Mr. Blackstone must have had a radio hidden in the cupboard or something.
“And we have new refugee children from Europe pour into school every day. One hundred arrived yesterday. The school has to stop taking them. Too full.”
It was sad to hear, but there was nothing he could do. Sassoon was right—they kept coming, and people in the hotel complained too. The Jewish communities can’t shoulder the burden of refugees anymore. Refugees are the dregs of society in Europe. The new municipal council, ruled by the Japanese, had added an additional processing fee and demanded to see the refugees’ financial proofs before allowing their entrance.
He still hadn’t received any replies from his parents, and the ocean liners had stopped docking at the wharf. But he couldn’t bring up his concern for them. Miriam would be upset.
“Well, Miriam, we might have to leave Shanghai soon. But I have everything prepared. You don’t have to worry.”
Miriam stared at the canvas bag. “Mr. Blackstone says the US is neutral. Americans are safe in Shanghai.”
“He wouldn’t be if war broke out. I’ll find another school for you in another city.”
“If we leave, how will Mother and Father find us? Mr. Blackstone says international communications have been cut off. Posts can’t reach Europe.”
Mr. Blackstone this, Mr. Blackstone that. Her tone had a note of trust and deference that made Ernest rather irritated. She had never talked to him in that tone. Ernest took a deep breath. “I hope he’s right. But remember, I’m your brother, and I’m here for you.”
Miriam shrugged again. “I’m going back now.”
“Don’t forget the bag and coat.”
Miriam took the coat and slung the bag over her shoulders. When he opened his arms to hug her, she sprang back and walked away.
She had grown up, she was a woman now, she was shy, he told himself, watching her tall figure walk away.
He had just reached the high-rise apartment building called Hamilton House, with the US flag and the Union Jack fluttering in the open windows, when a parade came in his direction. Trumpets, horns, and drums were playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” a familiar tune he had heard the American sailors whistle in the bar.
It was a relief, a boost of confidence, to see the armed forces. So Miriam was right. With the Fourth Marines, the Americans were protected at least. He rushed to the sidewalk, stood behind three businessmen carrying file cases, a girl carrying a violin case, and an old woman walking with a cocker spaniel, and watched.
The leading man in the parade wore an olive officer visor. Ernest recognized him; it was Colonel William Ashurst. He was singing, his face pale and etched with worries. Behind him were the Fourth Marines, all fitted in their jackets with utility pouches tucked snugly around their waists. As they marched, they each pulled the strap aslant across their chests, holding what could be a semiautomatic Garand rifle or maybe a Thompson submachine.
The rhythm of the trumpets, the drums, and the singing lifted Ernest’s spirits. He walked along, following the parade, waving at the colonel, who didn’t pay him attention. When the regiment reached the wharf at the river, the singing stopped. The colonel saluted and shouted, and the regiment jumped into a large white liner behind the cruiser USS Wake.
Someone in the crowd cried out, followed by a string of sobs. Someone else shouted, “God bless you! Goodbye!”
It was a farewell parade. Ernest overheard someone say that the Americans were to sail for the Philippines.
His heart dropped. First the Seaforth Highlanders, and now the Fourth Marines. He glanced at the Japanese warship Izumo, the funnels pumping smoke and the deck lined with swordsmen and uniformed soldiers. Downstream under the gloomy sun, the gray American and British vessels, empty without their forces, looked like no more than two paper ships.
He must leave before war broke out. But what about Aiyi? He still wanted her—he would always want her. But would she want him? Would she leave Shanghai with him?
39
AIYI
At dinner, Sinmay was complaining that women had become low, for he had heard from his associates that Sassoon had bragged at a banquet that he snagged a prominent woman in Shanghai to be a model for his nude photography.
I fled the table before he flew into a rage. It seemed unlikely he would know it was me, and Sassoon had promised not to show my photos. But I had forgotten to demand his silence. Did he reveal my name? What had I gotten myself into? I had wanted to save my club and protect Ernest, but I could be drowning in people’s spit soon.