That evening I didn’t sleep well, dreaming of the investigation and the Nazi officer Eichmann.
A few days later, I made a bittersweet discovery—I was pregnant. Counting days, I could tell I was about two months in. After so many years of trying and hoping, after many lonely months, I could finally fulfill my wish to be a mother.
I nearly flew downstairs to whisper in Fengshan’s ear.
He was pleased.
When Fengshan was buried in the applications again, I, alone, went shopping for baby clothes on the K?rntnerstrasse.
This was the second time in two years that I had gone out shopping on the street, nearly a year since I’d met Lola. I almost lost my way again among the boutiques with glittery glass windows, the neat kiosks selling newspapers in German and French and English, and the bakeries and flower shops, but I had kept a slip with the consulate’s address, as Lola had advised. There was so much to see: patterned brown leather shoes, prim Tyrolean hats with feathers, stylish ladies’ fur hats, long, shimmering gowns, and stockings. The area was a shopping paradise, a show of ultimate Viennese decadence.
Near the nursery shop, two German women in red and white dirndl passed by, their laughter a joyous overture under the April sun. The taller woman had a plump, youthful face like Lola’s before the scar. Had Lola been here, she would have been overjoyed for me, and she would have come shopping with me, and we could have discussed which stroller to purchase and which bassinet was the warmest.
It had been over a month since her disappearance. Where was she? Was she safe? Was she alive?
CHAPTER 48
FENGSHAN
A few days after Counselor Ding’s visit, he was deep in his work when Frau Maxa galumphed into his office again. Fengshan raised his head—the unflappable Austrian who rarely appeared excited or frightened looked pale. Adolf Eichmann, clad in his full SS Obersturmführer black uniform with a cap emblazoned with the skull and crossbones, had just entered the consulate.
Calmly, Fengshan put down his pen and walked to the lobby, where his staff suddenly appeared to be busy with their drawers and the applicants gazed at the floor. Eichmann was studying the paintings on the wall, his legs spread wide, his hands on his waist, still as a scarecrow.
“Greetings, Herr Eichmann.” Fengshan gave the man a bow as a courtesy. The man had utterly disregarded the protocol, an officer barging into a consulate of another country without first sending a card or making an appointment.
“Herr Consul General, greetings. Quite a place you have here. Prime location. Superb paintings of the Empress Joséphine. I just saw two policemen pass by. Who sent them here?”
“The good police of Vienna.”
There appeared that sly smile. “Hauptsturmführer Heine is a good man, although it’s concerning that he’d ignore our Führer’s instruction and use our resources to support the foreigners.”
“He’s only doing his duty. Sir, how may I help you today?”
“Herr Consul General, I’m doing my duty as well. The good German people have complained about the scum seeking visas from your consulate. The boisterous crowd has blocked the street, created traffic problems, and engaged in riotous activities that have threatened good Germans’ lives and endangered the safety of drivers and passersby. Such gatherings must cease for the residents’ safety, for the normal traffic flow, and for the neighborhood’s peace. I want to ask you a favor: to consider halting the visa issuance at the consulate.”
He had not expected such an insolent request from this man. “With respect, the activity of the consulate is important for my country and must not be interrupted unless by order of my superiors. The visa seekers do not block the street; if I may clarify, they wait in an orderly queue, and they do not engage in boisterous or disruptive activities that threaten the safety of the residents.”
“Herr Consul General, are you deliberately ignoring the complaint of the good Germans?” The man’s voice was laced with threat.
The Devil’s Deputy—he recalled Mr. Rosenburg’s words, and he could only imagine the fear and devastation that paralyzed the helpless men when they faced his gun in the dungeon. “I’m only fulfilling my duty as the consul general of the consulate of the Republic of China.”
Eichmann’s eyes narrowed, and he put a cigarette in his mouth, dug out a gold-plated cigarette lighter, and lit it. In the corner of his lips appeared a calculating sneer. “Herr Consul General, given our friendship, I feel obliged to inform you that your duty has come in conflict with the plan of our Führer. All Jews in Vienna are now banned from leaving. They must stay. They will live here, work here, and die here. It is my new mission, and I don’t expect any challenges.”
Fengshan felt his heart ablaze with the wildfire of rage. “I beg you to enlighten me. For months, I had the impression that your government encouraged the Jews to leave the country, and they’re following the order to go through every legal step. Why this reversal?”
“I don’t believe I owe you an explanation. This is our country’s policy. It’s adjusting as we speak, but if you really wish to know, I have received permission from my superior to operate some camps in Doppl and Sandhof. The Jews are excellent labor and cheap. They’ll be trained for the technical and agricultural jobs in those camps and contribute to our country’s success. To let them leave is a waste of resources.”
Fengshan suppressed the urge to punch the man’s face. “Allow me to reiterate, the main function of a consulate is to issue visas, and the order I received is to grant visas to every single person who applies. It is my duty, and my privilege, to carry out the order. May I walk you out?”
The man’s gray eyes looked frozen. “How long have you been in Vienna, Herr Consul General?”
“Almost two years.”
“I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed your life in Vienna so far.”
“I have enjoyed the hospitality of many Viennese, and if I may add, China and Germany have also enjoyed decades of friendship. I think your car is waiting outside.” He walked to the consulate’s entrance and extended his hand, urging the man to exit.
But Eichmann remained where he was. “Who’s the owner of the consulate?”
“Herr Goodman is my landlord.”
There appeared that sickening, sly smile again. “Hendrich Goodman? That Jew? Where is that coward? I’d like to speak to him.”
“I believe he lives in Switzerland.”
“Hiding in Switzerland. Of course. Or he would be sent to a camp already. But he has left this building behind.” The Nazi rogue looked as though he was enjoying the funniest joke.
Fengshan’s heart skipped a few beats. What Eichmann didn’t say was known to every Jew, and to him too: that the property of the Jews now belonged to the government. “You must forgive me. Herr Goodman and the consulate have signed a lease for ten years. This is our fourth year. It’s a contract between a state and an individual, bound by legal terms.”
Eichmann was smiling his oily smile again. “I beg to differ. This is Germany, and we have the right to revise the law and terminate a contract if we wish. As one of your old friends, I’d like to offer your consulate one last chance. Cease issuing visas. Take the Closed sign out and tell the ragtag and bobtail to disperse. Or it is assumed that the consulate will no longer be in existence.”