Chapter 10

10.
“I’m a Stranger Here Myself: Kurt Weill”

“Just take my hand, Josh.”

“I can’t, it’s too steep.”

“I’ve done this a thousand times.” Hanna’s small feet negotiated a narrow path overlooking a canyon that hugged a snaking river. “Just a little further, you can see the whole world from here!”

“I can’t!” Joshua tried to follow her, but his feet were too big. They were as big as shovels.

They were in Argentina. His bride hung off the side of a cliff and though he tried to follow her, the wind whipped at his face and he couldn’t see.

“Take my hand!”

But he couldn’t see her hand; he couldn’t see anything, only the drop below into the black waters of the river. “If I try, I’ll fall! I’ll fall!” He screamed over the sound of the wind.

“I won’t let you fall!” She smiled, her hair in her mouth, her eyes, her neck as long as a swan’s.

When he reached for her, the last thing he saw was the pattern on her dress, it was red, and black, and orange, and white, and blue, like a kaleidoscope slipping through his fingers, each color fighting for supremacy in the wind. It was a flag on the side of the cliff growing smaller as he fell, her face a white orb, like the moon only shaped like an almond or a heart, her mouth an “O”, screaming something he couldn’t understand. He woke. Sweating.

Max was standing over him. He was dressed. The bags were packed.

“Maestro, we’re here.”

“What time is it?”

No one ever really knew what time it was on the ship. The sea swallowed time, its passage measured by events that would slip quietly over board as soon as they had served their purpose. One thing was clear; it was night.

“I don’t know, could be one, could be four,” Max said gently to his master. “You really should come above and see.”

There was an energy in the air that was irresistible, even to Joshua. The cabin door stood open and people glided silently past. What struck him was this silence, and the way everyone seemed to float, trancelike, to the upper deck. Even the ever-humming boat was quiet. It coasted into this foreign harbor with its engines turned off. Joshua dressed quickly, picked up his case and led his apprentice to the rail on the main deck. The air was so cold, you could see your breath freeze in front of you and fall to the ground like snow. The water was still and reflected the banks of Whangpoo River with the accuracy of a mirror. Farmland spotted with the occasional village, gave way to bombed-out slums and endless piles of rubble. Now and again a passenger would let out an audible sigh or moan that seemed to echo off the misery spotting the banks. So this was China.

“It’s a wasteland.” Max was disappointed. He’d expected something far more colorful.
Madame Butterfly had materialized behind them in the silence. “Don’t be so dramatic, Maxala. We’re not even there yet.”

So they waited, they all waited, the whole ship was on deck watching, frozen, huddled together in small knots, coasting through the eerie silence, a light here, a village, a factory there, and then, a mirage.

Was it some miracle, some rift in time, or a vicious error in navigation that had brought them to St. Petersburg? For that’s what it looked like. When the light for the Old Bund sparkled on the horizon, it was as if their ship had happened upon Atlantis. It was a white and gold metropolis, as modern and tasteful as any European port. The buildings that rose from the water’s edge were columned, spired and domed. The city, separated from the river by a wide road, was alive with cars and busses reminiscent of the ones they had left behind in Germany. Large ships filled the harbor flanked on all sides by a ghostly fleet of small fishing boats, some of which, for no other purpose other than curiosity, coasted silently to the Conte Camano for a better look at the ocean liner. To the passengers on deck, it was unclear whether this was a native welcoming ritual or a hostage situation waiting to happen and the group took a collective step away from the rail. But the fishing boats, most dark save for a single red or gold lantern, meant no ill will. They surrounded the ship and escorted them slowly and softly into harbor like benevolent fireflies.

The landing was so silent, so meditative, that when the crew appeared singing in their pajamas, it was difficult to know what to make of it all. It was a forced festivity to be sure, like the way one feels singing Happy Birthday to someone they hardly know, but the crew, tired and loosely put together, snaked their way through the stunned refugees banging tambourines and singing what everyone hoped was a song of welcome. It was in this way, that at three in the morning, Max, Joshua, Frau Schmetterling, and three hundred refugees landed in the port of Shanghai.

No one knew what to do at first. No reception awaited them at the shore. There were no officials to check their papers, when the plank went down; the only people on the dock were a sprinkling of relatives waiting for their kin. Word was spread that the Conte wouldn’t have to be officially disembarked until morning and people were welcome to stay in their cabins until then, a proposition most jumped at. At least in the morning it would be light enough to see that they had nowhere to go as opposed to wandering a strange city in the dark. Then someone mentioned something about trucks coming along in the morning to take them to somewhere called Hong Kew where there was a shelter for refugees.

Joshua and Max edged in toward the source of the information as Madame Butterfly turned and headed off towards the gangplank. They saw her and followed.

“Madame Butterfly, where are you flitting off to?” Joshua asked.

“Leonard and I have decided to take our chances down among the savages. I won’t be put on a truck nor do I have much of an affection for words like shelter.”

Max and Joshua looked at each other. It was preposterous that she be allowed to stalk off alone into the Shanghai night and they tried everything within their power to convince her of this, unfortunately she could not be swayed.

“We shall find ourselves a nice hotel and figure it all out. Then tomorrow we can do some sightseeing.”

“And how exactly do you plan on paying for this nice hotel?”

“Leonard will cover it,” she said and descended the ship, all in burgundy, with Leonard in one hand and her skirt in the other. Max and Joshua followed. It seemed she had very recently abandoned reason, so Joshua attempted bribery.

“Stay Agnieszka, and I’ll write you your very own symphony.”

“How lovely of you, Joshua, but I don’t think you understand my meaning. Come.” Frau Schmetterling gathered them close and opened the box containing the ashes of her husband. As her gloved hand gently shook it, forms began to take shape below the smooth gray powder.

“Is that…” Max trailed off, but Frau Schmetterling only smiled.

“Max, you have a gift for languages, you first assignment is to figure out the Chinese word for pawn shop.