The Far Side of the Sky (48 page)

Franz looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with Sunny. “Promise me you will take Hannah away!” he gasped. “Franz …”

“Promise me, Sunny. Please!”

Sunny’s voice wouldn’t co-operate, so she simply nodded. “I love you both so much!” Franz called out as the men jerked him out the door.

Sunny helped Hannah to her feet and guided her over to the chair.

Yang emerged from the kitchen, wringing her hands. “Oh, Soon Yi, oh, little girlie, what have they done? Where have they taken the doctor?”

Sunny refused to allow herself to consider it. Instead, she focused on their escape. “Yang, put together all the food you can fit into the big market basket. We each need to pack one light bag of clothing to carry.”

“Where are we going, Soon Yi?” Yang asked.

Sunny wondered the same herself.

Jia-Li arrived within half an hour of Franz’s arrest. While Yang packed the food in the kitchen, the childhood friends sat on the couch, holding hands and speaking in whispers.

“Franz is right,” Jia-Li said. “You will do him no good by staying here and pining.”

Sunny swallowed. “And you have room for the three of us?”

“What kind of question is that?” Jia-Li grimaced. “I think, however, it is best if I take you to mother’s. My apartment is not entirely … my own.” She dug inside her handbag and withdrew the silver cigarette case. “I have certain visitors I would not want the girl to meet.”

Sunny squeezed her hand. “Your mother’s apartment is perfect,
bao bèi.
Her neighbourhood is one of the last places the Japanese would think to look for us.”

Jia-Li lit her cigarette. “Not many Caucasians live there.”

Sunny shrugged. “We will just have to keep Hannah inside. We can cut her hair and dye it even darker. That will help. She speaks the language almost fluently.”

“I suppose.” Jia-Li exhaled, forming a ring with the smoke. “Those Nazis would really drown entire families? Even the women and children?” “I think they would, yes.” Jia-Li shook her head. “Insanity.” “Perhaps we can help prevent them.” Jia-Li’s forehead furrowed. “How?”

“Do you happen to know where a group of high-ranking Nazis might stay in Shanghai?”

“The Cathay Hotel. The Japanese host all their dignitaries there.” Jia-Li took another drag of her cigarette. “I have gone there myself to …
entertain
certain VIPs.”

“Do you think we could find a man named Meisinger?”

The military vehicle skidded to the curb in front of Bridge House.

As the Kempeitai officers hauled Franz toward the entrance of the feared prison, the memory of Sunny crouching over Hannah looped inside his head.
Who will take care of them now?

Inside, the building was oppressively stuffy. A rank odour hit Franz as his captors dragged him across the floor of the foyer toward a desk, manned by a clerk with thinning greasy hair and thick glasses. “Franz Adler,” the taller Kempeitai officer grunted.

The clerk whipped a form out of a drawer. “Name spelling?” he demanded in a shrill tone.

The clerk also asked his birthday, place of birth and current address, meticulously filling in each box on the form. He reached below his desk and produced a pair of tan pants and a matching collarless shirt, which he dropped as a bundle on the desktop. “You take uniform!” the clerk pointed to a little alcove with a sagging curtain hanging halfway across it. “Bring me clothes, shoes and valuables. I receipt you.”

Just like in Chelmno.
A chill racked Franz as he remembered the Nazi’s ruse.

Franz changed into the stained and frayed uniform. For a moment, he considered swallowing his wedding ring. Instead, he kissed it and then wriggled it off his finger. He laid his watch, wallet and ring on top of his folded clothes before handing them back to the clerk.

The shorter Kempeitai officer grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him toward a narrow hallway. The stench of urine and excrement worsened with every step. No natural light permeated the hallway; a single bulb burned at the far end. Franz stumbled twice as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The second time, the officer shrieked and jabbed him in the ribs. They passed a series of wooden cages, each one seven or eight feet wide. Franz heard an occasional groan but, in the darkness and relative silence, it took him several moments to realize how many prisoners were crammed into each cell.

By the fifth cell, Franz could make out some of the faces. Women and men, Chinese and white, young and old, huddled shoulder to shoulder. No one spoke.

At the end of the corridor, they came to a smaller empty cell. Franz was jerked to a stop. He was shoved so hard that he rammed shoulder-first into the far wall of the cage. The door slammed shut behind him.

