The Last Rose of Shanghai(48)

“It’ll be my pleasure. I believe Mr. Reismann’s survival in Shanghai and his relationship with you will touch many people’s hearts today. But may I ask you, Ms. Shao, why you wish to make a documentary about him?”

I take a deep breath. “Because, Ms. Sorebi, I did something most unforgivable.”





38


AUGUST 1941


ERNEST

For many days after he discovered the Japanese secretively transferring guns, Ernest, the camera around his neck, had spent any time not at work searching for his giant friend in order to warn him. But Ernest was disappointed. Jyo was nowhere to be found.

Sassoon could use the film and alert the Settlement if necessary, but Ernest was still angry at him. After much consideration, though, Ernest decided to put aside his personal feelings for the good of the Settlement. Finally, one day in August, Ernest asked the front desk to see the old man, but he was declined—Sassoon was busy.

Suddenly the British people from India and England seemed to vanish from the streets and inside the hotel. When he looked up from his piano, Ernest could see the Americans were drinking and glaring at the Japanese, who had crowded the entire bar. With a mysterious look, the Japanese men stared at him. He flinched at a twinge of pain from the wound on his arm the nuns had stitched.



Fall arrived. After everyone left the bar one night, Ernest packed up. Outside the bar, the lobby was almost empty. The unlit sconces sat on the wall like black spiders. It was past midnight; there were few guests ambling about, the only sound the tap of his shoes and the soft hum from the radiator grilles. It gave him an eerie feeling, as if he were treading in a forest where all living things were holding their breath.

“Have you seen Sir Sassoon?” he asked the bellboy, a skinny youngster with long arms at the revolving door.

He shook his head. “He’s resting, sir.”

“Have a good night.”



Ernest waved at Miriam as she appeared in the courtyard, which was crowded with refugee children shivering in thin black jackets. It had been drizzling all morning, and the air was chilly. He had walked for an hour and changed five buses—two had dead engines on the road—to see her.

He had counted the money he’d saved—almost one hundred American dollars. Not bad after paying for Miriam’s summer school, fall semester, host family, clothes, and one year’s rent for his apartment. Today, he had brought a coat and a canvas bag for Miriam.

“What are you doing here, Ernest?” Miriam stood, clad in a black blazer over a white necktie blouse and a black skirt—from Mrs. Blackstone, he figured. She looked prim, graceful. He was amazed, unprepared. Since when had his little sister turned into a proper woman? But the indifference on Miriam’s face pierced him.

“I bought this coat for you.” He was suddenly awkward. He’d only managed to see her briefly the past few months, since she stayed at the Blackstones’ home over the summer. “I need to tell you something important. Want to have a treat? Let’s go. I’ve talked to your school, so we can spend some time together.” He walked her out of school and crossed the street to a shop selling baozi, youtiao, and fried cakes with green onions.

Miriam picked two youtiao, fried flour strips. “What’s in your bag?”

“It’s for you. Look, I want to warn you. Shanghai will be at war and—”

“I know that.”

“How did you know?”

She shrugged. “Mr. Blackstone told me. He said his colleagues were leaving Shanghai. He’s thinking about it too. He said Germans were winning the war in Europe and bombed aircraft factories and radar stations in London. What’s his name—Churchill, right? Churchill has withdrawn the navy from China to Singapore, and what else . . . I don’t remember.”

Mr. Blackstone must have had a radio hidden in the cupboard or something.

“And we have new refugee children from Europe pour into school every day. One hundred arrived yesterday. The school has to stop taking them. Too full.”

It was sad to hear, but there was nothing he could do. Sassoon was right—they kept coming, and people in the hotel complained too. The Jewish communities can’t shoulder the burden of refugees anymore. Refugees are the dregs of society in Europe. The new municipal council, ruled by the Japanese, had added an additional processing fee and demanded to see the refugees’ financial proofs before allowing their entrance.

He still hadn’t received any replies from his parents, and the ocean liners had stopped docking at the wharf. But he couldn’t bring up his concern for them. Miriam would be upset.

“Well, Miriam, we might have to leave Shanghai soon. But I have everything prepared. You don’t have to worry.”

Miriam stared at the canvas bag. “Mr. Blackstone says the US is neutral. Americans are safe in Shanghai.”

“He wouldn’t be if war broke out. I’ll find another school for you in another city.”

“If we leave, how will Mother and Father find us? Mr. Blackstone says international communications have been cut off. Posts can’t reach Europe.”

Mr. Blackstone this, Mr. Blackstone that. Her tone had a note of trust and deference that made Ernest rather irritated. She had never talked to him in that tone. Ernest took a deep breath. “I hope he’s right. But remember, I’m your brother, and I’m here for you.”