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Chapter 2

Tokyo, Japan

August 1941

Neil Macneil switched on the ceiling fans in his study, settling himself into the coolness of his leather chair to wait for his daughter.

Sarah was a truly fine woman, he thought with a father’s complacency. If not for her febrile compulsion to sacrifice herself for impossible causes, he would have had few reservations about her.

It was odd how three children with the same father could be so utterly different. Ship was weakest, yet strong in support of those things he really believed in. By contrast, Bill—on whom rode the dan’s hopes for the future—was strong, yet weak in allowing his resentment over what had happened in Nanking in 1937 to hold him in its stubborn grip.

And Sarah: always smiling, ever serene, eager to please, ready to protect, impossible to dislike. Her personality overwhelmed her beauty in a viewer’s eyes, but if one should be so fortunate as to chance upon her sleeping, then it was her beauty—the oval face, exquisite daintiness, hair as black as a crow’s wing, large dark upturned eyes, long lashes, perfect nose and lips—that made a viewer yearn to tarry and drown in her loveliness.

What was so perplexing about Sarah’s comeliness was that no one could say with conviction if it was Oriental or Occidental or, if even part Oriental, what kind of Oriental. Without doubt her bloodlines were Scot and Japanese. Her birth registration vouched for that. But hers was one of those rare, rare faces that only provided hints, without certainties. Olive-skinned and dark-eyed, yes, but those could have been Hispanic genes. A petite French physique with a Spanish dancer’s lithe body. Hair of ebony, but there were the Black Irish.

Old Japan hands like Macneil could always tell at a glance whether a person was Korean or Chinese or Japanese, but with Sarah it would have been hard even for him to decide. Chinese? Maybe. Japanese? Possibly.

Sarah’s grandfather, her mother Umeko’s illustrious father, had been Japan’s ambassador to China for many years. Umeko had given birth to Sarah in her father’s embassy in Peking, where her birth was recorded in Chinese records. A Chinese amah-san, Mrs. Chang, had soon been employed to care for Sarah as her own. Sarah’s first language was Chinese, and she had a Chinese name: Lin Hsiao-mai. When she was brought to Japan and began to grow up with Bill and later Shipton, it was perhaps inevitable, in the cruel way of siblings, that they would come to call her Chink, or Chankoro.

When Sarah entered her father’s study, she walked over to perch on the arm of his chair and kissed his forehead. The gesture worried Macneil, since it presaged a request that would not be easy to grant. Sarah had wanted to talk to him in private for three days, but he had put her off on one pretext or another until now, and time was running out.

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

“How much do you want?” he asked, pretending to reach for his wallet.

“Stop teasing,” she said, ruffling his greying hair. “Why do you think I want your money?”

“Don’t you?”

“Of course not.” Sarah moved from her father’s easy chair to one nearby.

“But there is something I want,” she added.

“I knew it,” he said, forcing a frown onto his face.

“Please, Daddy,” she said, moving to the edge of her chair. “This is something I want more than I have ever wanted anything. Now that Nathan and I are engaged, I—”

“Engaged?” She had startled him. “Since when?”

“Well, we won’t announce it till next month, but that’s the way we feel about each other, so I figure it’s like being engaged already.”

She blew a conciliatory kiss at her father. “I want to help Nathan with a plan he and his father have. It’s about a homeland for the Jews in the Far East.”

“Great Jesus, Sarah, what the hell are you about to get yourself into?” For the first time, true alarm colored Macneil’s expression.

“Daddy, I want him to tell you. He’s much more persuasive than I am.”

Macneil was still disgruntled. “At least give me an idea.”

“I’ll tell you this much: There are about sixteen thousand Jews in Manchuria now. Mostly refugees. Japan wants to populate Manchuria, right? But not many Japanese want to immigrate there. It’s a cold, empty land, but one with immense natural resources. Now, if Japan could persuade fifty or even a hundred thousand Jews to go there from Europe, they could build up Manchuria as an industrial base. The Jews who are being so mistreated in Europe would have a permanent home and would bring with them skills and maybe even some capital. Japan, and American Jews, would provide more. The Blum family plans to invest several million, so if the Macneils would become involved . . .”

Amazement was clear on Macneil’s features. “Chankoro, do you really have any idea at all what you’re talking about?”

“Don’t call me Chink.”

“All right then: Little Sarah.” Macneil leaned forward and grasped one of her hands between his. “To help fifty or a hundred thousand Jews migrate to Manchuria and build plants for them to work in and homes for them to live in would cost hundreds of millions of dollars. If the Japanese government wants to support such a project, let them put up the money.”