Other than a filthy bucket, presumably meant as a toilet, which sat in the corner, the wooden cell was empty. The howls and screams of other prisoners shattered the quiet. Fear crawled over Franz.
Will I cry for mercy? Will I give them the pleasure?

Left alone in his dark cell, and with no watch or natural light by which to judge time, he estimated that at least four or five hours passed. The unrelenting screams and cries echoed down the hallway, but after a while Franz managed to tune them out. Even his hunger and thirst barely registered.

The door to the cell suddenly sprang open, and the same two officers who had arrested Franz stormed inside. “Up!
You up!
” the taller one shouted in English.

The Kempeitai men each grabbed an arm and jerked him upright. They yanked Franz out of the cage and dragged him toward the source of the screaming. They shoved him into another dimly lit room, which was
empty except for an inclined wooden bench in the centre and a grubby plywood cabinet against a wall.

Franz glimpsed the filthy soiled sheet beneath the bench. He instinctively resisted as the men pushed him down onto the bench. The squatter guard punched him on the chin. His teeth rattled and pain shot up to his ear. He tasted blood. His will drained away, and Franz lay down on the backless bench.

As soon as his body touched the wood, the captors forced his hands behind his back and lashed them together with rough rope. They moved in tandem, neither speaking nor making eye contact. The shorter one grunted rhythmically as he worked. They tightened the binding until the fibres dug into Franz’s wrists. Once his hands were secured, the two men roped his feet to the bench. They strapped his head to the board with a scratchy fabric.

Behind him, the door to the room opened and closed. His captors snapped salutes. Franz tried to crane his neck, but with his head bound, he could not see the person standing directly behind him.

“I knew you come to me at Bridge House sometime,” Colonel Tanaka snickered.

Franz’s blood ran cold at the man’s voice. “Why am I here, Colonel?”

Tanaka didn’t respond. Instead, he snapped commands in Japanese to the two other men. They converged on the plywood cabinet and swung open its doors. Glimpsing the contents, Franz began to hyperventilate. Whips and rods were neatly stacked on one side. A huge battery rested on the cabinet’s floor, and wires attached to it dangled from pegs above. A long metallic tool, resembling hedge clippers, leaned against the far wall.

The taller guard extracted a wooden bucket and a grey towel. The shorter one lifted the longest of the bamboo rods and tapped it against his palm as though testing its flexibility. The man with the bucket disappeared. Franz heard a tap running. The soldier re-emerged moments later carrying a full and sloshing bucket. He marched up to the side of the bench, lowered the bucket to the floor and wadded the filthy towel deep into Franz’s mouth. The bitter, mouldy taste made him gag.

Still out of Franz’s line of sight, Tanaka said, “You want to shame us to the world. You say we do terrible things to Jews. True?”

Franz tried to open his mouth to explain that Reuben had spoken out of turn, but he only choked on the gag.

“We have been patient,” Tanaka continued. “Too patient. Now you know what happens when you throw gossip and you dishonour Empire of Japan.” Tanaka switched to Japanese and addressed the guards.

The taller one raised the bucket over Franz’s head.

“We call this ‘water cure,’ doctor,” Tanaka grunted.

Franz tried to speak but the towel in his mouth swallowed his words.

“You will tell me who you tell about Colonel Meisinger!” Tanaka snapped.

Before Franz could answer, the man above him tilted the bucket and water splashed onto his face. It ran into his eyes, up his nose and down his shirt neck. The foul-tasting water dripped down the back of his throat, despite the gag, and Franz coughed involuntarily.

Even after his hair and clothes were drenched, the soldier kept pouring. The towel swelled in his mouth, and Franz choked and sputtered. He bucked and thrashed futilely against his bindings.

“Who did you tell about Meisinger?” Tanaka said. “I want all names.”

The officer with the bamboo rod whipped it down across Franz’s abdomen. The searing pain only compounded Franz’s breathlessness. He gagged again as he swallowed gobs of water.

“I want names!” Tanaka shouted.

The rod came whizzing down across his belly again. The pain was so intense that his eyes teared and he vomited into the gag. The water mixed with the vomit burned his throat. His head swam and his vision tunnelled as though he were peering through binoculars. Franz felt detached from his own body. The sounds around him grew muffled and distant. The room steadily darkened as though someone was dimming a light switch.

Everything went black.

