“Yes.” I had grown drowsy, almost falling asleep.
“A man is watching us,” he whispered in my ear.
I looked around. Near a trimmed bush shaped like an egg, a man in a navy jacket smoked a cigarette. He stubbed his cigarette out with his foot and pulled his jacket aside to reveal a pistol in his holster.
I sprang to my feet. “What did he do? Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“Let’s go, let’s go now.” I took Monto’s hand and rushed to the park’s exit.
“Grace, he said to tell Father not to issue visas to Jews.”
Eichmann’s man! He had demolished the consulate, and now he was threatening us.
In our apartment, I waved at Fengshan, working at his desk. He put down his pen and walked to the bedroom with Monto and me. When he heard about the man in the park, his face turned pale, his hand gripping Monto’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
The seedy business of Eichmann had rattled Fengshan, who had never imagined that his job would pose a threat to his son’s life, and we were unprotected, with Captain Heine gone—the only help we could seek was from the corrupt Viennese police, who had little sympathy for us.
“I’m fine, Father. Grace was there for me.” The brave boy gave his father a cup of water to drink.
Fengshan finished it in one gulp. “This is beyond my comprehension. The newspapers said Eichmann departed in May after the consulate’s demolition, reassigned to Prague, as Captain Heine had said.”
Who else would want Fengshan to stop issuing visas? It had to be someone who worked for Eichmann. He had said Prague was not his choice. He must be resentful of Fengshan.
He looked pensive, pacing our bedroom. “Will you be careful?”
I glanced at Monto by the window. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.”
Fengshan looked relieved and went to work. Feeling tired again, I took a long nap.
In my sleep, I thought I heard men’s rough voices speaking German in Fengshan’s office. It occurred to me that it was the radio broadcasting German. But then it was followed by a man’s voice speaking English with a British accent: “Hitler claims that in Poland, gallows after gallows have been erected to hang the good German people, many Germans are persecuted in a bloody frenzy of terror, and innocent German blood is flowing on the streets of Warsaw. Hitler vows that as a protector of the German people, he’ll take necessary steps to ensure their safety in Poland.”
Germans? In Poland? It was all so confusing, and Fengshan murmured something and switched to another station: another man’s voice, speaking French, followed by English again. “Breaking news. It is reported that German Foreign Affairs Minister Ribbentrop has signed a nonaggression pact with Molotov, the minister of foreign affairs of the Soviet Union. They have consented to avoid military action against each other for the next ten years. This is the second part of the pact after the two parties have agreed on economic development for both countries.”
What was this rubbish? Germany and Soviet Union? I longed for some sonatas, some symphonies, or Bach played on violin. Or Lola’s favorite piece. Last year, music was like the air people breathed in Vienna, and now the air was devoid of music. Was Lola listening to her favorite music?
CHAPTER 54
FENGSHAN
He had trouble sleeping ever since Eichmann’s man threatened Monto in the park. For days, after work, despite his exhaustion, he lay in bed at night, his mind racing with fear. Sometimes he would go check on Monto when he slept. In the dark, sitting on the sofa, he listened to his son’s soft breathing. He had been a good father, he hoped, encouraging his son to have hobbies to broaden his horizon, giving him a good education that was essential for his future, and teaching him to be a good man—that was what he valued most: a boy must become a man of good character. Monto had been mature for his age, resilient, and intelligent; all the moves, from China to Istanbul and to Vienna, had not dampened his spirits. Monto had learned to speak English and German and expressed great interest in music and math. He would have a bright future.
Had he neglected his son because of his work? Admittedly so—visa issuance had occupied his mind and soul, and he hardly had time to take a walk to free his mind. He should care for Monto more, his son, his legacy.
What if Eichmann’s man hurt his son?
He could ask for more policemen, but without Captain Heine, it was doubtful that he could find reliable security from the Vienna police. Grace had promised to protect Monto. He could count on her. She had been an absentminded girl, a dreamer, but pregnancy and the growing bond between her and Monto had turned her into a single-minded dragon mother.
The first day of September began with a great storm. Rain pummeled the rows of neoclassical buildings and blew through the apartment building’s front entrance, sending the sign that said The Temporary Office of the Consulate of the Republic of China flying in the air and blank envelopes and sheets of forms to the floor. For the entire day, the sky turned dark like midnight, the wintry chill that used to arrive in October blasting through the hallway to his office.
In the evening, he had just put down his pen when he heard Grace switching the radio channels, from a French station to a German station and then a Czech station, searching for music. She didn’t have success—all the stations were deep in discussions about something related to the military.
The Führer had decided to free the innocent Germans from the ruthless hands of the Polish, he heard, and the invincible German Wehrmacht had crossed the border.
“Stop, Grace. Turn it up.”
He had heard correctly. Hitler had invaded Poland.
He rushed out of the bedroom and phoned Ambassador Chen from the office. The line was busy.
Fengshan had a difficult time concentrating on the visas for the next few days. The radio was turned on; everything he heard irritated him—the exhilarated declaration of a broadcaster speaking German, the orotund voice of a man shouting over the heavy footfalls of the marching army, the bombastic military songs—yet he couldn’t keep himself from listening to it. He rubbed his eyes and switched to another channel; instantly, his ears were attacked by the threatening rumble of the tanks, the drone of the Luftwaffe, the chaotic shouts, the ridiculous chants, and the salvo of gunfire.
Britain and France had declared war on Germany, a man’s voice heavy with force announced. And what would Chamberlain and Daladier do, after having fooled themselves for months? They had been overly confident in their power and ultimately outmaneuvered.
Ambassador Chen should have heard the news by now, and Fengshan prayed this would motivate the ambassador to reevaluate the situation and distance them from the Third Reich.
But perhaps the most urgent question he had was regarding the Jews in Poland, who now fell within the range of the Nazis’ tanks. Where would they go?
He put down his pen and looked up. About ten people wearing bowler hats were crammed into his office; all were listening to the radio; none made a noise. Their fear, the sense of doom, was palpable.
A young, joyous voice erupted in front of him.
“I got it, I got it! Visas! Visas! I’m going to Shanghai! My family is going to Shanghai! Thank you, thank you!” It was a young man shouting, one button missing from his coat, his expression one of pure euphoria.