images

Gong xi fa cai,’ sang one of the smaller Lam girls, dressed in a red cheongsam and pigtails, as she went around the table and greeted all the guests.

Romy sat between her parents sipping her cup of tea at the round table the Lams had installed in their single room downstairs for Chinese New Year. Tonight, the room was filled with two dozen friends and members of the Lams’ extended family. Children dressed in immaculate silk cheongsams climbed on and off the laps of their grinning grandparents. The windows were dripping with condensation as they all sat squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder. Two red silk lanterns had been brought out of storage and tied to the ceiling with some old rope. The lanterns cast a pink hue onto the peeling cement walls and made the room feel warm, though it was well below freezing outside.

Mrs Lam had spent all day sweeping and scrubbing the floors and walls with Lysol to sweep out misfortune and bring good fortune in the door for the New Year celebrations. Her hands were blistered and swollen, but her broad smile was contagious. Everyone wished each other good fortune without a hint of irony. Romy and her parents were enthralled by this explosion of goodwill.

Mutti reached over, took her daughter’s hand and gave it a kiss. ‘I remember when you were that adorable, Liebling,’ she said, gesturing to the pigtailed girl. She leaned in close and gave Romy a pinch on the cheek. ‘You still are. I’m so very proud of you.’ Mutti’s eyes were shining and Romy rested her head on her mother’s narrow shoulder and wished she could leave it there all night.

A bamboo basket of chive dumplings sat steaming on the table in front of them, chopsticks poking out the sides made the basket look like a star. Dumplings represented currency, which was lucky for everyone in the room as there were far more dumplings than coins to go around.

On the other side of the table Wilhelm leaned back in his chair and chatted to Delma about how he could source more flour. Last week Ghoya and his soldiers had requisitioned his sacks and loaded them into a rickshaw without payment.

Wilhelm was on the edge of his seat, waving his hands in the air to a captive audience as he described the soldiers tossing the bags over their shoulders and running from the shop like little worker ants. He got down on his knees mimicking Ghoya. The room roared with laughter, and toothless Great-grandfather Lam snorted and slapped his wiry thigh.

A head of carp was placed in front of Great-grandfather, who lifted a cheek with his chopsticks and ate it slowly, before shouting, ‘Yu’, the Chinese word for fish. It was a pun, of course, as ‘fish’ sounded like the word ‘abundance’. Romy watched everyone take a sliver of the carp as it was passed around the circle and felt lucky to be at this table, in a warm dry room with friends. The lucky Fu character hung upside down on a piece of faded red cloth above the door.

The guilt she carried alongside her luck was exhausting. But Shanghai had taught her good fortune was a mix of persevering through the bad, but also celebrating the good when you found it. And she knew she had a lot to be thankful for…

The week before, Romy had caught a rickshaw home from the hospital right on the knock of curfew. Passing by a tavern, she had seen a tall Japanese sailor with his arm around the neck of a peroxide blonde. Romy had shivered in distaste. Clearly the soldier had found himself a woman for the night. The blonde’s face was in shadow, but as she moved into a pool of light Romy almost gasped in shock as she recognised Nina. Her cheap blue nylon dress did little to disguise how thin she was; she seemed to be little more than skin and bones. With her sallow cheeks, orange-painted lips and glassy eyes, she looked nothing like the pretty girl with the intense eyes from the Conte Verde.

As if sensing Romy’s gaze, Nina looked over and caught sight of her friend.

The two stared at each other without blinking before the Japanese soldier checked to see what had distracted his date.

‘Hey,’ he slurred. ‘You break curfew.’ He reached for his gun.

‘Leave her,’ said Nina quickly, waving Romy away. ‘We have more important things to do.’ And she had pulled a key from her pocket, opened her front door and led the sailor into the shadows inside…

With a sigh, Romy recalled her other absent friends, and the Chinese New Year celebration she had attended across the stairwell in the Hos’ elegant apartment two years earlier. Jian had played piano and Li had sung. Side tables had been piled high with tangerines for success and pomelos for wealth.

She thought of Li and Jian, and her bones ached with guilt and longing. In September, she’d asked Wilhelm to find Li—or Yu Baihe—at the Cathay when he made his regular delivery there. She had wanted to know if Li was safe, how Romy could help her. Could Romy perhaps visit Li in secret? Wilhelm had made contact with Li just once in the service corridor—when she was on her way to the backstage area to perform and he was making his way from the kitchen. Li’s return message to Romy was clear: Yu Baihe is not receiving visitors at this time.

The Fu sign dangled overhead and she blushed, thinking of the red envelopes—remembering how dreadfully she’d misread Jian’s intentions on that balcony. She was just a girl, really. She’d seen him a couple of times in Hongkew, marching with his fellow soldiers, but the blank expression on his face as he marched told her everything. He had turned his dark, intense eyes away from hers. But how could she forget him? How she wanted to speak with him—but the thought of putting either him or his sister in danger was out of the question. Li had made it clear there was to be no contact. She had to respect their wishes. She knew how dire the consequences could be if she did otherwise.

