The Far Side of the Sky (22 page)

Wen-Cheng looked down at his hands as though he had dropped something. “Sunny?”

“We can’t!”

His hands fell to his side. “I love you, and I thought …”

“None of that matters,” Sunny said, her voice catching in her throat. “Not when you are still married.”

“I am trying, Sunny, but it’s not easy,” he said. “My wife’s family has been friends with mine for generations. My father and her father—”

Enough!
She had heard the same rationalization too many times before. Frustrated and disappointed with herself for letting things reach this point again, she wheeled and ran off.

Sunny did not slow down until she reached the gates of the Old City. Burying her cold hands in her coat pockets, she marched along Rue du Consulat and turned north at the Bund. Awash with a contradictory mix of regret and self-reproach, she strode along the riverside promenade, ignoring the Whangpoo’s swarming boat traffic on one side of her and the Bund’s rumbling automobile congestion on the other.

Sunny finally calmed as she neared the neo-classical Hongkong and Shanghai Bank, which was nicknamed the “Jewel of the Bund.” She slowed to watch several Chinese men and women rub the manes of the sculpted bronze lions that guarded its columned entrance in the belief that the contact would bring them luck. Though cynical of such superstition, Sunny was half-tempted to rub the lions herself. But luck was not the issue. What she needed was more restraint and a far less entangled relationship.

Sunny was still mulling over the conversation with Wen-Cheng when she arrived at the doors of the refugee hospital. As soon as she stepped inside, Simon called to her gleefully, “Today’s the day, Sunny!”

“Has the ether arrived?” she asked.

“The whole shebang—mask, medicine, everything!” Simon laughed as he caught up to her in the hallway. “You should see Dr. Adler. He’s like a kid in a candy store.”

“I can imagine.”

Simon squinted at her. “Sunny, what is it?” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Sunny, it’s me.” He tapped his chest with both hands. “The nosy Jew from the Bronx. I can tell something is eating at you.”

She considered unloading her romantic quandary on Simon, but it felt too fresh and raw to broach. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“A bad sleep? That’s why you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

“Can we please just go see Dr. Adler?”

They found Franz and Max Feinstein standing inside the newly built operating room. The room had the same plain walls and cement floor as the rest of the old, converted schoolhouse, but it boasted a new steel gurney and a rolling light with multiple bulbs. A heavy-set, middle-aged man lay on the stretcher with a sheet pulled up to his shoulders. Someone had laid out a tray of shiny new surgical tools on the adjacent table.

Max looked uncomfortable in his white gown and surgical cap, while Franz appeared relaxed and authoritative in his. He beamed at Sunny and Simon. “Oh, wonderful, Miss Mah.” He turned to the patient with a wave of his hand. “We can begin now, Mr. Kornfeld.”

Sunny had never seen Franz as enthused. “Certainly, Dr. Adler. I will go scrub and gown straight away.”

Franz nodded. “Miss Mah, it has been a while since Dr. Feinstein was last in the operating theatre—”

“Decades!”
Max corrected, clutching his head in hands.

Laughing, Franz pointed to the mask and bottle marked “ether” lying on the far end of the table. “I was hoping you might provide the anaesthesia. Have you ever done so?”

“Yes.” Her heart skipped a beat. Sunny had been trained to administer the anaesthetic gas, but at the Country Hospital the junior doctors always assumed the role of anaesthetist.

Sunny gowned and scrubbed at the sink outside the operating room. By the time she returned, Max and Franz were both masked and gloved and the patient draped for surgery. They had been joined by another nurse, Berta Abeldt, who was large-boned, with a ruddy complexion and friendly eyes.

Franz turned to the patient. “Are you ready to begin, Mr. Kornfeld?”

“I was ready a year ago,” Kornfeld moaned.

Franz looked at Sunny and nodded; the mask over his mouth couldn’t conceal his broad smile. She gently applied the pear-shaped fabric mask over Kornfeld’s nose and mouth. She held the can of ether five or six inches from the mask and carefully tipped the spout. The liquid dropped in a steady patter onto the fabric. As soon as the sweet acrid smell of the anaesthetic vapour reached her nose, she righted the can.

