CHAPTER 35

ALL’S WELL 1947

We have experienced nothing less than a miracle. Our child’s life has been restored to us, just when we believed all was lost. It is as if all the springtimes of our lives have exploded in one glorious burst. We feel as though we had been deaf and blind and are suddenly whole again. The wonder of every day is bestowed as a gift and we revel in the bounty of life as if it were meant for us alone.

“I can endure anything now, I think,” I say to Poldi. “Nothing could compare to the nightmare we’ve been through.”

He answers with resolve in his voice, “If we can accept this as an omen, then we should go ahead with our plans. We’ll build up the business and provide a good future for our little girl. It will be all right for us yet.”

The store has been closed for a week, the one week of hell when Vivi was so sick. We return to it with renewed vigour and a new dedication. We work long hours, and deal with all the setbacks that apparently are routine in Shanghai. We discover that bolts of lining disappear now and then, sometimes stolen by our own workers, sometimes by skilled thieves who make them vanish before our eyes. We are always perplexed when we come across one of these losses but in the end we accept the problems as we must, and conclude that this is the best time we have experienced in years.

When the heat of Shanghai’s summer becomes unbearable, we close the shop for vacation. In any case, it is hard to sell furs at this time of year, and we welcome the break. Most of the refugees have done well enough in their trades that they can afford to get away from the city to the mountain resort at Moka Shan, which is typically packed with Europeans. We plan our holidays and arrange to meet with the family, including Willi and his bride Susie, who will all make their way there later.

We leave Hongkew, taking a four-hour train ride up into the mountains. We disembark at the final stop but it is only partway up the mountain slope. At the station, located deep into the green hills, crowds of coolies call out to us. They are competing for passengers to be taken further up by foot, on the only pathway to the Chinese village where we are headed. I am seated comfortably in one of the upholstered sedan chairs, with Vivian on my lap, as we are transported along hazardous twisting paths. The chair is supported on two heavy bamboo poles, held by one man in front and another at the back, as they carry us higher into the lushly vegetated mountains. Dressed in loose-fitting white cotton shirts and shorts and in bare feet, they tread cautiously on the narrow walk. Somehow they manage to balance their heavy loads and to place one foot before the other without losing grip of their human cargo.

Partway up the mountainside, the men set the conveyances down and there is a sudden fracas of shouting amid hand gestures. Confused and alarmed, I call to Poldi, who is behind us in another sedan chair, “What is happening now? What do they want?”

“We should have expected this,” he answers. “Don’t worry, Nini. They have decided to bargain for more money than we agreed upon. Just a negotiating tactic. They have us at a disadvantage and know it. We have no choice now. We will have to pay more before they continue further up.”

Poldi’s experiences in the fur trade of Italy have prepared him well for this encounter. He argues and gesticulates until the bargain is set and then we continue on our way. When we reach our destination at last, we are relieved to see the accommodations are better than most we have previously experienced in China. There are a few individual cottages, a common shower house, and, of course, the traditional toilet bucket in the corner of our room. The place has been converted from a typical Chinese village into guest quarters, and although it is primitive, we are delighted. Everything appears clean and wonderful to us, surrounded by the clear mountain breezes gently rustling the leaves. For once we can enjoy odours that are fresh, appealing, and revitalizing. For the first time in many years, we feel as though a burden has been magically removed.

The rest of the family has come up from Hongkew to join us. We swim in pools, rock in hammocks among the leafy trees, and regain some scraps of our fractured humanity. We rejoice in the simple fact of our survival. We trek along the walkways and, for the first time, are able to truly appreciate the beauty of the country. We pass ponds covered with huge floating lotus leaves, wide splotches of leathery green with thick stems sprouting from their centres and lemon-yellow petals opening and arching up to the sunlight.

Splendid ancient swoop-roofed pagodas tower unexpectedly in the midst of the thick forest. Wafts of pungent incense rise dreamily into the air from the ornately carved and gilded altars in the temples. Tangerine-robed monks with shaved heads, bowed in piety, kneel on embroidered cushions before an enormous statue of Buddha. They are praying in gratitude for the salvation of their people, now that they are finally free from their hated oppressors and are at ease in their own land. Signs of the battles that had been waged are everywhere we go, in the bombed-out buildings and demolished statues. But in the shining eyes of the people one can see that a decade of anguish has now been replaced by serenity.

The holiday over, we return to Hongkew and open the fur salon once more. It is just a small business but it is ours. Fashionable clientele soon discover us, though, and we are busy. The shop has a European flair evident in its displays, the style of garments, and decor. The windows facing on to the street show the most modern designs fitted on mannequins. On the counter is a large wooden abacus, with round wooden counting balls that slide along as the adding process is done. It is the Chinese method of calculation. Poldi is especially intrigued with its mathematical principles and has become proficient in its use.

We are feeling more secure than we have in years – Fritz, Willi, and Walter all have jobs at the American military base; we have enough food after years of deprivation; and civilization is beginning to return to Hongkew. Normal life is being restored once more to Little Vienna. Music drifts from the windows, and an order of sorts is restored in the midst of the ruins.

The family gathers at outdoor coffee houses. Dolu and Eva often join us – they have prospered as dentists and live a relatively comfortable life. We chat and laugh, at ease with the German language surrounding us, the familiar food, the good-natured camaraderie of all the refugees who have shared the same upheavals and still are able to carry on with an appearance of normalcy. We dress in European clothing and fix our hair in the European styles. We have always maintained a separation from the Chinese and they from us. To them we are white foreigners. We employ them as fur finishers and as servants, as have the others who have come before us. Although we are aware of the injustice in this, we accept it. Things do not change easily.

Despite the relaxed mood and certain prosperity that peace has brought to us, and although we have spent years living in Shanghai, we still feel like outsiders, never truly integrated into this part of the world. As Europeans, we are still trying to understand and adapt to the environment and the people who inhabit it, the customs, the dangers, and the taboos. Shanghai remains a no-man’s land, a place where the bizarre is the ordinary, a place where corruption at all levels is commonplace and where survival is achieved at all costs. We have done things here that we never could have imagined and yet the ceaseless machinery of life in Shanghai has never absorbed us as its own. The mysteries of the Far East remain elusive to the refugees who are passing through it.