The sergeant hit him with the hilt of the sword, and he passed out in pain. When he came to his senses, he saw he’d been thrown into a foul-smelling, straw-covered cell, where he received more blows. But that was barely torture compared to what his jail mates suffered. Especially the woman on a bench across from him. She was naked, her face covered with blood and feces, her nipples and her private parts pierced with electric wires. Each time the Japanese soldier turned on the switch of the electric shock board, she jolted and screamed.
A man with a bloody face and bloody fingers sang across from him. The poor soul’s fingernails had been pulled out, and he was giddy. Ernest recognized him as an executive from the Jardine Group, who’d often patronized the Jazz Bar.
Near the wall two Japanese held a naked man and poured into his mouth gallons of urine mixed with pungent kerosene. The man groaned, his stomach bloated, but the torture had just begun—they beat him over and over with a steel rod. When they were tired, they kicked the poor man’s stomach just for the fun of it.
Ernest shivered. Nausea, pain, and fear writhed inside him.
For days he watched the sickening torture and grew weak from lack of sleep, water, and food. His bones ached from daily blows, and he was running a fever. Finally, Yamazaki showed up in the dark cell. “Mr. Reismann, I hope you’re comfortable.”
He elbowed up, leaning against the dank wall. “You’ve already taken my assets; you got what you want. Why take me here?”
“I still have unfinished business with you. I need your signature for a few accounts. But you’re right. You’re here for a reason. I spent six days in the hospital after you hit me. I never forgot the man who hit me. And I have been watching you. You’ve amassed great wealth, and you’ll give it all to my emperor. You’ll confirm all your assets on these forms and write down your bank accounts.” Yamazaki took out a stack of paper from a bag he carried.
If he had a rolling pin, anything, he would kill the man there. “How long have I been here?”
“Six days. Pen?”
He closed his eyes. He could refuse and die a rich man. Or go insane like the executive of the Jardine Group. It didn’t matter anymore. He had lost Aiyi, lost Miriam. Oh, Miriam, Miriam. She had given her life for him; she had died so he could live. He wanted to weep. “If I do as you say, would you let me go?”
The man gave a bow, a most laughable gesture. “You have my word.”
The statements on the forms were clear. All ownership of his newly founded shipping company and his financial services would be transferred to the Japanese government, and there were bank accounts that he needed to fill out. He wrote down the two account numbers he had in a Swiss bank branch. Flipping one page after another, he signed.
He stumbled out of jail, the afternoon sun stinging his eyes. His legs were cramped from sitting on the damp ground, his mind taut and twisted like electric shock wires. Shuffling like a convalescent, he studied the angle of the sun, trying to figure out the time and direction.
The Garden Bridge should be ahead of him. He shuffled down the muddy road, stopped to take a breather, and began to walk again.
A rifle jammed into his chest, choking him. He fought for breath, staring at the chrysanthemum carved in the bolt-action rifle. Shouting, the soldier dragged him and threw him in a truck.
Lying flat, he stared at the muddy sky and didn’t want to get up. The truck jolted and bounced, passing a wooden picket that read THE DESIGNATED AREA FOR STATELESS PERSONS.
75
AIYI
I had never thought this wretched life would be mine, to be unloved, to be homeless, to be poor. Without money, I couldn’t stay in an inn or rent an apartment. Not knowing where to go, I went to Emily’s apartment in the French Concession. If she had indeed returned, I could stay with her.
The streets to the Concession were barricaded; I read the notice plastered on a telegraph pole. It was in Japanese, but I could make out the meaning of kanji. It seemed that the French Vichy government had handed over the Concession to the Japanese, who now had completely dominated the entirety of Shanghai.
A truck rattled past, loaded with foreigners with suitcases. A flyer fell out and dropped to the ground. I picked it up. It said that all stateless people must be relocated to a district in Hongkou. Ernest was stateless, I remembered. Was he in the district now? What a fate for us. He a prisoner, and I homeless.
I avoided the patrolling Japanese soldiers and went into an alley to reach Emily’s apartment; it was shut with a lock. No sign of her cook.
In the end I hailed a rickshaw and went to the last place I could seek shelter.