“Let’s go, Aiyi. The boat will leave tomorrow.”
I felt a sting in my eyes. He had helped rebuild my business; he was a partner I had trusted, a man I loved, the man for whom I’d turned down enormous wealth. But an innocent woman had died, I was almost shot, and my club was seized—all because of my obsession with him. I should never have gone this far with Ernest. This distraction, this whim, this dangerous confusion had cost me my business.
I pulled tight my mink coat; my leather shoes felt freezing against my ankles. “I can’t leave with you, Ernest. I’m going home.”
His jaw dropped.
I told my chauffeur to drive.
44
ERNEST
He was freezing. He put on two shirts, a vest, and two jackets over his taupe suit; still a chill balled in his stomach. He spent a sleepless night. Then staring at the rice porridge, his daily breakfast for the past two years, he had no appetite. He stood up, went out to the street, and bought a bowl of soy milk at a stall.
The drink was opaque, bits of yellow soybean shells floating on the top. It tasted bland, no sugar or salt, with a distinct odor of soy, and it was gritty, like a flood of sand over his tongue. He could get used to this taste and texture, get used to her change of mind, too, but what he couldn’t get used to was a future without her. Anxiously, he held the tickets to Hong Kong as the hour of departure ticked closer. He prayed she would change her mind and come to meet him before the tickets would expire. She didn’t.
The ship sailed without them. The shots rang on the street; more and more desperate Europeans crowded at the pier to get out of Shanghai. The cold wind blowing on his face, Ernest bought another two tickets, overpriced, to Hong Kong. He must leave Shanghai to keep Miriam safe.
At the pier where he often stood, he gazed at the river. There were no cruise ships, no gangplanks, no crowds of refugees carrying suitcases, no signs of his parents.
What had happened to them? For almost two years he had been writing to them, but they’d never replied. The Nazis are implementing more abominable plans against the Jews. And Miss Margolis’s sympathetic look. A chill shot through Ernest’s brain and ran down his spine. He doubled over and sobbed.
Growing up, he had locked horns with his father, who was more enthusiastic about mummies and bones than him, who loved Leah and Miriam more than him. A book person like Ernest’s sisters, his father didn’t care for his son’s hobbies of photography or movies. So Ernest had avoided him. When they went to their favorite resort in Czechoslovakia for vacation, his father went skiing, Ernest stayed behind and drank pilsner; when his father drank schnapps, Ernest went skiing.
His mother, despite all his love for her, was a critical woman. He still remembered her criticisms: Your Schumann is so loud you could wake up a dead man in a grave. Your Beethoven is so stiff you might as well play the drum in a marching band. Who is the young woman you talked to outside the school? Didn’t you know she isn’t Jewish? When he was a child, he had placed more importance on pleasing her than himself. But in adolescence, rebellion began to sprout. It became difficult to balance the piano and her control of him. He fought her. He ate nonkosher foods like shrimp and ham and hung out with non-Jewish friends; he stayed out for beer on Shabbat night.
His battle had been so inconsequential and childish, he could see that now. If he could see his mother again, he would tell her how he survived in Shanghai as a pianist. If he could see his father again, he would ask him to drink schnapps and go skiing together.
Later, he went to fetch Miriam, whom he had visited a few times since he bought tickets for the three of them. When Aiyi declined to leave with him, he had told Miriam to get ready for the new departure date. When he arrived at the school’s courtyard, Miriam was sitting on a bench, holding a small brown leather suitcase. She had her hair in a French braid, his mother’s favorite hairstyle; Miriam looked healthy, her cheeks filled out, her eyes flashing intelligently. What a beautiful woman she had become. His parents would be so proud. Ernest choked up.
“Ernest, I’ve been waiting for you,” Miriam said.
“I’m glad you’re ready, Miriam,” he said. Mr. Blackstone, dressed in a brown flannel jacket, was next to her. Ernest shook hands with him. “It’s very kind of you to see us off. I’m indebted to you. Thank you for looking after my sister.”
“Your sister has brought us immense joy, Mr. Reismann.” Mr. Blackstone’s impressive baritone voice rang out. “I’d like to tell you an important decision my wife and I made. It’s no longer safe in Shanghai. The school has decided to close earlier, so we’re leaving for America.”