Norio had explained to the Hartmanns how he had obtained visas for them to enter Shanghai—with the help of the Chinese consul-general in Vienna, Ho Feng-Shan—but the Hartmanns did not grasp the extent of what the consul-general had done until they boarded the ship. There the three words they heard more than any others during their first day at sea—the first of the thirty days it would take them to reach Shanghai—were Ho Feng-Shan.
“You don’t need a visa to enter Shanghai, which is under Japanese rule, but you need a visa for another country to leave Austria,” Norio had informed them in the Benns’ house. “The Chinese, for now, are willing to grant these visas. And if you have boat tickets for immediate passage out of Europe, even better. The boats are few and only leave from Germany and Italy. They go via Japan and several other countries, a monthlong journey, but they are all booked for the next year. You can imagine why. And if a ticket can be bought, a round-trip must be purchased, for as chaotic as Asia is right now—Shanghai especially—these boat companies will not guarantee that they can deposit passengers there. It’s a disaster at best, but one worth trying. It helps if you lie to the boat companies and say the tickets are for Japanese diplomats. Then suddenly, doors open.” He reached into his coat pocket and handed Max three tickets for a boat called the Potsdam, leaving from Genoa. In his other hand were three visas for Shanghai. “They should have been stamped directly into your passports,” he explained, “but they should still work.”
Hani had reached out for them, holding hers up to the lamp to read it over and over, as if she couldn’t believe it was real. Finally, she’d put it down and said, “Oh, Mr. Kato, I will never be able to repay you for this.” She broke down into tears, and Max had to keep her from hugging the esteemed diplomat, still dressed for a day at the office.
“I know China and Japan are not on the best terms right now,” Max had said, reaching out to shake Norio’s hand. “So for you to go to the consulate for us—”
“Yes, so kind,” Hani had said, interrupting her husband. “On top of the kindness your daughter has shown to Leo. Please let us repay you financially. You must accept at least double what you have paid. When our chauffeur is back in Vienna he will bring you the money. Our accounts have been frozen, but we have some means—”
“Of course that is not necessary,” Norio had said, stopping her. “I did not do much. It was mostly the Chinese consul.” He’d pointed to Ho Feng-Shan’s name on the visas. “I have learned since obtaining these that he has already issued many visas for Jews this year, and hopefully will grant many more.”
They could take few possessions with them, Norio had instructed. Their luggage—and their persons—would be searched for contraband many times, and they should not attempt to bring anything of value, although Hani would be allowed to bring her wedding ring and a watch. Norio had had all their travel documents processed in advance, getting around barriers with bribe after bribe, and he promised to try to get the family money when they reached China, either out of their frozen bank accounts or through his.
Just an hour after Norio had arrived, the Hartmanns’ chauffeur was on his way back to Vienna while Norio’s driver ferried him and the Hartmanns to Innsbruck, where the family were to catch an express train to Genoa.
The drive to Innsbruck took just under three hours and there was very little time for emotional goodbyes at the station, where the train stood ready to depart. But Leo lingered for a moment with Norio.
“There will never be anyone in my life like your family, Mr. Kato,” he said. “If we don’t survive this ordeal, please tell Emi that she was very important to me. Tell her that there is no one else like her in the world, no one as interesting, as curious, as talented. I am quite embarrassed professing my love to her father like this, but I miss her very much already. She has made the last two years wonderful, when they could have been very difficult.”
“I know she would echo your sentiments, Leo,” said Norio, bowing. “Now please, don’t miss your train, and make sure you take care of your parents. It’s always harder for the older generation to leave their country behind than it is for the young.”
Leo nodded and ran onto the train, where Gestapo officers were already checking papers, clicking their black boots intimidatingly. They looked, and looked again, at the family’s visas and boat tickets, finally tossing them back into Max’s lap and moving on to the next passengers. It wasn’t until they were nearing the Italian border that the family started taking deep breaths, and when they crossed into Italy a cheer was heard throughout the train. They were out of Austria.
On December 15, just thirty-five days after Max Hartmann had been beaten unconscious by the Sturmabteilung, the SA, the family was far enough out to sea that they could no longer make out European land.
“Good riddance,” Hani had said to her son, hugging him and her husband on deck. “It wasn’t home anymore.”
At dinner their first night on the Potsdam, they sat with a couple with two small children who told the Hartmanns to eat everything they could on the luxurious boat because Shanghai, they had heard, only had food for the Japanese.
“You are here because of Ho Feng-Shan,” the wife said.
“Yes,” said Hani, smiling at Leo. “And a few other benevolent men helped us, too. But the Chinese diplomat, he is issuing visas for Jews. Many, many, we heard.”
“It was the tickets for this boat that were harder to get,” said the husband. “We are only here because the father of another family was killed by the SA the week before the boat was set to sail. There was a wife and two children, as well, so there was room on the boat for four. Their travel agent called us to inquire if we could pay for the tickets and leave at once since we were on the top of the waiting list.”
“No!” said Hani, reaching for Leo’s hand.
“Yes,” said the man, “we were very lucky.”
The Hartmanns looked at the couple’s two young children, who did not seem to understand how they’d been granted passage, and excused themselves from the table.
Leo and his parents went onto the deck, where they took out and studied the map Norio had drawn for them of the ship’s route. From Genoa, they would go to Port Said in Egypt, then sail through the Gulf of Suez, the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, and the Arabian Sea to the Indian Ocean, before docking in Bombay and again in Ceylon. From there it was the Orient: Singapore, Hong Kong, and Kobe, Japan, before heading south to Shanghai.
“I used to feel far from home when I was across the city,” said Leo, watching the stream of white left by the boat as it churned slowly through the water.
“I want to be far from home,” said Hani. “And I never want to return.”
CHAPTER 20
EMI KATO
SEPTEMBER–NOVEMBER 1943