CHAPTER 22

BESHERT 1939

In the evenings, I write to Poldi by a dim light in our small cramped rooms and beg him to send word of conditions in Milan. I tell him of our plight but assure him that all my family has arrived safely in this strange land and urge him to come as soon as possible. I have not told him that I have received no mail for several weeks from Herr Berger and that I am desperately worried about the Kosiners. I describe where we are in Shanghai and tell him to find us as soon as he arrives.

After I make countless trips to the post office and empty-handed retreats in disappointment, some letters finally arrive. I keep them in my pocket unopened all day and through the night hours when I am at work in the club. I run my fingers over the envelopes many times and smile, thinking that he held them in his hands. When I finally return home in the early morning, I slip into bed and open each one. I devour the words, rushing through them and then rereading them over and over with great pleasure, until every one is memorized.

I feel a lump rising in my throat when I read his words. He is still so far away, and the dangers in Europe seem to be getting worse.

“Dear Nini,

“With all my heart I wish I could be with you now. I know there are hardships in Shanghai and you and your family are struggling. Please be brave and strong and relentless in your fight against the Missionaries. As hard as it is for you, it is still so much worse here in Europe. Have you got any news from Herr Berger about my parents? I still hope that they will be with you in Shanghai by the time we get there.

“The Nazis are becoming more ruthless every day in their goal of ridding the world of us all. Hitler has promised a special holiday when the last Jew has been driven from the continent. Life is a bitter medicine that we swallow each day and pray for a cure to this evil plague, but there is none to be found. The Italians have changed their rules and the Lloyd Triestino Line is no longer permitted to leave from Trieste to take refugees to Shanghai. You might have been on the very last of those voyages.

“The only way out now is by land through Manchuria, which is the route that we must take.

“Dolu and I will make our way overland to Shanghai within another month or two, but I only received one letter from the lawyer Berger and he still has not succeeded with the exit visas for our parents. I cannot discuss it with Dolu. You know what a temper he has and he always rants about Berger, that he should have done more, that he never wanted to help us. I have tried to reason with him many times and have explained that Berger saved you and that he would do all that he could for our parents too, but in truth I am very worried.

“I hope that you, together with all your family, are well. Every night I thank God that I have survived another day and pray that in His Mercy, He will bring me to you again. Although an ocean lies between us, I feel you with me in my small room. Maybe, with God’s help we will still unite one day. We should try to keep hope in our hearts, despite the distance and the forces against us.

“My love and devotion always,

“Poldi”

His letters are always a source of joy to me, but now also of growing concern for his safety. After I have digested the words on my own, I share them with my family. We come together almost every day to keep the ties strong. We, like most of the refugees, have developed overpowering fears of separation, imagining that each goodbye may be the last.

It’s been weeks since I had any word from Herr Berger when finally a letter arrives. When I see his familiar return address I feel my heart fluttering. In a state of jittery trepidation I tear it open immediately while still in the post office, not even waiting to take it home. When I read the contents I feel weak and lean against the wall, then slump down onto a chair. The letter is not at all from him but from one of his clerks.

“Fraulein Karpel,

“This will be the last correspondence from this office. I know that you were one of Herr Berger’s most important clients as he spent so much time on your case. I have decided that I should therefore inform you, in loyalty to him, that he has been arrested by the Gestapo. They have accused him of aiding Jews which is against the law, of using his own funds to work for the release of Jews from the camps, also illegal, and various other crimes against the Reich. The penalty is death.

“Personally, I do not support whatever he did in risking his own life for yours but it is my duty, I think, to let you know that there will be no further aid to you or to any other Jew from this office. In fact, I am losing my job now as the office will have to be shut down. Do not correspond further with us as it will be useless.

“A faithful employee and member of the National Socialist Party.”

I scan the words over and over, in stunned disbelief. “My God!” I say aloud. With devastating clarity, I realize at last that they are all gone, Herr Berger and the Kosiners.

For several days after, I cannot eat or sleep much. The news is as traumatic as anything we have experienced till now and I have received nothing from Poldi in over a month. I am certain that he and Dolu are dead, and no amount of reassurance from Mama can convince me that they are all right.

On August 11, the Japanese Naval Landing Party has ordered all refugees already living in Japanese-occupied territory to register. We line up with the rest to sign our names to the list. But by August 21 a new decree is announced. The influx of Jewish immigrants to Shanghai has been halted. Only those already on the high seas will be permitted to disembark here. With the very last avenue of escape plugged, Hitler and his co-conspirators have made certain we are trapped. I am more fearful than ever that Poldi did not escape in time and that I will never see him again.

One evening I am at home with Mama when there is an unexpected knock on the door. Distressed, we exchange a look of concern. Peering apprehensively through the window, I scream suddenly and Mama jumps in fright. “Nini, whatever is wrong!”

“He’s here, Mama, he’s really here!”

I rush to open the door and welcome Poldi in a tight embrace, drawing him in, holding his hand again in my own. To me it seems as if a light has been lit within the dark room – sunbeams seem to flood through the door. Mama weeps for she is very fond of Poldi and hugs him to her as if he were one of her own children. We sit together until late at night listening to news of Vienna and Milan, telling our own tales. Poldi’s face alone tells us his story, for on it is written the harrowing journey he has now completed. His cheeks are hollows beneath protruding bones.

As we talk, I realize how deeply I love this man. I know our destinies have now become intertwined like two trees that will twist and tangle as they grow, indistinguishable from one another, the roots meshing until they are one, to live or to perish together.

Poldi and his brother have arrived in Shanghai together and Dolu is already making contact with some people he knows who live in the French Concession and making arrangements for lodgings for them both.

