CHAPTER 64
FENGSHAN
In his dark office, he sat on the sofa, without taking off his coat or hat. It was good to be encapsulated in the space of silence, of darkness, of grief. A light, a life, had been extinguished in front of him, and he had been unable to stop it.
The phone rang. It must be Ambassador Chen.
He got up but went to the bathroom. In front of the sink, he took off his coat and hat, splashed water on his face, and stared at himself in the mirror. His nose was red, his eyes bloodshot, a red speck wedged in the corner of his eye. His face was that of a scarred old man.
The phone stopped ringing, but then it rang again. He went out and picked up the receiver. Ambassador Chen’s voice burst in his ear like thunder.
“Where have you been, Fengshan?”
He was about to speak when the ambassador’s voice burst again. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you regarding your evaluation. But a devastating report of your involvement in an attempt to assassinate a high-ranking SS official reached my table. What on earth were you doing in the hotel?”
“Ambassador Chen, you can’t honestly believe—”
“What else do you expect me to believe when the secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Berlin called me up! It’s a disgrace, Fengshan! I thought better of you. You’ve jeopardized the reputation of your country, and you’ve greatly damaged the friendship between our two countries! You’ve willfully disregarded my order and obstinately enforced a dated instruction from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I’ve tolerated your behavior this far. And I strove to be objective with regard to your great contribution to the twenty-five-million-dollar loan. But assassinating a high-ranking SS official?”
“Ambassador—”
“The evaluation of your job performance has been completed, and I’ll submit it to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for review. In light of the recent event, I’ve also had a serious discussion with the Ministry.”
He swore, despite the formality of the ambassador’s tone, that there was a hint of relief in his voice. It was all too evident what the discussion entailed. He must pay the price for defying the ambassador’s order.
“I’d like to inform you that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and I have reached an agreement that with your talent and skill, you’ll prove to be a great asset at home. I’ve requested you return home in May.”
Return home, a term all diplomats dreaded to hear, was a euphemism for discharge.
CHAPTER 65
GRACE
The night was a blur, the bedroom a shadow in guttering light. For hours I didn’t know what to do, sitting in the wheelchair, stiff, drowsy with morphine. When I managed to keep my eyes open, I tried to read Lola’s letters in my poetry book. But all I could see were musical notes and words like leaves, golden like autumn, flying around me.
Lola was truly gone now. Never would she reappear out of thin air to speak in her thunderous voice; never would she ask me to write something down. Had I listened to Fengshan, would she still be alive?
How was it decided—who must live, who must die?
I wondered what had gone through her mind when she envisioned killing Eichmann. I wondered what her thoughts were when she had the evil man within her reach—rage, fear, peace, or triumph? There had been a chance for me to understand her, to prevent that moment. Instead, all I could do now was imagine, through the wall of life and death.
I imagined the days when we first met: her pride at being part of Vienna, her belief in her people, her fight for her family; I imagined her decisions of not letting her tears roll, fighting for her brother’s freedom, for Eva’s life; I imagined how she became the name of suffering, of loss, of injustice, of silence. Lola—the sound of vivacity, the voice of life that we aspired to live by.
Stay strong, start anew. You can still create your legacy beyond progeny, Grace.
I wheeled to the nightstand and held my poetry book. Did I understand? I could try.
I stopped taking morphine the next day.
I made an effort to stand up and walk. I nearly fell, nearly injured myself. So weak I was. It didn’t matter. I would keep trying.
I would start anew. For Lola and myself.
CHAPTER 66
FENGSHAN
He started the transfer of the consulate to Vice Consul Zhou, now the consul-general-in-waiting, the next day. He gave detailed instructions regarding the protocol, the businesses, and the handful of Chinese citizens left in Greater Germany and their professions, and, finally, handed over the consulate’s seal that was essential to the visas. In a tone that he hoped was indifferent, he asked Zhou if he had thoughts about the immigration policy for the Jews.
“It is up to the ambassador,” Vice Consul Zhou replied.
Ambassador Chen had gotten what he wished, an obedient subordinate who would carry out his orders. As for the Jews who were still desperate to flee—if they were still coming—there was nothing he could do now.
Five days later, he completed the transfer process, loaded all his belongings and Grace’s and Monto’s in a taxi, and moved out of the apartment.
In the garden of the Hotel Imperial, he took a walk with Grace and Monto. His diplomat’s term would end in May, and he had a month to leave Vienna. It was time to plan for his future. The return-home order was just as it sounded, returning without official assignments or being appointed to a post. He could return to his hometown, where his family home had been bombed by the Japanese and which was now under Japanese occupation, or he could return to his government, hiding in the hinterland, and hope for another job.
“I don’t want to go to China,” Grace said from her wheelchair.
She was gazing at a blackbird flitting on the bare horse chestnut tree. The sunlight showered on her face, a blanket draping over her shoulder. She seemed to be drifting in her own world again, but her eyes were etched with the edge of clarity. It seemed that she was looking at something at the end of the street, a sight at the furthest distance.
“Where would you like to go, Grace?”
“Is it up to me?”
He smiled wryly. Since when did she speak to him in that tone? “Your decision. Wherever you decide to go, we’ll go. We’ll start a new life.”
But where else could he start his career, if not in China?
Her eyes flickered. “I’d love to go home.”
He couldn’t blame her; if China was a compass in his heart, then America was hers. He should take her home; he owed her that, after years of relocating for his career. Now that his career had ended, it was her turn to choose where they’d live. The United States was reachable with his diplomatic status, though that would expire soon. “We’ll go to the US.”
The next morning, he purchased three boat tickets to the US with a departure date of May 10. They would embark on a liner from the Italian seaport of Trieste and sail to New York. He also sent a telegram to a friend in China, Mr. Wang Pengsheng, the director of the Institute of International Relations of the National Military Commission, indicating his travel to the US—his friends, he was certain, had heard of his discharge by now.
Two days before their departure, he received a telegram from his friend, Mr. Wang, asking him to write reports about President Roosevelt when he arrived there. A minor assignment, with a paltry compensation, nothing like an official post with salary and dignity. Fengshan gladly took it. This would keep him occupied while Grace recuperated.