I pray every day for you, Mama.
Your Rosalie
21
“There’s Kleenex in the glove compartment,” Bill said.
“We’re going to a funeral. I brought my own.” I wasn’t exactly crying, but my vision had blurred. “You’re right. These aren’t very cheery.”
“There are just a few more.”
“I’m not sure I can take it.”
“You want me to summarize?”
“In a minute.”
I wiped my eyes, then laid the papers on my lap, gently, even though they were only Bill’s scribbled translations. “Have you ever been to an Orthodox Jewish funeral?”
“Yes.”
“What goes on?”
“Same as anyplace, but in Hebrew.”
“If they don’t bang gongs and walk around the coffin with incense, it’s not the same as the funerals I know.”
“Basically, though, it is. Prayers, songs, a eulogy. No sermon, I don’t think. You know we won’t be able to sit together? They separate men and women.”
I nodded; somewhere, I knew that, though I hadn’t thought about it. I felt a pang of anxiety, which made me mad. Boy, Lydia, first you’re not sure you ever want to talk to this guy again, and now you’re fretting because he’ll be sitting on the other side of the synagogue? “Will the coffin be open?”
Bill’s eyebrows lifted at my sharp tone, but all he said was “No.”
That was good; Chinese coffins usually are, and I find it creepy. Maybe in the old days it was okay, a chance to see your loved one looking peaceful as you said good-bye. Today funeral homes embalm and use makeup and when you see your loved one he looks like someone else. I didn’t want to see Joel looking like someone else. But when the last time I did see Joel-the office, the blood-flashed behind my eyes, I decided Bill’s distraction tactic was a good one.
“The rest of Rosalie’s letters. What are they about?”
He looked over at me. Just don’t ask if I’m all right. It worked, because he didn’t. “The next one’s about the wedding,” he said calmly, just two investigators talking over a case. “At the Café Falbaum, the way the professor’s article said. The one after that, very brief, that she’s pregnant. She imagines her mother singing to the baby. Then she writes about Kai-rong’s arrest; she’s frantic, but Mei-lin has a plan. She says the cost of getting Kai-rong out will be high, but she knows her mother will understand.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Then she writes about his escape, and how she’s taking care of Mei-lin’s son until Mei-lin comes back. The next one tells why they have to move to Hongkew. She’s worried her mother won’t be able to find them there.”
“Oh, God, Bill.”
“I know. And then one about the birth of her son, and how she’s naming him Horst but because he’s growing up in China they’ll use his Chinese name, Lao-li, which means ‘labor is truth.’ ”
“It can also mean ‘truth is hard work,’ you know.”
He nodded. “The last letter is on Lao-li’s first birthday.”
“No more?”
“That was October ’forty-four. The Japanese surrendered in August of ’forty-five. The war in Europe was over by then, and the Red Cross lists of concentration camp confirmed dead began to reach Shanghai in the fall. By Lao-li’s second birthday, Rosalie must have known her mother was gone.”
I slid the papers back into the envelope. “Poor Rosalie.”
“She was pretty tough. Most of that time, Kai-rong was away. She was on her own with those two kids-she and Paul. Her father-in-law gave them money, so I guess they ate as well as anyone in the ghetto, but toward the end of the war no one in Shanghai had much to eat.”
“But Kai-rong kept coming back? The way the navy report said?”
“In the one about the baby, she says he held his son soon after he was born. So he must have been slipping in and out. I don’t get the idea, by the way, that she didn’t know what he was up to.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She says she misses him, but what he’s doing is important and she’s proud. I don’t think she’d say that if he were just on the run.”
We drove in silence for a while. A sense we’d missed something kept waving at me for attention, but when I looked right at it, it disappeared. This section of expressway cut through a residential area. A young woman pushed a baby carriage; on the next block a much older woman, thin and bent, carefully picked her way down the sidewalk. I wondered if they knew each other, if the old lady cooed at the baby when they met in the supermarket aisle.
“Up for reading?” Bill’s voice, solid and real, pulled me back.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Mei-lin’s diary. You brought it, right?”
“Of course. We had a deal.” I reached into my shoulder bag for my own manila envelope with the stack of Xeroxes. I’d flagged some entries, but I hadn’t made a written translation the way he had. That struck me as not very nice of me. “It starts off well, but it wouldn’t win any Pulitzer for cheeriness, either. I didn’t make it quite all the way to the end, but I don’t think it gets any better.” I turned to the first flag. “Let me catch you up, and if we have time I’ll translate the last few.” Maybe simultaneous translation would make up for my lack of written pages. “This one’s a couple of weeks after what we read yesterday. The thrill of dinner at the Cathay has worn off and it’s beginning to dawn on her that nothing’s really changed. Then something happens. General Zhang-she calls him ‘dashing’ again-comes to tea.”
“To see her?”
“Umm, ‘He found himself in the neighborhood and sent his card in.’ ”
“Oh, sure.”
“Her father asks Kai-rong to join them and sends for her, too. She’s overjoyed and figures it was Kai-rong’s idea because it couldn’t possibly be her father’s. She runs and puts on the red shoes, and then takes her time going downstairs. She says she knows just how to behave.”
“And that’s how?”
“ ‘Polite, but cool and distant.’ ”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! You see? She’s overjoyed, but she gives him the frost anyway.”
“She goes beyond that. ‘Kai-rong tried to tease me-so childish! I ignored him. Father inquired about the general’s family. He’s a widower, with one son. He admitted to being lonely, but said with a smile that one must bear what one can’t change. I felt for him-I know about loneliness! We discussed art, music, and literature. The general’s very cultured, with opinions on everything. When Father and Kairong spoke he listened respectfully-and to me, also! Though I was careful not to express strong ideas. He asked to see my calligraphy, and praised it! He said it was refreshing to see a young woman accomplished in the traditional arts. He’s a bit old-fashioned, actually. For one thing, he doesn’t like American jazz. Although he said he was willing to try it again, and invited Kai-rong and myself to the Cathay’s nightclub! Oh, I wonder if Father will agree? He smiled, as though the general were joking, but maybe Kai-rong can persuade him.
“ ‘Twice I felt the general watching me when Father was speaking. I kept my eyes downcast, of course-but I could barely supress my giggles! I hope the general didn’t notice. He stayed a long while and promised to call again. I hope he does!! It was as though he brought a cool breeze when he came through the door. While he was here, I could breathe.’ ”
“Well,” said Bill. “That’s our Mei-lin.”
“And for your information, the frost worked. The general came back.”
“Of course it worked. I never said it wouldn’t work. We fall for it every time.”