My discomfort at having been discovered in our meager circumstances found no echo in Kai-rong, who was full of practical questions: Was the food passable, were we learning our way around, did we understand the bank notes? We spent a lovely hour at a lakeside teahouse occupied, except for Paul and myself, exclusively by Chinese. Paul devoured the tea cakes; as for me, even the mediocrity of my recent diet hasn’t increased my enthusiam for these dainties. But the tea was sweet, and swans floated by, and I suppose I’m growing used to Chinese music because I found the quartet quite pleasing. Kai-rong explained the instruments and their tuning, we discussed Mozart and literature, and I was very sorry when we had to leave.
Kai-rong had his driver take us back on a wandering path, as he pointed out landmarks to familiarize us with our new home. The tour was enlightening; but it was the comfort of Kai-rong’s presence that made me feel, as on shipboard, connected to this time and place.
Your foolish, but entirely rational,
Rosalie
23 May 1938
Dear Mama,
We’ve been here two weeks and it seems a lifetime.
Who could ever have imagined? The Pesach tales of oppression, which I once dismissed as part myth, part ancient history, and wholly unrelated to our enlightened age, have risen from the pages of the Haggadah to come howling after us. Once again we’re fleeing, scattering to the winds. Over the thin kasha soup and rough bread that serves as dinner at the Home, one hears of relatives making for Australia, Argentina, the Dominican Republic-oh, Mama, I don’t believe I could find that island on a map, and yet it’s rumored that, alone in the world but for Shanghai, its doors remain open.
And reverently people speak of the Promised Land, America. America? Which issues only a miserably few visas to refugees, desperate as we are? Why does anyone believe America will be more hospitable once they pry open its doors? And yet so many plan and scheme and hope: A former employer who fled to Chicago will send for them, or cousins in New York will sponsor them, and the gates of paradise will swing wide.
No, I say. Shanghai is mystifying and often harsh; nevertheless, it’s welcomed us. Until insanity is overthrown and our homes restored, my home is here.
Oh, what a demagogue I’ve become! I’m sorry; worry over you and Uncle Horst, over the future, over how to know I’m doing the right things for Paul-over whether I’ll find kasha soup in my bowl again tomorrow-combines with a helpless anger, and leads to a darkness I haven’t known before.
Others feel this darkness, too, the result of worry and the inability to find work, a place to live, decent food-to take any action in any direction. At the Home you see people-a small number, but real-who sit all day in the canteen or on their cots, who have little to say and will not try the streets of Shanghai, who no longer spend effort to stay clean and groomed-and it is an effort here, Mama, but one I force myself to make and demand of Paul. This darkness thickens imperceptibly: I didn’t realize I had fallen into its shadow until our outing with Kai-rong. For the brief period of that afternoon, Shanghai seemed not like a frightening dream, but merely a place. Bizarre and mystifying, admittedly, but nevertheless a solid, daytime place whose streets and customs could, with application, be understood.
I’m telling you this, Mama, because I want you to understand a decision I’ve made: after wrenching consideration, I’ve determined to sell Grandmother Gilder’s ruby ring. I’m afraid to stay too long at the Home, afraid of what the dreariness will do to my heart and Paul’s. The price of the ring should enable us to pay what’s called “key money”-pure extortion, but every landlord demands it-and also, I hope, to pay Paul’s school fees when I find him a place. He claims to be perfectly happy in his truancy, and asks that I not sell anything for his sake; but I don’t believe him. He hasn’t seen the inside of an incomprehensible science text since we left the ship, so how could he be happy? And even if he were, nevertheless he should be in school.
Accordingly, tomorrow I’ll set off into the French Concession-a beautiful area, with villas on tree-lined streets, as opposite to Hongkew as you can imagine; Kai-rong took us through it. The finest shops are there, and Kai-rong has given me the names of jewelers of good reputation. I’ll search one out, and return to Hongkew richer, though, I think, much poorer also.
I’ve chosen the ring because it’s mine. Yes, I remember my vow to renounce sentimentality; but to regard your jewelry, Mama, as mineral banknotes isn’t easy without you here to tell me to do it! Until you come, I have nothing but your photograph and my memories. These include watching you dress for elegant evenings, and the magical moment when you fixed the diamond necklace at your throat and became Queen Mama, and I became Princess Rosalie. That necklace especially, but also the gold bracelet, and the others-yes, yes, I will sell them if I must, I won’t let Paul starve! But if there’s a way, I would dearly love to see you, when you are here in Shanghai, as Queen Mama once more!
I hope you approve of my decision, Mama; and if you don’t, I can’t wait to hear you tell me so yourself.
Your Rosalie
The alarm on my cell phone beeped. Ten minutes? That’s all? I felt like I’d been in Shanghai, walking beside Rosalie, for weeks.
When I called, Mary picked up right away. “You owe me, girlfriend. And you owe Captain Mentzinger, too.”
“Was he mad?”
“You mean how much do you owe? Actually, it was another chance to stick it to Midtown. Remind them they owe us. Still-”
“Okay, I just entered it in my karma ledger.”
She gave me the details, and I called Leah Pilarsky. “Midtown Homicide is contacting the medical examiner. You should be able to pick up Joel’s body by the end of the day.” She was right, it did feel weird to say “Joel’s body.”
“Oh, Lydia, thank you! This will mean so much to Ruth! If there’s ever anything I can do for you-”
“Just let me know when the funeral is. I’d like to be there.”
“Of course! We can plan now for tomorrow. I’ll call you. Now I’d better go. So many people have been calling, people who need to travel in-cousins from Seattle, his old partner in Florida, his college roommate in Zurich. I have to let them all-”
“Leah? Who’s in Zurich?”
“Joel’s college roommate.”
“The roommate’s in Zurich?”
“He’s lived there for years. David Rosenberg. He publishes a business magazine.”
“I’d like to talk to him.”
“Yes, of course. But the police already talked to him.”
“I’m sure.” Three calls, Joel made the morning he died. Alice, me, and first, his college roommate. Mulgrew had said that. He hadn’t said the roommate was in Zurich.
I called the number Leah gave me, but David Rosenberg, as it turned out, had already left for New York.