The Last Rose of Shanghai(56)

His mother, despite all his love for her, was a critical woman. He still remembered her criticisms: Your Schumann is so loud you could wake up a dead man in a grave. Your Beethoven is so stiff you might as well play the drum in a marching band. Who is the young woman you talked to outside the school? Didn’t you know she isn’t Jewish? When he was a child, he had placed more importance on pleasing her than himself. But in adolescence, rebellion began to sprout. It became difficult to balance the piano and her control of him. He fought her. He ate nonkosher foods like shrimp and ham and hung out with non-Jewish friends; he stayed out for beer on Shabbat night.

His battle had been so inconsequential and childish, he could see that now. If he could see his mother again, he would tell her how he survived in Shanghai as a pianist. If he could see his father again, he would ask him to drink schnapps and go skiing together.



Later, he went to fetch Miriam, whom he had visited a few times since he bought tickets for the three of them. When Aiyi declined to leave with him, he had told Miriam to get ready for the new departure date. When he arrived at the school’s courtyard, Miriam was sitting on a bench, holding a small brown leather suitcase. She had her hair in a French braid, his mother’s favorite hairstyle; Miriam looked healthy, her cheeks filled out, her eyes flashing intelligently. What a beautiful woman she had become. His parents would be so proud. Ernest choked up.

“Ernest, I’ve been waiting for you,” Miriam said.

“I’m glad you’re ready, Miriam,” he said. Mr. Blackstone, dressed in a brown flannel jacket, was next to her. Ernest shook hands with him. “It’s very kind of you to see us off. I’m indebted to you. Thank you for looking after my sister.”

“Your sister has brought us immense joy, Mr. Reismann.” Mr. Blackstone’s impressive baritone voice rang out. “I’d like to tell you an important decision my wife and I made. It’s no longer safe in Shanghai. The school has decided to close earlier, so we’re leaving for America.”

Ernest nodded. Still he was grateful that Mr. Blackstone had taken Miriam in, fed her, and let her borrow his Webster dictionary. “Safe travels. I hope our paths will cross again.”

“Ernest.” Miriam stared at her feet. “I meant to tell you that Mr. Blackstone and his wife wish to adopt me and take me with them. They have a farmhouse with horses in America.”

“What? Adopt you?” He must have heard it wrong.

“So we’ll make it legal, and she can leave with us,” Mr. Blackstone said.

Miriam was staring at her feet, but Ernest could see it in her eyes: some fear and a sliver of excitement.

This couldn’t be happening. He had just realized the fate of his parents, and now Miriam wanted to leave him. “You can’t be serious, Miriam. We’re going to Hong Kong. I’ve told you. Adoption? That’s crazy. You don’t need to be adopted. Besides, the processes must be very complicated.”

“No need to worry, Mr. Reismann. My wife and I already have the paperwork prepared. All we need is your consent.”

He wished the man would leave them alone. “Miriam?” He held her shoulders. She was so young; she was confused. She didn’t understand the consequences of being adopted. “Look, can we talk at home? I’m . . . I’m very surprised. This is rather unexpected. It’s a serious decision, can’t you see? Can you talk to me?”

Miriam looked away. Ernest trembled. It was true. She didn’t want him, her brother, her blood; she wanted Mr. Blackstone, a passerby in her life.

“Mr. Reismann, regrettably, we won’t have much time. I promise you, my wife and I will treat her well. My wife loves her. She helped her pack. You like the suitcase, don’t you, Miriam? The canvas bag was too small.”

Never in his life had Ernest hated a baritone voice more. He should never have sent her to live with the Americans. Who was this Mr. Blackstone anyway? Did he play that silly football game? Did he go to church every day like a fanatic? Did he even like jazz? The school had said he was engaged in an import and export business of stockings and garments. But for all he could tell, Mr. Blackstone might be a drunkard, or even a criminal—ordinary, decent Americans wouldn’t travel overseas to Shanghai.

“Ernest?”

Miriam’s pleading eyes. His thoughts scattered. What had he done wrong? How could he have lost her love, her trust, when he did his best to support her and protect her? “You want to leave with him, Miriam? Is this what you’ll choose?”

She looked down at her feet again. “I don’t like Shanghai. I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to swat flies all day.”

“We’re going to Hong Kong, Miriam. You won’t swat flies. Things will get better.”

“Mr. Reismann, if we adopt her, she’d be an American citizen,” Mr. Blackstone said.

And she would have a Webster dictionary to read and peas and meat loaf to eat every Sunday. This was a good life, the best life he could dream of for her, but he was unwilling to let her go. He had promised his parents to look after her, and he loved her.

“If you leave, Miriam, I’ll never see you again . . .”

Tears welled in her eyes. She loved him after all. Maybe she remembered how he protected her, how much he cared for her. But she wiped off her tears. “You don’t care about me, Ernest. You never did. You didn’t remember my birthday, and you forgot my bat mitzvah.”