Kornfeld’s eyes remained wide open, but his cheeks began to flush. Sunny dribbled more ether onto the mask. “Deep breaths, Mr. Kornfeld,” she encouraged.

The patient’s eyelids fluttered and then slowly drifted shut. She counted to ten and then ran her finger across his eyelashes without eliciting a blink. “He is asleep, Dr. Adler.”

“Good work, Miss Mah!” Franz turned to the scrub nurse. “Scalpel please, Mrs. Abeldt.”

Berta passed Franz the scalpel. He applied the blade to the crease of Kornfeld’s groin and, with the precision of a watchmaker, sliced steadily along the skin.

Peering over Franz’s shoulder, Max chuckled. “It must feel good to be operating again, does it not, Dr. Adler?”

Franz glanced over at Sunny with another barely contained smile. “Like returning home after a long, hard journey.”

Franz sat alone at the kitchen table, a cup of jasmine tea in front of him. Esther had gone to the market, Hannah was visiting Natasha upstairs and Ernst, as usual, was absent without explanation. Franz was enjoying the rare solitude. As much as he loved his family, the four of them were living in a space not much larger than his old bedroom. Privacy had become a rare and precious commodity.

Franz was still basking in the afterglow of performing his first surgery in Shanghai. The procedure could not have been more straightforward, but it felt so natural to have his hands busy with the work he loved. The renewed sense of purpose revitalized him. Even with the refugee hospital’s rudimentary facilities, Franz envisioned being able to perform multiple operations; perhaps nothing as complex or challenging as his procedures at the Vienna General Hospital, but he would work as a surgeon again. It meant the world to him, particularly in light of the demeaning role he had fallen into at the Country Hospital.

Only three days into his new job as Samuel Reuben’s assistant, he dreaded the thought of a fourth. To have landed a medical position with a steady, albeit modest, income within weeks of landing in Shanghai was
more than he had expected. However, between his wounded pride and Reuben’s determination to turn him into a kowtowing orderly, Franz found it impossible to feel as grateful for their good fortune as his sister-in-law seemed to be.

Esther concealed most of her bereavement behind her usual poise. However, the day before at the refugee hospital, Franz had stumbled upon a rare display of her devastation. Esther had accompanied him to work to help prepare patients’ meals after the regular cook, Mrs. Beer-man, had fallen ill with a head cold. After finishing rounds, Franz headed into the small kitchen to collect her. As he stepped through the doorway, he spotted Simon and Esther beside the sink. Her back turned to Franz, Esther stood clutching her face, her body trembling with sobs. Simon had one hand lightly draped over her shoulder while he murmured words of encouragement. Franz heard Simon say, “And what about your niece? Seems to me you’re as close to a mother as Hannah will ever know.”

Esther wiped at her eyes and mumbled something that Franz could not catch.

Simon chuckled. “Ah, it’s nothing. I bawl like a hungry newborn when my Yankees are losing.”

Esther laughed through her tears. Simon looked over and made eye contact with Franz. Smiling grimly, he silently reassured Franz that he had the situation under control. Franz backed out of the room without Esther ever having been aware of his presence.

A succession of raps on the door pulled Franz from the memory. He was surprised to find Ensign Luigi Comparelli standing at the threshold. With a warm greeting, Franz led the ensign into the apartment. “I assumed you and the
Conte Biancamano
would be well on your way back home by now.”

“Not for another week.” Luigi swept his hand through the air. “We only just returned from a cruise to Hong Kong.” “How did you find us, Luigi?”

“Ah, Dr. Adler, I am a terrific, how do you say … detective!” He seemed proud of himself for producing the word. “I went to see the Jewish organization
at the port, where they pick up the new arrivals. I spoke to an American gentleman, who was most helpful.” He grinned, amused. “That man … he loves to talk even more than most Italians.” “Simon, of course.” Franz chuckled.

Luigi looked around the room. “Where is the beautiful little
principéssa?
”

“Upstairs playing at a friend’s apartment. Shall I go get her?”

Luigi waved his hand in front of him. “No, please, do not disturb her. I have little time.” He frowned. “I miss her, your daughter. The ship’s pool is not the same without little Hannah. Is she doing all right in Shanghai, you know, with her …”

Luigi’s concern touched Franz. “She is a tough one. We still have to find her a school in the new year, but she has embraced Shanghai as a whole new adventure.”

