious, scratching his head with his long nail. “Mr. Consul General, these passports, if I may say this, need further investigation. They look authentic, but none of the applicants could be contacted for interviews.”
“Do not worry. Once the visas are approved, someone will come to pick up the package.” He waved his hand.
The vice consul gasped. He was perhaps lazy, but not dim-witted. “Should we report to the ambassador . . .”
Fengshan had not relayed the ambassador’s cessation order to the vice consul. “There’s no need. I’ll explain it to him.”
He took out the cross on his necklace, kissed it, and laid out the passports on his desk. There were consequences he must consider—he, the consul general of his consulate, was knowingly issuing visas to those who were immigrating to Palestine, not China. There was no turning back after this. Not only had he defied his superior’s order to suspend visas, but he was also supporting the illegal transportation of the Jews. His career would forever bear the stamp of defiance, and it was possible that he could face a brutal check from his superior or even suffer a permanent career setback. But the time to win the superior’s approval and care for personal glory had passed; this was the time to save lives.
Holding his pen, he signed, in his steady strokes, his name on the visas.
CHAPTER 45
GRACE
For weeks, the roads were blanketed with knee-deep snow, the prancing equestrian statues in the plaza were a shapeless white, and on the streets, the Viennese, in their brown and black loden outfits, hunched their backs, hurrying along.
I agonized over Lola’s disappearance every day. Sometimes, I believed firmly that she had escaped with all the people in the building; sometimes, a depressing thought sat in my mind like a rock deposited in a lake—she had been taken to Mauthausen and would be worked to death.
I couldn’t bear it. I went to see Monto. He was sitting by the fireplace, reading a German book with pictures. He looked lonely, a twelve-year-old boy with bony shoulders and round eyes. The tuft of hair that often stuck out was lamely drooping near his ear—he needed a haircut.
“Could you still predict someone’s future by reading their signature, Monto?”
“Of course I can.”
“Wait here. I have something to show you.” I went to the vice consul and asked to see Lola’s visa application forms. He was reluctant, saying he was busy, but I insisted and offered to find them myself. Finally, he gave in. I took out the application page that bore Lola’s signature and put it in front of Monto. “Tell me. Is she alive?”
He scrutinized it, his black eyes intense like his father’s when he was contemplating something serious. “She’s alive.”
I let out my breath. “Thank you.”
“Who’s Lola? Is she the girl you were hiding in the storage room?”
“How did you know?”
“Of course I knew.”
“Don’t tell anyone, all right? She’s a good friend. Like Willi to you. How’s Willi?”
Monto burst into tears. “Willi is missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hasn’t come to school this year. It’s been months! He missed many days last year too. I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”
The absences on the transcript. “Monto, your grades have been low. What’s going on?”
“Don’t tell Father!”
“I won’t, but how about we make a deal. I’ll help you find your friend, but you promise me you’ll focus on school and get your grades up. What do you say?”
“How will you find him?”
“I’ll go visit him at home. Do you know his address?”
“I do. But Father wouldn’t allow it. He said we needed an invitation.”