CHAPTER 36

THE COMMUNISTS 1948

Engrossed in the new freedom of our lives, the ability to move about without restrictions or fear of persecution, we are reluctant to pay attention to signs of a new menace edging over the horizon. We are aware that yet another brutal conflict has erupted in China. We hear reports regularly of the hostilities and renewed violence in Manchuria, far to the north, but reason that this is one confrontation that will not affect us. It is so far from Shanghai and the possibility of a Communist victory seems remote.

The 1945 surrender of the Japanese had been followed by withdrawal of their occupation forces from China. The vacuum of power resulted in an immediate renewal of another struggle for domination between the Nationalist troops under Chiang Kai-shek, with the support of the U.S. armed forces, against the Communist guerrillas who were eager to gain control. This country of unbalanced fortunes has proved to be a fertile environment for left-wing ideology. We believe that the combined strength of the Americans and ruling Chinese will be sufficient to ward off any attempt at a military coup, and choose to ignore the underlying reasons for the flourishing new movement.

We have seen enough of the injustice and decay to realize that a mighty revolution may be inevitable. The huge population of beggars and illiterate peasants has been waiting for a release from the bondage that has made them slaves. Subjugated by a corrupt and greedy bureaucracy and reduced to the level of a servile majority by detested foreigners, they are willing to die for the cause of liberation. Communism has promised them equality and justice, a China for the Chinese. What lies ahead can only bring destruction and more torrents of blood.

We are beginning to realize that we face another uncertain future. Poldi makes it clear he’s worried. “This talk of Communism in China is bad for business,” Poldi tells me, as he reads the newspaper one morning. “The whole premise of class distinction may be headed for extinction.…”

I interrupt him, quickly seeing where he’s leading: “And then who will buy furs?”

“Exactly. Wearing furs will be seen as the decadent flaunting of bourgeois oppression. Our business would be one of the first to go and if the Communists come to power they will take over all free enterprise.”

I know that he is right and view the imminent threat as another frightening reversal of our recent prosperity and well-being.

As word of Communist victories reaches us, we also become aware of their avowed agenda. In order to sweep the country clean and establish a new order, they have decreed that all foreigners, either on their own or by force, will be evicted from the country. It is a mad scramble once again.

Panicked, owners are closing shops one by one, and homes are abandoned and dark. Massive warehouses called “go-downs” stand silent and vacant. People are being uprooted abruptly, gathering belongings in a hasty departure, running once more in fear. The wait for immigration to the United States is four years. Some are seeking a haven in Australia or Canada but one needs a resident sponsor. Others are trying to make their way to the new State of Israel, known to be a hostile desert in the Middle East where thousands of Arabs angrily resist the arrival of Jews.

Poldi and I have started talking about the future again in earnest. We have a child to think about now and we must prepare ourselves for yet another disruption of our lives. Now that there is something ominous brewing and becoming a more likely threat, I press him to write once more to his relatives in Canada – his cousins Nathan, Joe and Czarna Coopersmith and their families – to describe the urgency of our predicament. They have been there for years but have not been able to give us aid before now.

“Well?” I ask, impatient at the delays and worried about our future. “Have you heard from your relatives in Canada yet, or is there word from Leon? He went to New York, didn’t he? Could we get in there?”

“Yes, Leon is in New York, but he’s a new immigrant himself. He couldn’t help us. I think our best chance is Canada. If the Canadian government relaxes its quotas, my cousins might have some luck in getting us in there as landed immigrants.”

“And what about all my family?”

“We can try.”

Time is pressing. Every day news of the Communist offensive becomes more alarming. It is apparent that the country will soon be embroiled in an immense and violent civil war. The Communists have successfully captured the railways and a number of cities. They are moving south. By the end of 1948 it is obvious that nothing will stop the invasion of this new force that is strengthening in support and numbers as it floods the entire country.

