Night Angels(79)

Fengshan had been busy working and issuing visas, for the entire summer. For hours, he was glued to his desk, signing and stamping the visa forms, with little sleep. When he listened to the radio, he appeared anxious. Hitler had mocked the independence of European nations and vowed to attack Poland at the earliest opportunity.

In the park, I sat on the bench designated for people like Lola and thought of her. I missed her. It had been about six months since her disappearance, and I had not received any word from her. I wondered if I had been delusional. In reality, she had likely been sent to a labor camp like Mauthausen, where she would toil until her last breath, or she was perhaps already dead, murdered.

“Grace, Grace.” Monto was shaking me.

“Yes.” I had grown drowsy, almost falling asleep.

“A man is watching us,” he whispered in my ear.

I looked around. Near a trimmed bush shaped like an egg, a man in a navy jacket smoked a cigarette. He stubbed his cigarette out with his foot and pulled his jacket aside to reveal a pistol in his holster.

I sprang to my feet. “What did he do? Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“Let’s go, let’s go now.” I took Monto’s hand and rushed to the park’s exit.

“Grace, he said to tell Father not to issue visas to Jews.”

Eichmann’s man! He had demolished the consulate, and now he was threatening us.



In our apartment, I waved at Fengshan, working at his desk. He put down his pen and walked to the bedroom with Monto and me. When he heard about the man in the park, his face turned pale, his hand gripping Monto’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

The seedy business of Eichmann had rattled Fengshan, who had never imagined that his job would pose a threat to his son’s life, and we were unprotected, with Captain Heine gone—the only help we could seek was from the corrupt Viennese police, who had little sympathy for us.

“I’m fine, Father. Grace was there for me.” The brave boy gave his father a cup of water to drink.

Fengshan finished it in one gulp. “This is beyond my comprehension. The newspapers said Eichmann departed in May after the consulate’s demolition, reassigned to Prague, as Captain Heine had said.”

Who else would want Fengshan to stop issuing visas? It had to be someone who worked for Eichmann. He had said Prague was not his choice. He must be resentful of Fengshan.

He looked pensive, pacing our bedroom. “Will you be careful?”

I glanced at Monto by the window. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.”

Fengshan looked relieved and went to work. Feeling tired again, I took a long nap.

In my sleep, I thought I heard men’s rough voices speaking German in Fengshan’s office. It occurred to me that it was the radio broadcasting German. But then it was followed by a man’s voice speaking English with a British accent: “Hitler claims that in Poland, gallows after gallows have been erected to hang the good German people, many Germans are persecuted in a bloody frenzy of terror, and innocent German blood is flowing on the streets of Warsaw. Hitler vows that as a protector of the German people, he’ll take necessary steps to ensure their safety in Poland.”

Germans? In Poland? It was all so confusing, and Fengshan murmured something and switched to another station: another man’s voice, speaking French, followed by English again. “Breaking news. It is reported that German Foreign Affairs Minister Ribbentrop has signed a nonaggression pact with Molotov, the minister of foreign affairs of the Soviet Union. They have consented to avoid military action against each other for the next ten years. This is the second part of the pact after the two parties have agreed on economic development for both countries.”

What was this rubbish? Germany and Soviet Union? I longed for some sonatas, some symphonies, or Bach played on violin. Or Lola’s favorite piece. Last year, music was like the air people breathed in Vienna, and now the air was devoid of music. Was Lola listening to her favorite music?





CHAPTER 54


FENGSHAN


He had trouble sleeping ever since Eichmann’s man threatened Monto in the park. For days, after work, despite his exhaustion, he lay in bed at night, his mind racing with fear. Sometimes he would go check on Monto when he slept. In the dark, sitting on the sofa, he listened to his son’s soft breathing. He had been a good father, he hoped, encouraging his son to have hobbies to broaden his horizon, giving him a good education that was essential for his future, and teaching him to be a good man—that was what he valued most: a boy must become a man of good character. Monto had been mature for his age, resilient, and intelligent; all the moves, from China to Istanbul and to Vienna, had not dampened his spirits. Monto had learned to speak English and German and expressed great interest in music and math. He would have a bright future.

Had he neglected his son because of his work? Admittedly so—visa issuance had occupied his mind and soul, and he hardly had time to take a walk to free his mind. He should care for Monto more, his son, his legacy.

What if Eichmann’s man hurt his son?

He could ask for more policemen, but without Captain Heine, it was doubtful that he could find reliable security from the Vienna police. Grace had promised to protect Monto. He could count on her. She had been an absentminded girl, a dreamer, but pregnancy and the growing bond between her and Monto had turned her into a single-minded dragon mother.