Romy turned her gaze to Wilhelm—he never failed to make her smile. Her heart lifted whenever she saw him, and she had started scheduling her work and study around their afternoon coffee as well as his bread deliveries to the hospital. He listened patiently when she talked about her work; she’d been taking on more duties at the hospital. He hadn’t flinched when she described how she’d had to drain a foot abscess with no ether, or tried to relieve the howling pressure in a child’s infected ears with acupuncture.

Wilhelm was standing up now, pretending to stagger with a hessian bag on his back, and the room roared with laughter.

A mandolin started to play in the corner and some children began to clap. Wilhelm collapsed back into his chair and Delma patted his arm like an affectionate aunt. He brushed a curl from his face, and winked at Romy across the table.

She felt her face burn and looked at a child who was drawing a monkey with his fingertip on the window. Would the Year of the Monkey bring the end of the war?

images

After the dinner and music had finished, the round tabletop was rolled back out into the alley and Mutti, Papa and Delma helped the Lams wash up in the freezing outdoor kitchen. Romy put six sleepy children to bed on the small straw mattress in the corner and covered them with the threadbare blanket. As the littlest child sucked his thumb and snuggled close to his brother, Romy stroked his hair and sang him her favourite German lullaby.

When all the children were asleep, she stood up to leave and saw Wilhelm leaning on the doorframe, his curls lit by the moon. ‘My mother used to sing that to me in Vienna when I was about his size.’ Wilhelm pointed at the little boy snuggled between his siblings.

‘You’re a natural with the kids,’ he said. ‘Your singing, however…’

‘…is terrible,’ she finished. ‘I know! That was my brother’s gift.’ She smiled at him. ‘Are you leaving?’

‘Yes. Thanks for including me. It’s nice not to be an orphan for an evening.’ Romy wanted to reach out and brush a curl from his cheek. Her blood ran hot and cold and she looked back at the children to hide her blushing cheeks.

It was four months since she’d met Wilhelm. Her heart raced every time she saw the line of his broad shoulders above the crowd in the Chusan Road markets, or his lopsided smile when she walked into the bakery. She tried to find excuses to be near him—to hear his laugh or watch the way he folded the yeast and cardamom into the dough, pounding the rising mixture with his hands. He was funny, kind and hardworking, and his generosity knew no limits. Every week there was always a ‘leftover’ batch of Kaiser rolls for the patients in the children’s ward at the hospital, or a cinnamon bun to share between the nurses. After one of his mysterious contacts had delivered eggs and oranges to the bakery last week the scent of warm orange and poppyseed cake had filled the hospital.

‘I’ll walk you to the end of the alley,’ said Romy boldly.

‘It’s freezing. Your boots—’ The soles of Romy’s black boots were peeling away on one side and her feet would be sodden in the filthy snow.

‘I like the fresh air,’ said Romy as she ushered him outside, past the clanging pots, gushing water and excited chatter.

The smell of chicken stock and star anise escorted the pair down the narrow alley. Romy wanted to reach for Wilhelm’s hand—to hold his palm against her cheek—but instead she thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her coat and gazed at the moon. She matched his stride through the slush. As they reached the corner, Romy leaned in and brushed his shoulder, turning to look up.

She held her breath as Wilhelm reached down and grasped a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as if it were silk. She shivered.

‘I’ll find a way to get some bread to the hospital this week,’ he said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ He paused. ‘I don’t think you realise, Romy, how strong you are. How you bring comfort to people.’

He tucked her hair behind her ear and stepped in close so she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

‘Goodnight,’ he whispered.

Romy closed her eyes and tilted her face towards him—ready for the touch of his lips. Her heart slowed a fraction as she thought of Jian and that other New Year; could something have developed between them, given more time, different circumstances? But these last cruel months had taught her that time was precious. Tonight, with the glacial wind whipping around her legs and stinging her cheeks, she wanted to feel alive. Cherished. To feel Wilhelm’s strong body connect with hers.

She felt his lips brush her cheek.

Impatient, excited and determined not to be rejected, she reached up and, tucking her hands into his curls, brought his face down to hers. His lips were soft and salty, his neck warm under the collar.

Their kisses grew deeper and she pushed him up against a chilly wall, prising his coat open so she could run her hands up his chest and across his shoulders.

A chicken in a cage by her feet began to cluck and the smell of broiled fish bones rose from the bin beside her.

Romy didn’t care, kissing harder and inhaling the honey soap on his clean shirt. She moved her hips against his and felt Wilhelm’s breath catch.

‘Romy,’ he groaned. ‘We can’t. Not here. You deserve so much more than this…’ He looked despondently at the nightsoil bins and overflowing garbage.

The chatter from the alley had dried up as everyone finished their washing and rushed inside out of the bitter wind.

The heavy steps of patrolling Japanese soldiers nearby could be heard and two coolies slunk into the alley like stray cats, tipped over a bin and stuffed stray noodles and fish bones into their mouths with trembling hands.

‘Shhh.’ Wilhelm’s heart was pounding and she rested her head against his chest. She wanted to peel these thin clothes from his sweaty skin. ‘We’ll find a way…’