Night Angels(38)

“I’d be delighted, Dr. Ho. But I’m afraid I have to pass. I’ve been appointed the minister to Estonia and Latvia. I’m scheduled to depart tomorrow, so I thought to stop by to say goodbye.”

Fengshan was shocked. The two countries, Estonia and Latvia, were nations of little diplomatic significance to the US. And the position of minister sounded vague, hinting at a possible demotion of the American diplomat.

“Congratulations, Mr. Wiley. This is a profound change in your diplomatic career. I wish you all the best. If you don’t mind my asking, why were you reassigned?”

“The Department of State makes its decision. It is not up to me to make a judgment.”

“You’ll be missed, Mr. Wiley. You have remained an inspiration to many of us. Your consulate has provided life-saving visas for many people in Vienna. Did you mention that Dr. Freud was waiting to depart Vienna?”

“He has left for London, thank God. Since you asked, you might as well know: I’m now known as the Diplomat Who Sticks His Neck Out for Dr. Freud. Take care, Dr. Ho.”

That was it. Had Mr. Wiley decided to leave Dr. Freud to the Nazis, he might still be the consul general of the American consulate in Vienna. Those were perhaps the unsaid words from his peer, from one diplomat to another, that for them, the consequences of taking sides were immediate.



Fengshan returned to his office and sat at his desk. He had grown fond of the American diplomat, his mild manner and adherence to principle. It was to be expected that another American official would soon be appointed to replace Mr. Wiley, someone who would be less likely to stand up for the Viennese Jews and more likely to follow the orders. This was politics, after all.

An envelope on his desk caught his attention. It had an elegant German script, addressed to both him and Grace—Herr Consul General of the Republic of China and Frau Consul General of the Republic of China. He opened the envelope. It was an invitation to the occasion commemorating the grand establishment of the Central Office for Jewish Emigration in Vienna, an event to be held in late August.

But the party’s host sent a chill down Fengshan’s spine—Adolf Eichmann, now the chief officer of the center. What was Eichmann’s intention with this invitation? To celebrate his promotion? To test Fengshan’s country’s commitment to Germany?

Fengshan went to his phone, picked up the receiver, hesitated, and then dialed Captain Heine’s phone number. “Captain Heine! Pardon me. Perhaps you’ll have time for coffee at Café Central?”



An hour later, Fengshan wove through round tables covered with white cloths in the coffeehouse. There were a few familiar faces in the corner, people who went to his church Lutherische Stadtkirche, Lutheran City Church, in the Innere Stadt. He greeted them; they politely nodded back.

Captain Heine, clad in his uniform, was seated in the center of the café, right beneath a golden chandelier. His handsome face was like a magnet to the women smoking cigarettes around him, and the captain looked as though he relished the attention, grinning, raising his glass in a toast.

Fengshan’s steps slowed. Meeting the captain was a bold move by any measure, for he had yet to fathom what kind of man he was. He had started to have interactions with him last year when Heine, a graduate of the Police Academy in Vienna, had invited him to speak there. Fengshan had elaborated on religion, Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism, the key aspects of Chinese culture in his lecture, and Heine seemed to enjoy it. If he could ever convince a policeman to be on his side, it would be the captain.

But Heine’s flirtatious manner with women was an irritant. As a man raised with Confucius’s beliefs, Fengshan held dear the five virtues, Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, and Xin—benevolence, righteousness, decorum, wisdom, and trustworthiness—just as he believed in the importance of the auxiliary role of the wife in a marriage and a man’s devotion to his family. To form a friendship with the captain expressing an unmasked interest in adulterous affairs was easier said than done.

“Herr Consul General, what may I offer you, coffee or cognac?” Captain Heine pulled a Bohemian bentwood chair beside him, and Fengshan sat down.

“Kleiner Brauner,” Fengshan said to the waiter in an immaculate suit with a bow tie. Kleiner Brauner was a small black coffee with some milk, and by all means a fine drink, although Fengshan, having grown up in China, still preferred his green tea.

Heine opted for Fiaker, coffee with rum and whipped cream. “Allow me to say this, Herr Consul General: I was delighted to hear from you. How’s Mr. Rosenburg doing?”

It occurred to him that the captain always asked about Mr. Rosenburg. “I’ve issued him and his family visas so they can depart Germany.”

“I certainly didn’t expect that Mr. Rosenburg would immigrate to China.”

“It was the last resort.”

Heine raised his glass of cognac in a gesture that could only be seen as one of celebration. “Vienna has failed him. This is the time for clowns and cretins, unfortunately.”

Fengshan observed the captain’s face. If he could be optimistic, this would be a positive conversation. “Captain, I know you’re a police officer, it’s your duty to follow orders, and you certainly do not need to defend your loyalty, but it seems the veil of politics has blinded many people. I can hardly recognize the lovely Vienna before the Anschluss, and it’s disheartening to see the Viennese torment other Viennese. Would you care to enlighten me?”