Franz woke to find his arms and legs still bound to the bench. Someone had pulled the towel from his mouth, and he tasted his own vomit. He smelled urine. Pain racked his belly.

“Did water cure you?” Tanaka grunted.

Franz nodded, terrified that they might stuff the towel back into his mouth.

“Who did you tell about Colonel Meisinger?” Tanaka demanded.

Franz had trouble thinking, but he realized that Tanaka must already have been aware of Simon and Reuben. “Only my friend, Simon Lehrer. Dr. Samuel Reuben already knew.” He shook his head frantically. “We never meant to accuse the Japanese. We only—”

“You lie!” Tanaka screamed.

The bamboo rod sliced into Franz’s abdomen again.

“No …” Franz gasped. “No, I don’t … I didn’t …”

“The China woman! Your wife! She knows too.”

Fear worse than anything he had ever known seized him.
“Leave her alone!
She doesn’t know anything—”

Before Franz could get his words out, the taller soldier jammed another dry towel between his lips.

Then the water splashed into his eyes and up his nose again.

J
ULY
27, 1942, S
HANGHAI

Sunny lay with her arm lightly draped over Hannah’s side and listened to the girl’s soft breathing. Five days had passed since Franz’s arrest. Sunny and Hannah had spent every night since on the same mattress in the Kos’ bedroom, where Jia-Li had ridden out her opium withdrawal fits. Sunny doubted she had slept more than a few hours since the Kempeitai had dragged Franz away.

She assumed that the Kempeitai took her husband to Bridge House, but her suspicions were not confirmed until the third day of his confinement. Sunny had made three trips to Astor House in search of Colonel Kubota, each time turned away by the hostile sentries; it wasn’t until her fourth visit that she happened upon him.

Flanked by two junior soldiers, Kubota was heading toward his car as Sunny approached. Uncertain whether it was the colonel, Sunny called out to him. One of the young guards spun and pointed his rifle at her, but Kubota laid his hand on the gun barrel and pushed it down. “May I ask who is inquiring, madam?” he said with a politeness that she had never before heard from a Japanese officer.

“Soon Yi …” she began. “Mrs. Franz Adler.”

He beckoned her with a small wave. “Come ride with me, Mrs. Adler. Please.”

Sitting beside Sunny in the back seat, Kubota told her that Franz and Simon were both being held at Bridge House. “As of this morning, Dr. Adler and Mr. Lehrer were in reasonable health,” he said solemnly. “Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Dr. Reuben.”

Sunny was far too concerned about Franz to ask after Reuben. “What does the Kempeitai want from my husband, Colonel?”

“The meeting with General Nogomi did not end well.”

“But that wasn’t Franz’s fault!”

“You are correct.” He lowered his head. “I am responsible.” “My husband told me that Dr. Reuben pushed the general too far.” Head still hung in shame, Kubota didn’t look up. “I should have foreseen it.”

“You were only trying to help.” She almost reached out to touch his hand but thought better of it. “What can we do now, Colonel?”

“As difficult as this might be to hear, Mrs. Adler, all we can do now is wait.”

“Waiting is one thing I am not capable of,” she murmured more to herself than Kubota. “Colonel, may I see him?” He shook his head. “That is not possible.”

“Please, Colonel,” she implored. “I just need to see Franz. Even if we cannot speak. If only from a distance …” “They will never allow it, Mrs. Adler.”

So as to not give away Hannah’s whereabouts, Sunny asked the colonel to drop her off at the refugee hospital. As she was climbing out of the car, Kubota leaned toward her. “Mrs. Adler, your husband is a decent man,” he said. “I am indebted to him. And I will do everything in my power to help.”

“Can you, Colonel?”

“We will see.” He summoned a small smile but the hopelessness in his eyes said so much more.

As Sunny lay in bed beside Hannah, remembering Kubota’s words, the tears welled again. Her sobs woke the girl. “Sunny, what is it?” “Nothing, Hannah. Go back to sleep.” “I can’t,” Hannah said softly. “I miss Papa too much.” Sunny stroked Hannah’s warm cheek. “Me too, darling.” “Are you going to the prison again today?”

The Kempeitai men had chased Sunny away from Bridge House’s entrance, but each day she loitered nearby for as long as possible. Sunny sensed Franz’s proximity behind the brick walls, and that alone inspired her to soldier on. “Yes, Hannah, I will,” she said.