It is clear we will lose every scrap we have managed to accumulate since the end of the war. Our lives will be in grave peril if we cannot find a way to leave. Already the troops have been marching through the streets, and door to door, into the houses. It is a familiar nightmare being repeated. One night soldiers barge in and ransack our home searching for valuables. Poldi has hidden some money in his shoes. He stretches his arms in mock surrender and offers himself for search. I recall another time like this one, Japanese soldiers then, Chinese now. His courage and nerve – chutzpah – frighten and amaze me. I watch, apprehensive, as the uniformed men dig into his pockets but don’t detect his hiding place. We have also concealed some valuables in a hollow table-leg. Our little girl, playing on the floor and aware of the secret spot, in innocence points to the table, and in her baby language announces to the soldiers that the treasure has been hidden there. We stare at Vivi in wide-eyed shock, our voices constricted, fearing the consequences. The soldiers, however, ignore her infantile babble and leave in an angry huff as we sigh in relief.

We are weary of running, aching for permanence and a sense of belonging. Yet it is impossible to stay in Shanghai. We will have to flee to an unknown land where we will be strangers again. We don’t have the luxury of choosing a suitable destination, or time to settle our affairs in an orderly way. We will go wherever we are allowed entry and salvage whatever we can in the frenzied escape. My nostalgia for Vienna, blending with the torment of estrangement, is with me constantly. Even the sound of German, our mother-tongue, which is the main language we still speak here, reminds us of a place from which we have been ostracized. It hasn’t been necessary to learn any other language, just a few phrases in Chinese, not really anything much. But we have picked up some English from the British and Americans we have encountered which we hope will be helpful if we ever manage to make our way to Britain, Australia, the United States, or Canada.

We write letters abroad to these countries and others, even to South America where we also have relatives. We are desperate for some news, a small crack through which we might slip into an accepting port. And what about our family here in Shanghai? We will not betray or abandon any of them. We have come this far together and so we will continue.

Finally, Poldi makes contact with the Coopersmiths, his cousins in Canada. They are prepared to sponsor us all, the whole of my family and, of course, Dolu and Eva. Although the Canadian restrictions for new immigrants are still very stringent, there is a way for us all to enter. We have to send enough money to purchase a piece of farm land that we are to work. Having lived only in large cities, we know nothing of agriculture. Somewhat daunted by the prospect of farming, we are nevertheless prepared to take our chances and to set out on yet another challenge. Once again, there really is no choice. The family gets together to discuss the prospect. We joke as we look at one another, as urban as can be, the men most comfortable in suits and neckties and the women in dresses and high heels. How are we to become farmers? We can hardly imagine the possibility, but necessity will once more dictate our future path.

Poldi and I set about in our plan of liquidating our fur business and putting all the money to use. Before the workers are paid their last wage, Poldi designs a red coat and hood with white fur lining that is made for Vivian. We bundle some of the furs into one of the large steamer trunks. Maybe they will be of use to us, we think, planning once more for any way we might find to convert assets to cash. The one thing we know about Canada is that there are cold winters. The others in the family also assemble anything of value they have accumulated. We send as much money as we can to Canada, for our share of a piece of land in a place called Richmond Hill, not too far, we’ve been told, from Toronto. The names sound exotic and foreign. Then we purchase tickets aboard a ship that will take us on another long voyage to another new life.

We have managed to book passage and so have the others, although not all at the same time. Poldi and I with Vivian are to leave in January. The others will follow in the next month or so, taking whichever ship is available. Once again we are to be separated from one another with the hope and promise that we will all be united once more. We will leave Mama behind in this foreign resting place, so far from Papa, knowing that we will not be able to visit her grave ever again.

There is a reason that we are going aboard the first vessel we can book; I am pregnant again. Before it is time to go, I visit Mama one last time and place a remembrance stone, and speak to her as before: “Mama, in my heart I know we’re not leaving you. I believe you will travel with us and that the memory of your wisdom will guide us. Papa’s spirit has never deserted me.” Rubbing my fingers over the headstone and thinking of all we have endured, I go on, “I know he is always with me and his strength has pulled me through the harshest ordeals when there was nowhere else to turn. Please, Mama, stay with me too. I need you especially now. I am so frightened and I will be having another child.” I feel the baby kicking and put my hand to my stomach. “I implore you to give me the courage that I need.” For the last time I touch the etched words above her grave and whisper, “I love you both so much.”

With our little girl, dressed in her new cherry red coat, now two years old, we will set out for another unknown land on the other side of the world, across the vast Pacific.