“Buòno.
I think she will go far, that one.”

“I hope so, Luigi. Do you have time for tea?”

“No,
grazie.
I need to get back to the ship.” Luigi dug inside his coat pocket, withdrawing a small envelope. A sheepish expression crossed his face as he held it out for Franz. “A telegram for you, Dr. Adler.”

“For me?” Franz frowned. “From where?”

“It came through the shipping line’s central office.” Luigi cleared his throat. “I believe it is from Vienna.”

Franz could tell from the ensign’s body language alone that it contained bleak news. “Thank you, Luigi,” he muttered, “for going to such effort to bring this to me.”

“It was my pleasure, really.” Luigi edged toward the door. “Please give Mrs. Adler and Mr. Muhler my best wishes. The
signóra,
she is well? Not so sad anymore?”

“Mrs. Adler is doing better, thank you,” Franz said distractedly.

Luigi smiled again. “And, of course, a big hug for my
principéssa.”

After Luigi left, Franz wandered over to the chest of drawers where he had deposited his father’s letter, still unopened. He took it back to the table, along with a paring knife, and laid both envelopes side by side.

He reached first for the telegram and carefully sliced the top open. He unfolded the single page and saw that the message had been transmitted two days earlier.

Dear Dr. Adler,

I am saddened to advise that your father passed away the night before last. I was able to cancel his berth on the
Bingo Maru
and am holding the refund in trust for you.

With deepest condolences,

Julius Rolf

Franz lifted Jakob’s letter from the table and tore open the envelope. His hand shook as he read his father’s familiar handwriting.

Dear Franz,

I realize you doubted my final promise, spoken the day we last met. Please know that I did hope to join you in Shanghai. However, my tired old lungs have stubbornly refused to co-operate. It would be futile for me to attempt the journey now.

To be frank, my son, I do not see myself lasting many more days in this condition. Do not despair. Take solace in knowing that I am prepared, eager might not even be too strong a word, to depart this world. While I refuse to conveniently embrace religion at this late hour, somehow I believe that I will soon be nearer to Karl and my dear daughter-in-law Hilde, and, of course, your beloved mother. The prospect brings me much comfort.

I have lived a full life. Even as I write this letter, I am comforted by so many wonderful memories of us all. I consider myself fortunate to have witnessed this tragic turn in Austrian history at the end of my life. I think of the little ones who have no past and, now, no future. And your brother, cheated out of the rest of the rich life that he and Essie deserved together. However, to know that you have led Esther and Hannah thousands of miles beyond the clutches of these savages provides me relief and peace beyond description.

My son, please remember that the best revenge is to live a long, full and
happy existence. Raise Hannah Ruth to be proud of her heritage. Show them that we can rise above their hatred and their bullying. They will not last, but it is imperative that we endure. Embrace your grandchildren.

I realize that in this current madness, legal considerations are moot. However, I have been a lawyer too long not to tell you that I have drawn up a will. I have given my furniture and clothes to Frau Weiss and her husband. They have taken good care of me since my Elise died. You will understand that I have given my watch to their son Rolf. I fear that you will not be home to collect it for yourself.

The one regret I will take with me is not having told you often or convincingly enough how very proud I am of you. My part in bringing Karl and you into this world so eclipses any other small contributions I might have made that they do not bear mentioning. You have no idea how much respect and affection I hold for you in my heart.

With my love and devotion,

Father

Franz’s chest ached as he stared at his father’s words. However, he found a sliver of solace in knowing that time and illness had taken Jakob peacefully, and he no longer had to worry that his father might suffer the same brutal fate as the Yacobsens.

My mother, my wife, my brother and now my father …

He was still staring at the letter when the apartment door swung open and Esther entered carrying a canvas bag full of groceries. The moment she saw him, she dropped the bag to the floor. “What is it, Franz?” she breathed.

He stood up and walked over to her with the telegram extended.

Esther took it from his hand and glanced down at it.
“Az och un vai,”
she murmured in Yiddish. Her eyes misted over. “Oh, Franz. I’m so sorry.”