CHAPTER 24

RETURN TO SHANGHAI 1940

The honeymoon and adventure lasted over two months, but now it is March and we have returned once more to Shanghai. Our family is glad to see us again, eager to hear about our success in Harbin and overjoyed that we have managed to bring so much money back for everyone to start new lives. We are beaming as we see them and bask in warm embraces and smiles although for us the trip, despite the danger, was a wonderful dream that we didn’t want to end.

It seems that our happiness cannot last for long. The family starts to tell us that developments in Europe have only worsened in our absence. Newspapers from England report nothing but bad news. Hitler’s troops, efficient soldiers armed with the most modern equipment and bolstered by the fanatical fervour of their leader’s doctrine, have been moulded into a human machine of destruction. Only world domination will satisfy the voracious monster, as it devours people, towns, countries in the gluttony for power.

Since the invasion of Czechoslovakia in March of 1939, then the onslaught on Poland in September, Hitler and the German people have been emboldened by the successes of their army. Diplomatic attempts have proven futile. We are sure that Chamberlain’s pre-war slogan “Peace in our time” has become nothing but a joke for the Fuhrer and his men. One by one the flimsy defences of the countries in his path have crumbled.

The year 1940 has been turbulent from the start and so it continues. Germany invades Denmark and Norway in April, then in swift succession conquers the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg. The world seems hypnotized into submission as these countries tumble like dominoes. We shake our heads as we hear the news and the almost incidental reports that Jews are being herded together and sent away to concentration camps.

The French and English armies are struggling in northern France trying to hold off the enemy. On May 11 Winston Churchill becomes the British prime minister, and we wonder, as we hear his forceful voice on the radio, whether there is the resolve to hold off the onslaught and curtail the bloodletting.

In homes and public places we refugees gather around radios in an effort to get the current news. We hold our heads in anguish, as Hitler’s voice thunders with arrogance, making us doubt any possible rescue. We listen spellbound to broadcasts in which Churchill speaks with strength and outrage about the German menace that is eyeing England as another easy target. It is clear to us that a Nazi victory would mark our own doom.

By the end of May the whole European community in Shanghai is in shock and distress as we read the terrifying headline, “France has fallen!” Newspaper photos show the inconceivable sight of German soldiers marching down the Champs Elysées.

It is not just the course of the war that has thrown the family into a state of alarm. While we were away Mama became suddenly ill and in the two months since our return she has deteriorated substantially. I have tried to understand how she could have come to this state in such a short time and am torn with guilt, believing that I might have done something to prevent the circumstances that we must now face.

“No one could have helped her, Nini,” Stella says defensively. “Not even you. You always imagine you can solve anything, cure anything, but you’re wrong. She is just sick, that’s all, and the doctors can’t do a thing to save her.” Her voice pulls and snaps like a rubber band, revealing her state of tension, a mixture of frustration, anger, and sadness.

“Something should be done,” I say in dismal helplessness “How can we just stand by and watch her die?” Fear bubbles up in my throat, making my voice sound high-pitched like a shriek.

Haltingly, Erna says, “We have to accept it. She is dying, Nini. All the doctors in Shanghai can do nothing to save her.” Eventually I absorb what they are telling me and acknowledge our impotence. A paralyzing disease has attacked her nervous system, making her weaker day by day and there is no cure.

As we gather by her bedside Poldi and I are distressed, as is everyone. Willi’s eyes are moist behind his glasses. Stella and Walter, Erna and Fritz are all pale, drawn, and dismal. Lily sits in her chair quietly scribbling some drawings on a note pad. Dolu and Eva are here too, and all are silent in shared sadness.

Mama is dying and there is nothing to do about it. She lives now with Stella and Walter, so we go there every day since our return to congregate around her. We stand looking at her frail body and shrunken face able only to watch the rapid decline of her energies and physical strength.

We take turns sitting with her, alternating our post with a few hours of restless sleep, after forcing some food or drink down our throats. The vigil lasts for weeks as we watch the heroine of our lives slipping away from us. The woman lying in the bed is a shrivelled shell of what she had been. Her eyes are dulled now, no longer fiery with determination and stubborn resistance. I can hardly bear to see her in this helpless and reduced condition after her courageous struggles and sacrifices.

I am standing by her bedside the next day when she emerges briefly from drugged sleep. “This is the end of the journey for me, Nini,” she says, aware now that I am here. Her voice is feeble, her hand reaches to mine. “Some day you will be a mother too, and you will be able to tell your children about me and explain to them what we have experienced. If my prayers are answered, God will allow that my grandchildren will be born in peace. Be brave. Life can still be wonderful for you and Poldi. You have youth, that is the main thing, and you are strong enough to survive.”

My tears turn her and the whole room into a blur of melting images. “No, Mama, don’t die. Please stay with us. We all need you so much. Don’t leave us alone.”

In a weak voice, hardly audible, she replies, “I’m … so tired.”

Her words are barely more than a whisper as her life ebbs away. She has slipped into a coma. A constant pain burns in my chest, a hammering assault of anguish, and I can’t stop my tears. All of us take turns holding her wrinkled, liver-spotted hand, the blue veins clearly defined under the thin skin. We remember the years that have passed, bend to kiss her forehead and say our farewells. We are waiting for the final breath. The hours tick by and we keep our silent vigil.

Finally, I go to the room next door to try to get some sleep. I have fallen into one of my strange distorted dreams but am soon awakened again. Muffled sounds come from the hallway. I can recognize Fritz’s and Walter’s voices, and Poldi’s. When I go to the door, they are standing together, choking back their sorrow. Erna, Stella, and Willi are convulsed in grief-stricken tears. They look at me but have nothing to say. Words are not needed. I know that Mama has died.

Mama’s death has a profound effect on me. I am desperately lonely despite all the others who are still here, even Poldi. Mama meant home to me, my Viennese youth and nostalgic longings. As long as she was alive there existed a bit, just the smallest remnant of the old way of life, a tie to the Sunday teas, the aunties and uncles and especially the connection to Papa. Although I knew that those memories were gone forever, I find this a cruel finality that is hard to bear. The loss of Mama now, so far from our home, destroys my courage and strength. My poor husband tries every means to pull me from my desolation without success. I turn from him and the others in the family.

“Nini, do you think that this is what Mama and your papa would have expected of you?” Poldi asks when we are alone.

I stay curled up in bed, refusing to answer.

“If you were still in Vienna, in the old days, you could pout and carry on in this way, but not here and now. Don’t you think the others are mourning too?”

“No,” I say in stubborn rejection of his appeals, “not like me. She was closest to Willi and me because we are the youngest and we have been alone with her for so long. They don’t feel it like we do.”

“Even if that is true, we have no time for self-pity, not a minute of it. Tomorrow we will go and look for a place to set up a business, just you and I together against the whole world. Isn’t that what we always have said?”

I nod my head like a child, accepting the words but not able to drive away the grief. I look out the open window at the dark street, the heavy ever-present smells of Shanghai seeping in, the sounds of babies crying, and I feel desperately sad.