“Will you bring your girlfriend here? Will you let us meet her?” Sigmund asked.
“Of course. She doesn’t know about the piano yet. I want to surprise her.”
“Is she still cold?” Miriam crossed her arms, a gesture reminding him of his mother.
“I told you, Miriam. She was a bit aloof, but not cold.”
“You said she’s Chinese.” Mr. Schmidt was shaking his head; near him, Golda, tying a plaid apron over her waist, frowned at him as if he were a loaf of overly baked bread.
He knew what was in their minds. They didn’t know Chinese people very well; they didn’t speak Chinese and had few interactions with the locals. But once they met Aiyi and got to know her, they would like her.
“My friends, I’m going to marry her and start a new life with her. I’m beyond excited.”
“This is so fast. Have you discussed it with a rabbi?” Mr. Schmidt looked as though he’d just swallowed a ball.
If he wanted to—if Aiyi wanted to—they could go to the synagogue. Ernest was just about to say that when a man in a khaki uniform and an officer’s cap staggered through the door. The pungent scent of alcohol permeated the room.
A sudden silence fell; everyone froze.
Ernest’s skin crawled. The Japanese had discovered them. He would demand to see his identification card and arrest them all.
“Nice piano music. Very nice.” The officer stumbled to him. His words were slurred; his English had a heavy accent. He attempted to lean against the piano but missed it and nearly slipped to the floor. “Please excuse me. Today is a good day. A new shipment of sake arrived from Japan and we all had too much. I love Beethoven. Beethoven is the best! Do you agree? The best music! Keep playing.”
The man was drunk, his eyes glazed, his face red, the mole shining beneath his eye. He looked familiar, but Ernest couldn’t recall where he had seen him. “I’m happy to oblige, sir.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ernest could see Sigmund pull Miriam protectively behind him. Mr. Schmidt looked shorter behind the counter; Golda and the other bakers crouched near the table in front of the counter. Fear penetrated the hot air.
The man gave him a bow. “Thank you. I haven’t heard such beautiful music for years. And on such a good day. Have we met before?”
“I don’t believe so, sir.” Ernest eyed the Mauser in the officer’s holster.
“But you look familiar. And your hand. Is it a star?”
He should have kept the glove on.
“Pardon me. I’m Officer Yamazaki. Your name?”
The officer who had been hunting him, the officer who had almost shot Aiyi in her club. Did he still remember him? Ernest’s hands trembled. “Ernest Reismann.”
“Liceman, Liceman,” Yamazaki murmured. “Foreigners are our guests, and I believe they’re protected in special places. Why are you here? And these people? What’s your nationality?”
His heart raced faster; his fingers shook as he began Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. What he said would determine his fate and the fate of all the people in his bakery. Certainly he couldn’t feign being British or American; he couldn’t say he was Asian, since even a drunken man could tell his eyes were blue. He could lie and say he was German without a German passport, but Yamazaki would discover he was stateless sooner or later. “I’m Jewish, sir.”
Yamazaki hiccupped. “What’s that?”
Ernest could feel a wave of nervous heat boiling from his people. Pounding on the piano, he was going to reply when he realized the man had staggered away and yelled at someone at the door. Ernest looked up.
At the entrance stood Aiyi, holding a silver purse with studs like diamonds, gold leaf earrings swinging. Her face was pale, her entire body stiffened with fear.
“Miss Shao?” The officer suddenly whirled around. “I know who you are. You’re the pianist from the One Hundred Joys Nightclub!”
Ernest stood. “The bakery is closed, sir. Would you please leave?”
All Yamazaki’s friendliness and courtesy vanished. Looking murderous, he pointed angrily. “You killed a soldier. You, a foreigner! Now you’re colluding with a Chinese. Colluding with a Chinese deserves death! You! Deserve death. All of you deserve death!”
Ernest could feel the hair rising on his nape. But Aiyi. He signaled her to slide out the door. She took a step.
“Don’t move! No one moves!” Yamazaki whipped out the Mauser, aiming at her.
“No!” Ernest lunged at Yamazaki and wrestled for the pistol in his hand.