“I’ll tell Willi’s parents I’m in the neighborhood. You can come with me too, and once you see him, we’ll leave. How’s that?”
“You won’t tell Father?”
“Pinkie promise.” I stuck out my pinkie.
The next day, I told Fengshan I’d take Monto to school; then Monto led our way to Willi’s apartment, located on the third floor of a complex on the K?rntnerstrasse. When I knocked on the door, an elderly German woman, wearing a black dress with lace around her neck, opened it. Monto shrank behind me. I would have hidden as well, but this was for him. So in English and with gestures, I explained, as calmly as I could, that we were looking for Willi, Monto’s friend.
The older woman’s eyes misted, and, covering her mouth, she said something in heavily accented English that I finally made out. She was Willi’s grandmother, and Willi, who had poor eyesight, had gone to the hospital one day but never returned. The hospital said he’d had surgery and was recovering in an undisclosed area but wouldn’t allow visitors. Willi’s mother had passed away two years ago, and his father had long disappeared, so Willi had been under her care.
I looked at Monto, waiting to see if he had anything to ask. He shook his head and turned around. We left the building and walked out to the street, passing the closed shops—many were tailors and dressmakers and retail shops selling stockings and knitwear.
I asked, “Is Willi Jewish?”
“I don’t know.”
“His grandmother said his vision was poor.”
Monto nodded. “He got worse. He was almost blind. He loved to sing ‘Dein ist mein ganzes Herz.’”
“What’s that?”
“An aria from The Land of Smiles.”
That explained why Monto was good friends with Willi. Monto loved to sing too. “I’m sorry we couldn’t see him.”
He stared at the tram clunking on the Ringstrasse. The misery that had been etched on his face was replaced by something calm. This trip had helped him reach an understanding, it seemed. “I think he’s dead.”
“What are you talking about?”
He kicked the cobblestones. “Then why can’t we see him?”
“He’s in a very special place with good care, a special place for blind people, his grandmother said that.”
“When I grow up, I’ll be a doctor, so I can cure Willi’s blindness, so he’ll be able to see.”
“Good idea, Monto.”
A fleet of trucks loaded with golden Baroque chairs and sofas, rugs, lamps, and paintings passed us. Monto reached out to hold my hand.
This was the first time since I became his stepmother that he had held my hand. I did my best not to take special notice, did my best to pretend this was nothing out of the ordinary. But my heart fluttered. It was as if it was confirmed by this intelligent boy that I was worthy and that I was not the Grace who didn’t know what to do with him.
And Monto wouldn’t know this either—I had never held Mother’s hand when growing up. Between cleaning people’s houses and baking and doing laundry and digging clams and peeling potatoes, she was exhausted at home. And when we were in public, I toddled behind her while she walked ahead to distance herself from me.
“You have a small hand,” Monto said.
I felt my eyes grow misty. I remembered—I was about seven—when my mother was in a good mood, her face pretty with her freckles, a shining constellation, and she had held me on her lap. She counted my fingers—this little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef—and made the same comment. A small hand of a small child, she had said. A simple statement, without the color of rage or disappointment or distaste, a rare moment, like the sight of a rainbow, glittering after years of violent storms.
What if Mother had held my hand? What if she had said something like “You have small hands, but they’re just as strong”？ What if she had fought her own demons and stayed away from alcohol?
I turned Monto toward me—he was almost my height. “And you have a big heart, Monto. You remember this, will you? You’ll grow up to be a great man, a man who achieves great things, a man with friends and family who love you. You’ll be strong.”
My boy smiled.
CHAPTER 46
FENGSHAN
He was in the middle of reading the visa application forms when he heard Frau Maxa’s heavy footfalls.
“Herr Consul General.” She knocked on the door. “You have a visitor from Berlin. He called himself Counselor Ding. He said he was dispatched by Ambassador Chen.”
For a brief moment, Fengshan panicked. His superior had taken offense at his disobedience, as he had feared. He put down his fountain pen. Counselor Ding, the assistant to Ambassador Chen in the embassy, was an acquaintance he’d met a few times, but he had not been involved in specific missions with him. “Please bring him in.”
A few minutes later, Counselor Ding, a man in his forties, wearing a pair of glasses with black rims, strode into his office.
“Counselor Ding.” Fengshan went around to shake hands with him. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming. Did I miss the telegram?”
“I didn’t send a telegram, Consul General. At the ambassador’s behest, I’m here to investigate a few urgent matters that include visa issuance. Thus I hereby request you order the suspension of the visa activities at this moment.” His face looked as severe as a grandfather ready to punish an unruly child.
The ambassador had intended to prove that he was guilty of insubordination and misconduct through the investigation, he realized, and if the ambassador got his way, he could censure or remove him.
“Of course, Counselor Ding.”
Remaining absolutely collected, Fengshan went out to Vice Consul Zhou’s desk and relayed the order. Zhou got up, made the announcement, and put the Closed sign near the door. A wave of sighs and groans rose from the applicants near the entrance, and Fengshan refrained from telling them to wait, to come back.
He went back to his office. “Counselor Ding, the visa issuance has been halted, as you have instructed, although I must bring to your attention that an order from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was sent to me, and it has indicated we pursue a lenient policy regarding the Jews’ immigration. I’m simply following the policy from the Ministry.”
The order from the Ministry was irrefutable proof that he was indeed following an order coming from above the ambassador, and subsequently, the ambassador could not charge him with defiance.
Counselor Ding carelessly put his briefcase on top of the application forms on his desk—the pile of papers that held the key to people’s lives—and took off his leather gloves. “The order from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is also part of my investigation. Ambassador Chen would like me to examine it. May I take a look at it?”
The ambassador wanted to see his proof.
“Of course. I have the telegram. I shall retrieve it this instant.” Fengshan opened the cabinet drawer that kept all the important communications between him, the embassy, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He took out a large white envelope and searched among the letters and telegrams, all sorted by date, found the telegram, and placed it in front of Counselor Ding. “Here.”