Free Shanghai Shadows by Lois Ruby Page A

of Laura Margolies. You know the name?”
    â€œYes, the social worker, God should bless her.”
    â€œYes, the American social worker,” Mr. Foley boasted. “We both work for the Joint.”
    Mother offered Mr. Foley a cup of coffee. I knew what a sacrifice that would be if he accepted; Father would have no coffee for dinner.
    He politely declined. “Yes, the JDC, the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee. We are here in Shanghai to help the refugees at this unfortuitous time.”
    â€œMay I see my letter?” Mother asked, reaching out.
    He handed it to her. “Mrs. Span, you know that Americans cannot send mail directly to Japanese-occupied China.”
    â€œI understand.” Mother held the letter to her heart.
    â€œYour letter has taken a circuitous route. It reached China months ago. A delegate from the Swiss consulate happened to be in the office of a certain Japanese officer when the decision was made as to what to do with a bagful of old mail. The Swiss, as you know, are neutral, and they often serve as go-betweens.”
    Like Erich does for the Underground .
    â€œThe Swiss man tried to convince the officer to entrust the mail to him, to no avail. But the officer must have felt playful that day.” Mr. Foley rubbed his shiny head and held up three lean fingers. “He offered the Swiss the chance to randomly draw three letters from the mail pouch, and those he was authorized to distribute. The remainder would be burned.” He folded his fingers down one by one and twisted the fist in the air. “Your letter, Mrs. Span, was one of the three. To make a long story short”— it was too late for that —“the Swiss consulate delivered the three letters to the Joint, and I am delivering yours to you. However, I must inform you that a certain enclosure has been, shall we say, appropriated by the Japanese. Not by the Joint, I want you to know.”
    â€œThank you,” Mother said, rising. “I shall keep that in mind.”
    Mr. Foley took the hint. “Good day,” he said, showing us the top of his pink scalp.
    As soon as he was gone, Mother carefully peeled the envelope open. I read over her shoulder.
    Dear Frieda ,
    This is the last you will hear from me. With the war in the Pacific raging, I am a liability to you. I didn’t dare send a package. As you must know, there is a blockade against parcels from any of the Allied countries. But I hope the twenty dollars in this envelope will help to ease your family through the days ahead. M. O .
    There were Japanese characters in the margins, and the M. O. was enclosed in a blood red box. My heart sank—the money was gone. The outside of the envelope was all marked up, too, and the same red ink encircled the Santa Rosa, California, return address, as if the tentacles of the Japanese Kempetai, the dreaded secret police, could extend as far as America.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    1943
    I had barely a second to think about this letter because REACT had another assignment for me.
    â€œNo letter from Madame Liang this time, so listen carefully,” Erich instructed me. “You’re to go to the Shanghai Club on the Bund.”
    â€œAnd do what?”
    â€œYou’re to slip into the water closets on the main floor and bend the rods of the copper floats in each toilet.”
    â€œYou’re joking.”
    â€œI am perfectly serious,” Erich said. “Disable the toilets and you create, well, let’s say, a messy problem for our Japanese friends.”
    The European Shanghai Club had become the social gathering place for the Japanese navy. I couldn’t just waltz into such a high-security building and ask to jam their plumbing. I was outfitted as a delivery boy—another way to be invisible—complete with a uniform and cap, into which I stuffed my pinned hair.
    I had to make sure no one in our house caught me in this getup. I tiptoed past Tanya’s door just as