Night Angels(46)

“Ambassador Chen, if you can bear with me. We have many islands—Taiwan, Hainan Island, and a few small islands in the Pacific Ocean, all remote, unoccupied by the Japanese, and sparsely populated. They could be a safe sanctuary.”

“The plan sounds far-fetched. It’s not feasible.”

“May I be so bold as to say this: if the islands sound unfeasible, perhaps a designated land in the southwest is another consideration. Those acreages are mostly farmland, unpopulated, but once people immigrate there, with their intelligence and resources, they’ll become valuable human resources to help our country prosper.”

Ambassador Chen made a noise, but he didn’t sound testy.

“With all due respect, Ambassador Chen, this is a bold plan. I have drawn up the proposal for your perusal, and perhaps you’ll discuss this with Mr. Sun Ke. Have we heard any good news from Ambassador Hu?”

“The twenty-five million dollars are in process, Fengshan. The Americans’ word was good.” There was a sigh. “How many refugees are you proposing?”

“Ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand!”

“A small island such as the Dominican Republic can accept this number. Why not us?”

Silence again.

“It’s worth considering, Ambassador Chen.”

“Mail me the proposal, Fengshan, and I shall bring this to Mr. Sun Ke’s attention.”

Fengshan put down the phone, exhilarated. He had pleaded for ten thousand lives! He picked up the proposal he’d written, scrutinizing every sentence for ambiguity or potential misinterpretations. When Frau Maxa came to work, he would ask her to put aside anything she had in hand and rush to the post office.

“Grace! Grace! You have to hear this!” He burst into their bedroom. She had inspired him; this was her success as well.

Grace, in her long purple nightgown, was standing at the window, pulling aside the curtains, as a waterfall of golden sunlight poured through.





CHAPTER 27


GRACE


A few weeks after Fengshan’s proposal, another phone call from the ambassador came. Fengshan, exuberant, beckoned me over. They were speaking Chinese, so I paid attention to every twinkle in Fengshan’s eyes. When he hung up, he held me and twirled in his office, an almost scandalous move for someone like him.

The ambassador had good news, he said. The Roosevelt administration had finalized the credit for twenty-five million dollars to the Nationalists, which had lifted the morale of many officers and soldiers. Mr. Sun Ke, after a lengthy phone conversation with Ambassador Chen, had expressed interest in the rescue plan of the ten thousand Jews he had proposed. The Ministry would discuss the proposal with the committee in the coming weeks.

“Ten thousand lives, Grace!” Fengshan said.

“What type of visas will they receive?”

“Immigration visas. An exclusive island in China would be designated for their home. Ambassador Chen mentioned Hainan Island. Separately, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has agreed to a lenient visa policy regarding the Jews.”

He had done it—extending a hand to ten thousand lives and successfully establishing a lenient policy for the Viennese Jews. Many people, like Lola, could go to China if they wanted to.



October came.

The day for Lola’s interview at the Central Office for Jewish Emigration arrived. I asked for Fengshan’s permission to use the consulate’s car to pick up Lola and her family.

When we arrived at the Office, it began to rain, but the entire street in front of the building was crowded with men holding briefcases and bags. Lola, Mrs. Schnitzler, Sara, and Eva joined the queue in the back. Without an umbrella, Lola tucked the documents under her jacket to keep them dry.

I went back to the consulate to fetch two umbrellas and returned to the palatial building. Mrs. Schnitzler, Sara, and Eva kept one, and Lola stayed with me.

“It’s going to take a while, Grace. We haven’t moved much. Maybe you can come back later,” Lola said. She looked different. The desperation and flame of anger had left her green eyes, replaced by a different expression, expectant and determined.

“I’ll wait.”

It was pouring; many were shivering without umbrellas, craning their necks at the grand limestone entrance. Most exiting the building looked jubilant, waving their documents. But there were also some people who looked as though they had walked out of a boxing ring, their faces swollen, bruises on their foreheads, their steps unsteady.

A man with a thick accent I couldn’t identify asked for shelter from the rain. He looked to be in his twenties, with blue eyes and thick eyebrows. A good-looking man. Lola spoke to him in German for a while; then the man nodded and left.

“Who’s that, Lola?”

“A Polish Jew. His passport was declared invalid at the emigration office.”

I had met several Polish diplomats before. They were friendly, demonstrated great culinary knowledge, but their facial features and even their dress code appeared very Austrian to me. “That’s unfortunate.”

It was pouring now. My dress stuck to my back, and my shoes were soaked. Waves of water rushed up to my ankles.

“You’re shivering. Go back to the consulate, Grace. Don’t wait in the rain,” Lola insisted.

Finally, I obliged.

When I returned a few hours later, the queue had moved. Among the many people holding umbrellas, there was no Lola or her family. They must have entered the building.