Night Angels(69)

“Do not worry. Once the visas are approved, someone will come to pick up the package.” He waved his hand.

The vice consul gasped. He was perhaps lazy, but not dim-witted. “Should we report to the ambassador . . .”

Fengshan had not relayed the ambassador’s cessation order to the vice consul. “There’s no need. I’ll explain it to him.”

He took out the cross on his necklace, kissed it, and laid out the passports on his desk. There were consequences he must consider—he, the consul general of his consulate, was knowingly issuing visas to those who were immigrating to Palestine, not China. There was no turning back after this. Not only had he defied his superior’s order to suspend visas, but he was also supporting the illegal transportation of the Jews. His career would forever bear the stamp of defiance, and it was possible that he could face a brutal check from his superior or even suffer a permanent career setback. But the time to win the superior’s approval and care for personal glory had passed; this was the time to save lives.

Holding his pen, he signed, in his steady strokes, his name on the visas.





CHAPTER 45


GRACE


For weeks, the roads were blanketed with knee-deep snow, the prancing equestrian statues in the plaza were a shapeless white, and on the streets, the Viennese, in their brown and black loden outfits, hunched their backs, hurrying along.

I agonized over Lola’s disappearance every day. Sometimes, I believed firmly that she had escaped with all the people in the building; sometimes, a depressing thought sat in my mind like a rock deposited in a lake—she had been taken to Mauthausen and would be worked to death.

I couldn’t bear it. I went to see Monto. He was sitting by the fireplace, reading a German book with pictures. He looked lonely, a twelve-year-old boy with bony shoulders and round eyes. The tuft of hair that often stuck out was lamely drooping near his ear—he needed a haircut.

“Could you still predict someone’s future by reading their signature, Monto?”

“Of course I can.”

“Wait here. I have something to show you.” I went to the vice consul and asked to see Lola’s visa application forms. He was reluctant, saying he was busy, but I insisted and offered to find them myself. Finally, he gave in. I took out the application page that bore Lola’s signature and put it in front of Monto. “Tell me. Is she alive?”

He scrutinized it, his black eyes intense like his father’s when he was contemplating something serious. “She’s alive.”

I let out my breath. “Thank you.”

“Who’s Lola? Is she the girl you were hiding in the storage room?”

“How did you know?”

“Of course I knew.”

“Don’t tell anyone, all right? She’s a good friend. Like Willi to you. How’s Willi?”

Monto burst into tears. “Willi is missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hasn’t come to school this year. It’s been months! He missed many days last year too. I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”

The absences on the transcript. “Monto, your grades have been low. What’s going on?”

“Don’t tell Father!”

“I won’t, but how about we make a deal. I’ll help you find your friend, but you promise me you’ll focus on school and get your grades up. What do you say?”

“How will you find him?”

“I’ll go visit him at home. Do you know his address?”

“I do. But Father wouldn’t allow it. He said we needed an invitation.”

“I’ll tell Willi’s parents I’m in the neighborhood. You can come with me too, and once you see him, we’ll leave. How’s that?”

“You won’t tell Father?”

“Pinkie promise.” I stuck out my pinkie.



The next day, I told Fengshan I’d take Monto to school; then Monto led our way to Willi’s apartment, located on the third floor of a complex on the K?rntnerstrasse. When I knocked on the door, an elderly German woman, wearing a black dress with lace around her neck, opened it. Monto shrank behind me. I would have hidden as well, but this was for him. So in English and with gestures, I explained, as calmly as I could, that we were looking for Willi, Monto’s friend.

The older woman’s eyes misted, and, covering her mouth, she said something in heavily accented English that I finally made out. She was Willi’s grandmother, and Willi, who had poor eyesight, had gone to the hospital one day but never returned. The hospital said he’d had surgery and was recovering in an undisclosed area but wouldn’t allow visitors. Willi’s mother had passed away two years ago, and his father had long disappeared, so Willi had been under her care.

I looked at Monto, waiting to see if he had anything to ask. He shook his head and turned around. We left the building and walked out to the street, passing the closed shops—many were tailors and dressmakers and retail shops selling stockings and knitwear.

I asked, “Is Willi Jewish?”

“I don’t know.”

“His grandmother said his vision was poor.”

Monto nodded. “He got worse. He was almost blind. He loved to sing ‘Dein ist mein ganzes Herz.’”