Night Angels(50)

It took forever for Rudolf to turn around, and when I looked out again, my heart chilled. Ahead of us, Mrs. Schnitzler had somehow slipped from Lola’s grip and stumbled onto the street, while the fleet of motorcycles that had been circling the neighborhood appeared in the opposite direction. They revved forward, racing toward Mrs. Schnitzler. They didn’t slow down.

“Jesus Christ!” Fengshan shouted.

A cloudburst of silver rushed over the windshield, a thunderous rumbling shook the street, the floor beneath me rattled, and the discordance, deafening, pierced my ears. The unnatural clatter of tires, of bones, of groans didn’t stop; it went on and on.

As if nothing had happened, the fleet of motorcycles blasted past us.

Then the world stopped. There was no more clash, no more shooting silvers, no more voices. I wanted to get out of the car, but my knees trembled. Fengshan leaped out instead and shouted something, his voice drifting above the street like an echo of a moan, and there was Lola’s howl, too, trailing behind the thumping of the Gestapo’s boots from somewhere.

Somehow I rolled out of the car, but I couldn’t walk—a map of blood had spread near my feet, glistening in the car’s cold light. There was no way to avoid it. It was everywhere; Mrs. Schnitzler was everywhere. Right foot first, Grace, she had said. But which one was right?

She was still on the ground, Fengshan kneeling next to her, murmuring something, his voice gentle, and then he stood up and carried her up the stairs to the apartment, where Lola had collapsed at the doorstep.

“Grace, let’s go inside,” he said.

“What—”

“Get inside.”

I went in obediently, a mute again, full of fear again, and I fidgeted, fingering my pearl necklace. I couldn’t ask; I must not ask. I couldn’t see, either, and I was afraid to see.

“Miss Schnitzler,” Fengshan said to Lola, and put Mrs. Schnitzler down near a suitcase in the family room. He took off his overcoat and covered her up.

Lola jerked, her face cleft by the light from outside. Then she scrambled to her mother and threw herself onto her. “Mutter! Mutter!”

I leaned on Fengshan, unable to push back my tears. Mrs. Schnitzler shouldn’t have stepped onto the street, but then Sara shouldn’t have been arrested, but then they shouldn’t have been on this street at all.

Fengshan was saying something, looking anxious. Mr. Rosenburg, Mr. Rosenburg. It dawned on me that he was worried about his friend, and he wanted to make sure of his safety. But I couldn’t go. I wanted to be with my poor friend. In a matter of months, she had lost her brother, her mother, and perhaps her sister as well.

“Fine, Grace, you stay here. I’ll be back. I’ll pick you up. Don’t go anywhere.” He closed the door behind him.

My head hurt, and I could hardly breathe. I opened my purse, took out the tin can, and inhaled the Tiger Balm. Just one whiff to make my headache go away. Then I crawled to Mrs. Schnitzler and placed the tin can, the last I had, on her chest. It was her favorite.

Then I realized something else. Eva. The little girl. Where was Eva? Was she out on the street? Had she been taken with Sara? I wanted to go search for her, but I couldn’t leave Lola.

“Lola?”

She could hardly hear me, her face covered with tears and blood, her body limp against the wall. Then suddenly she let out a scream, long, deep, and full of grief.

“Hush, hush.” I moved to lock the door, turned off the lights, and pulled the curtains. Then I slid next to Lola and put my hand on her arm; I listened to every sob of hers, felt every shudder of hers, as the room grew darker and then was split open by the daggers of light thrust through the curtains, as the cries rose and then shattered like glass, as the cars’ wheels ground the pavement, as the shrill curses swallowed the gay music, as peals of sinister chuckles eclipsed the darkness.





CHAPTER 31


FENGSHAN


The neighborhood of the Rosenburgs, like Miss Schnitzler’s, was chaotic. His car passed many frantic shadows trying to run away from the thugs holding rifles, and finally, it stopped in front of Mr. Rosenburg’s in-laws’ apartment. Fengshan straightened his tie and ducked out of the car.

Mrs. Rosenburg, in her shawl and a long black dress, opened the door.

“Good evening, Mrs. Rosenburg. I told your husband that I’d come to see you off. This is early, but I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought to stop by. I believe your train departs at ten. Is that right? Is he around?” The apartment appeared quiet.

“I’m sorry, Herr Consul General. My husband was taken by the Gestapo,” Mrs. Rosenburg said.

His heart dropped. He was too late. “When?”

“An hour ago.”

“Where was he taken?”

Mrs. Rosenburg wrapped her shawl tighter around her. “The police station. The man who took my husband is a former employee. He said it was a routine interrogation. My husband showed them the visas and exit permits. We’re hoping he’ll be freed before our train departs.”

Fengshan turned around. A few Gestapo had just appeared under the streetlights, heading toward the Rosenburgs’ apartment. What had happened to Mrs. Schnitzler must not happen to his friend’s family. “It’s been a weird day. Would you mind my waiting here for him?”

“Of course, Herr Consul General.”