Night Angels(53)

I leaned forward; on the newspaper were images of shops with broken windows. There was no mention of Mrs. Schnitzler or Sara or the brutal beatings and murders by the SS I had witnessed on the street. I covered the newspaper with my hand. “You can stop reading now.”

“Why did the newspaper say the Germans must protect themselves from the Jews? Are they dangerous?”

“They’re not dangerous.” I gathered up the newspapers. Perhaps it was a bad idea to have Monto translate the horrible reality.

“At school, the teachers ordered me not to talk to them.”

“Are they your friends?”

“No, but Willi is.”

“If he’s your friend, you should talk to him.”

He studied me. The flicker of petulance he aimed at me seemed to have vanished, replaced by something like worry. “Something bad is going to happen to Willi.”

“How do you know?”

“I read his signature.”



Near dusk, I went to Fengshan’s office. He had returned, and he was speaking to someone on the phone in his office. When he put down his phone, he said Mr. Rosenburg and his family had safely left Vienna. They would reach Italy by dawn, wait for their luggage and then board the ocean liner that would sail to Shanghai.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I asked.

“I was warning the Chinese citizens in Vienna. With the violence on the streets, they need to stay at home to be safe.”

“That’s a good idea.” I went to his desk and set down a pile of mail that I had collected. Looking pensive, he didn’t pick it up right away. Then he sat at his desk, took out a sheet of paper, and began to write in Chinese.

“What are you writing?”

“A letter to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs at home. The rescue plan must go through as soon as possible. The Viennese Jews must leave or they’ll perish. And I would do anything in my power to help them escape Vienna.”

“Will your proposal get approved?”

“I hope so. How’s your friend?”

“I couldn’t see her. You took the car, and the tram stopped running.”

He put down his pen and turned to me. “May I urge you to wait for a few days before you visit your friend? I fear you’ll get caught in the crossfire.”

Slowly, I nodded.

“Thank you. What happened to your friend’s family is a great tragedy.”

I could feel tears threatening to roll out of my eyes, thinking of Mrs. Schnitzler, Sara, and Lola. “So many are suffering in Vienna.”

“You’re a good wife, Grace.”

My reserved husband, averse to shows of affection, uncomfortable with terms of endearment, had expressed explicitly what he had never said before.

I kissed him. “Go back to work. I’m going to bed.”





CHAPTER 33


FENGSHAN


In twenty minutes, he finished writing his letter. Carefully, he sealed it and set it aside. On the desk was the mail Grace had brought. He picked them up and examined them one by one. There was a telegram from China; it was sent two weeks ago, delayed due to the turmoil in Vienna. His hands trembling, he tore open the telegram.



“Wuhan is lost. Stop. President Chiang orders the government to retreat to Chongqing. Stop. Jewish rescue plan suspended indefinitely. Stop.”

Nanjing, Shanghai, and now Wuhan. All had fallen. Thousands of his countrymen had given their lives to protect the capital, and now the city was lost. His Nationalist government, once again, faced a devastating retreat into a city surrounded by mountains, with the Japanese fighters and tanks charging behind. The survival of China was hanging on a thread.

And after all these months of planning and expectations, the rescue plan was jettisoned—at the moment when the world saw the bowels of the Nazis’ dark regime.

The ambassador was not available to answer his call.

Fengshan paced in his office. He imagined, with pain, his countrymen, at that exact moment, toiling on the rocky mountain roads, running for their lives, and his colleagues, his friends, the leaders of the Nationalists, sitting in straw huts and shelters in caves in the landlocked city of Chongqing. He had never visited there; he could only imagine how they climbed the cliff, clad in leather shoes and suits, fearing for their lives.

With all his devotion, loyalty, and beliefs, he couldn’t save China from the Japanese.

Despite all his effort and the best of his intentions, China couldn’t be a home for the Jews.



At the crack of dawn, Fengshan got out of bed, dressed, had a simple breakfast of cheese and milk, and went downstairs. When he opened the consulate’s door to retrieve newspapers, the low howl of the wind growled in his ears and a flurry of snow poured in. He stood up, then froze—standing next to the consulate’s black plaque, facing him, were many men, noses red, sniffling, layers of snow on their shoulders.

How long had they been waiting in the cold? There appeared to be at least two hundred of them waiting to be admitted; it was three hours before the consulate would open.

Fengshan gripped the newspaper. The violence he had witnessed the other evening had been reported all over the world in heartbreaking detail in print and by radio. The international communities responded with a show of sympathy. Daladier and Chamberlain condemned the violence and murders, and the Roosevelt administration, which had made some confusing moves, had recalled the American ambassador to Germany. But still, there was no sign of the leading countries mobilizing to mitigate the sufferings of the defenseless Viennese.