Poldi has come on his own to see us. After a while I realize I have to tell him about Berger’s arrest and the loss of any hope we had of rescuing his parents. I go to retrieve the letter sent from Berger’s office and show it to him. Shaken, he lights a cigarette with trembling hands. His eyes mist, he lowers his head and he starts to sob, his shoulders heaving.

Mama gives him a shot of vodka, which he gulps in one swallow. When he is able to speak again, he describes the image of his parents the last time he saw them before he left for Italy, their hands joined together, tears in their eyes as they waved farewell. He has carried that image with him during the entire trip and it still haunts him.

I had never told Poldi what his mother had predicted years before. He is unaware of her premonition that she and his father would not live to see Poldi and me together again. I still have no intention of telling him this – after all, she might have been wrong. Maybe they will yet escape and make their way here. I manage to smile weakly and touch his hand in an attempt at reassurance. I remember her telling me too about her belief that Poldi and I were destined for each other – beshert – and I wonder whether she will be proven right. How very far away those times seem to me now. How strange that she had sensed this reunion that has taken place against all likelihood and in this strange place.

When Poldi has regained his composure, we settle down with hot tea. He removes a small package from his coat pocket. Carefully unwrapping the brown rumpled paper, tied with string, he reveals the contents. In his still quivering hand he holds his mother’s gold watch, her most prized possession. We gaze at the smooth disc and long linked chain curled in the paper. How desperate she must have felt to have taken the only valuable in her possession from her neck and pressed it into her son’s hand. “I promised that I would return it to her one day when we reunited,” Poldi says hardly above a whisper, talking more to himself than to us. “I told her that I would put it back around her neck and she smiled and said, ‘Maybe, my son, but if not, keep it and remember me by it.’ Yes, that’s what she said.”

From his valise he withdraws one of his father’s small leather-bound books and there on the little scuffed wooden table before us we stare at the only remnants we have of these two lives. The night is not dark enough to hide the loneliest moments of our grief. Tears don’t relieve our shared heartache.

After an hour or so, Poldi says, “It’s time for me to go. Dolu is waiting for me and I’ll have to tell him what has happened. He will be shattered too. But I’ll see you tomorrow, Nini. For tonight I can think of nothing but my mama and papa.”

I cannot fall asleep. The excitement of his return and the sadness of his parents’ unknown fate keep me tossing restlessly until the morning. The next day when I meet Poldi, he tries to suppress the hurt and disappointment he is feeling. We take turns in our efforts at encouraging one another, wanting to make the best of the moment, reasoning that we still have no evidence that his parents are not alive. Maybe the camps are not so bad, and we will still find them safe.

“You know, Poldi,” I say in my best attempt at a cheerful attitude, “at least we are both alive. Remember we always said we could accomplish anything if we survived together.”

“And,” he suggests, taking my hand in his, a smile on his lips, “you thought you would never travel beyond Austria, but the Nazis have given you a chance to see the world.”

“I should send them a thank-you note, don’t you think?” I say and we both have a laugh.

We walk around the city, stopping for a pot of green tea, which we sip until the last of the leaves remain in a mucky clump at the bottom of the small cups. Being together makes everything an adventure. We joke again and walk along hand in hand, and for the first time in months we talk about the future.

Over the next few weeks, we obsessively follow the news from Europe. Our hope is that Hitler will somehow be overthrown and that the prisoners of the camps will be released. However, the Nazis have brought in a new law, making emigration for Jews more difficult than before. They each need $400 – U.S. dollars – to get out of Vienna. This is a nearly insurmountable obstacle as most people cannot obtain that amount of money and the Germans are losing patience. They are not prepared to wait. Poldi is distraught with the guilt of having abandoned his parents. Without Herr Berger to intervene there is no way to find them and no funds to pay their way out.

Finally in September 1939 we read the headlines: Hitler has invaded Poland, and Britain and France have declared war on Germany. We know then that Poldi’s parents are gone forever and an immense grief overcomes us. Poldi is inconsolable. For days he goes without sleep, walking around in a state of shock and disbelief, unable to accept the horrific fate that his beloved parents have had to face. He relives the torment again and again, denying himself any solace. I try to talk to him, to rescue him from his demons. I sit with him for many hours into the night, begging him to hang on to the strength his parents have given him throughout their lives.

His eyes are rimmed in red. He is unshaven and will not speak. Day after day we worry about his survival. Mama goes with me to visit Poldi and Dolu every day, bringing whatever food we can spare and offering our feeble words of comfort. Our hearts break with his and his brother’s. We all grieve with them, each of my family expressing sympathy for their terrible loss.

The iron bond Mama has established has held us together and kept us from destruction; now it is extended to include Poldi and Dolu. The lifeline seems to work gradually. Dolu surfaces from his despair more quickly than Poldi. Sometime in October he meets a young woman, Eva, of Russian Jewish descent, who has given him support and encouragement, and he seems well on his way to establishing a new life. As she is a dentist and he had some dental training in Poland, they have set up a dental practice that is prospering and he has told us that he plans to marry her.

Poldi feels the trauma more deeply. Although he has an optimistic nature, this blow has affected his normal disposition. Weeks pass and he is still immersed in a state of melancholy. Just at the point of deepest remorse, there appears to be a gradual improvement in his declining health. Bit by bit he wills himself the courage to carry on. Like a flower inching up toward the light, Poldi slowly regains the spirit of life we feared would be lost. His eyes still betray his anguish, but a weak smile crosses his lips again.

To my great joy, Poldi professes his love for me and tells me that only together will we have the strength to navigate the difficult path ahead. We decide to be married here in Shanghai, to reach for something better. The misery we have already encountered has destroyed our childhood ambitions and every plan we had made for our future. We may not survive to a better time. The road before us remains hidden from our view and will lead us on a journey we cannot foresee.