Night Angels(22)

Mr. Wiley chuckled and left.

They were diplomats, bound by their duty to their countries and by their ambition for their careers, not necessarily to each other. But Mr. Wiley had left him with important hints and intelligence to reflect on.



“How did the meeting go, Fengshan? Was it successful?” The ambassador’s voice came through at the first ring.

Fengshan dove into his report, expressing the regrets of Mr. Wiley. As he had imagined, Ambassador Chen sounded deeply disappointed that the prospects of meeting his American counterpart were dim and the desperately needed loan remained unobtainable.

Fengshan cleared his throat. “With much respect, Ambassador Chen, before you go, may I share with you an observation?” When he’d conversed with Mr. Wiley, something else, another perspective about America and the League of Nations, had sparked in his mind. “Ambassador Chen, what are your thoughts on the League? How often do the council members meet?”

“It’s irregular and slow-paced, with prolific correspondence and predictable bureaucracy, as we all know. What are you trying to say, Fengshan?”

He ventured, “Mr. Wiley seems to have an uncomplimentary opinion of the League. I can’t help but observe that on short notice, the president of the United States succeeded in gathering thirty-two nations for a conference, but the League hasn’t had a functional meeting of council members for a long period of time. I wonder if a new direction in seeking the loan is warranted.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Would you agree that it’s more favorable to obtain a loan when we speak directly to the US via diplomatic channels rather than relying on the League? What would be your thoughts if we contact Mr. Henry Morgenthau, the secretary of the treasury in the United States?”

“This certainly is not something within my consideration, and it is unfortunate that the new ambassador to the US, Mr. Hu Shi, hasn’t presented his credentials yet.”

“Perhaps the Ministry of Foreign Affairs will be involved and offer their valuable help.”

There was a noncommittal cough.

Fengshan persisted. “Allow me to share another thought with you, Ambassador Chen. It seems that Mr. Wiley believes his president has great concerns about the suffering of the Jews under German rule. The US has called for a conference of thirty-two countries to look into the treatment of the Viennese Jews. Mr. Wiley predicted that they would spearhead a refugee policy around the world. I wonder if the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has taken similar steps on the same subject.”

“Why would the Ministry take an interest in accepting refugees?”

Fengshan cringed.

“Our country is under attack. We’re struggling to survive. We need a loan, and we need sophisticated weapons to defeat the Japanese. The last thing we want is an influx of foreign refugees to feed. Let the Americans devise their strategies, and you remember my instruction. We must not interfere with the domestic controversies in Greater Germany, or the Third Reich will find an excuse to decline the weapons sales, and our relationship will be doomed. Is that clear?”

“Of course.”

Ambassador Chen ended their conversation with another grave piece of news. The Japanese artillery led by General Hata was in relentless pursuit of the Nationalists sheltered in Wuhan, their temporary capital. To defend the city, President Chiang Kai-shek had withdrawn one million troops from the country’s Fifth and Ninth War Zones. A fierce battle to safeguard the temporary capital was imminent.

Fengshan put down the phone. If he had not been tied to responsibilities and duties to the consulate, he would have packed up and plunged in to protect his country and countrymen.

He took a cigar from his cigar box and began to smoke. The ambassador’s indifference to the Viennese Jews and his disinterest in the conference that the American president had summoned, disappointing as it was, was to be expected. But Mr. Rosenburg would be overjoyed about the ?vian Conference, and he would be delighted to know. Fengshan stubbed his cigar in a crystal ashtray and wrote a note, informing him of the wonderful news of the conference and potential rescue from the countries around the world. Then he ordered the vice consul to deliver the note to Mr. Rosenburg’s in-laws’ apartment.

Once the vice consul left, Fengshan sat down in his chair and sifted through the stack of newspapers in German and English. There were many pages headlined with the slogan of One Country, One Führer, articles that demanded the departure of the Viennese Jews and the closure of their businesses and shops, warnings of their insatiable appetite to dominate the world, and caricatures that ridiculed their appearance.

He put down the newspapers. The Jewish Viennese were left defenseless; it was of paramount importance that the international community unite to assist them.

“My love?”

He looked up, shocked. Grace, in her delicate purple dress, the dress bought in Shanghai, stood in front of him. She looked utterly distressed, her face pale, her eyes misty; she wasn’t wearing her gloves or hat. What was happening to his wife? She had been arrested by the SS, thrown into a dungeon at the Headquarters, and now she looked about to collapse. “Grace! Are you all right?”

She waved her hand weakly. “I’ve been waiting for you in the bedroom, but I thought to come down to speak with you.” Then, her voice quavering, she recounted the incident in the coffeehouse and how a hospital and a clinic refused Lola treatment.