“But you never got my letters . . .” Kitty felt panic rise like bile in her throat. The shop was gone and, presumably, the book with it.
“The building was bombed less than a month after they left. But I took down the address the minute your mother was out the door.” Clara went over to the table where the sewing machine sat and opened a drawer. She pulled out a small notebook, thumbing through the pages until she found what she was looking for. “There it is.”
Kitty had trouble controlling the pen as she copied it down: Ezra Medavoy Silks, 118 Nanking Road, Shanghai, China. Could her parents really have cheated death and found sanctuary in this unknown, faraway place?
“I wanted to write to them—but I was afraid to,” Clara said. “When the Japanese entered the war, Günther, my husband, said it might put them in danger, sending something through the post.”
“Why?”
“Because the Japanese were in control of China. They were already there when the war started.”
Kitty’s stomach lurched. How terrible for her parents, to have escaped Austria only to be confronted by Hitler’s allies on the other side of the world. Had the Japanese hated Jews as much as the Nazis did? Would they have hunted them down in their new home?
As she handed the notebook back, her head was bursting with questions that Clara couldn’t possibly answer. “They . . .” Kitty faltered, her voice threatening to break as she opened her mouth. “They never wrote to you?”
“They might have tried to—I don’t know. But they wouldn’t have known about the shop and our apartment being destroyed. They wouldn’t have known where I’d gone.” She put the notebook back in the drawer. “What will you do now?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I need to talk to someone.” She was thinking aloud. “The Red Cross might be able to help. I don’t know if they operate in China, but I can find out.”
“Good luck,” Clara whispered. “I wish I could have helped you more.”
When she caught sight of Charlie waiting across the road, she ran into his arms. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to tell him, in a stuttered jumble of words, what Clara had revealed.
“They got away! That’s fantastic news!” He hugged her to him, stroking her hair.
“I . . . kn . . . know,” she mumbled into his jacket. “B . . . but I . . .” She knew she should be laughing, dancing for joy at the news of their escape. But all she could feel was numb despair at the thought of their chances of surviving in that distant, war-torn land.
“We’ll go to the Chinese embassy,” Charlie said. “Can you remember where it is?”
She nodded, gulping back tears. “Y . . . you think they might be able to tell me something?”
“I don’t know. It’s worth a try.”
They tried, without success, to find a taxi. After traipsing across the city for two hours, they reached the Chinese embassy, only to find that the doors were padlocked. A sign said that no ambassadorial services were available at present. The lettering looked faded. Mr. and Mrs. Ho, it seemed, were long gone.
Back at the hotel, Charlie asked if they could put a call through to the Red Cross. But the person Kitty spoke to said there was no branch in China. Relief work there was only just getting underway.
That evening they went to an ice-cream parlor near the hotel. It was full of GIs with their Viennese girlfriends, their laughter spilling out into the street. They found an empty table in a dingy corner, away from the hubbub at the entrance. There was no menu—it was vanilla or nothing. Kitty spooned it into her mouth, not really wanting to eat. But the cold sweetness had a strangely soothing effect on her frazzled nerves.
“Do you think the silk merchant might have a telephone?” she said between mouthfuls. “Is there a way of finding out numbers for people in China?”
“I doubt it.” Charlie put down his spoon. “Listen, Kitty, I don’t want to sound negative, but it’s been four years since the Japs came into the war. I imagine Shanghai will be very much like this place: not like it used to be.”
“Did America bomb it?”
“Probably. It’s a major seaport.”
She closed her eyes. It was unbearable to think of her parents being caught up in raids by the very people who were trying to defeat Hitler.
Charlie reached for her hand. “Why don’t you try sending a wire? But maybe not from Vienna—from what I’ve heard, the service isn’t very reliable. Messages get lost or scrambled. Better to wait till we get back.”