Sarah reacted. “The Japanese supporters of this plan are several men in the foreign ministry and some navy officers. There’s considerable support for the idea, but there’s opposition, too, Daddy. Even the Japanese who like the idea, including the president of the South Manchurian Railway, want to do it on the cheap. They think rich American Jews should put up most of the capital. Nathan wants our family and his to put up—what did he call it?—the ‘seed money.’

“What’s in it for us?”

“I wish you would not think of it in that crass way, Daddy.”

“I have no choice. We’ve already lost a lot of money in the past two years, and we are going to lose a lot more in this war. Even if I believed in this plan wholeheartedly and loved all the Jews in the world, the Macneils could not invest enough to make any difference. We have resources, but we’re not that rich.”

“Nathan is determined to plunge ahead.”

“And I suppose you are, too?”

“I love him, Daddy. With all my heart.”

“This plan: What does your Nathan Blum call it?”

“He calls it FEZ: Far East Zion.”

“Jesus Christ in the Andes, Chankoro! You’ve bitten off one hell of a mouthful this time. I didn’t mind when you wanted to buy a ranch to keep those cattle that escaped from the slaughter house in Shinagawa. Or your opening a refuge for stray cats. Or even your building a home for battered wives in Chiba. But this is too much, girl.”

“At least, will you let me use my own money?”

Macneil thought for a moment. “I might let you have an advance against your inheritance. Maybe a few hundred thousand dollars. More, once I can get our liquid assets into dollars and out of Japan.”

“I’ll take it,” Sarah said sweetly, rising.

“Hold on a minute. I’ll want to know a lot more about the exact details of how you’re going to invest that money.”

“Daddy, remember, I’m twenty-one now,” she said, with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“How well I know.” Macneil shook his head ruefully. “Still, I want to talk to your Nathan Blum about this. Even if I don’t invest any of my money, at least I can give him some advice.”

“I’ll arrange it, but we’ll have to hurry. Mrs. Chang and I are sailing for Dairen in a few days.”

“Remember, you’ll have to cultivate all the Japanese support for—FEZ?—you can get. I suppose I can get you an introduction to Mister Aikawa of the South Manchurian Railway.”

“Wonderful! You’re such a dear. I’ve already begun circulating in Japanese society there. I’ve got two colonels and even a general who are obviously interested in a lot more than my sweet smile.”

“Sarah, I do not like the sound of that.”

“Don’t worry, Father dear. I’ll tell you in confidence what Nathan says about me: Always on the verge, but still a virgin.”’

“God, I hope so.”

Sarah shielded her eyes against the burning afternoon sun. She waited impatiently for one of the drivers to bring a family car around from the garage.

The chauffeur was a middle-aged man she had not seen before, but Sarah resisted her natural impulse to engage him in a conversation. After telling him to take her to the Imperial Hotel in Hibiya, Sarah sat back, closed her eyes, and immersed herself in impatient thoughts about her lover.

Only two years older than she, Nathan Blum had returned from the Conservatoire de Musique in Paris earlier in the year, when she had first met him.

At once he had begun an ardent pursuit of Sarah. If he had not, she would have pursued him. Nathan was delicate and sensitive and quiet, and she longed to hold him in her arms and nurture him. His longish hair and intense eyes suited the image of what he burned to be: a concert pianist. His flexible fingers fascinated her as they danced over the piano keys. Those same fingers caressing her bared breasts sent a lovely thrill into her nether region, where those nimble hands had yet to be admitted.

Nathan was courtly and reserved. There was an unmistakable Gallic elegance about him. Although he and his father held French citizenship papers, Nathan was born in Manchuria and spoke French as his native language, good Mandarin Chinese, but utterly inadequate English. He and Sarah conversed in Chinese, which raised curious eyebrows when they were overheard in public speaking the Peking dialect.

Nathan Blum had not become the concert pianist he longed to be. He could never bring himself to practice more than two hours a day, even as his teachers at the conservatory assured him a minimum of four (“Four, M’sieu Blum, four!”) was necessary. They could have added, but charitably did not, that even more essential was a natural talent for the keyboard, which they privately feared had not been bequeathed to Nathan by his Creator.

After a vacation at his home in Dairen, Nathan Blum had intended to return to Paris and his studies, but then he met Sarah “Chink” Macneil, known to her Chinese friends as Lin Hsiao-mai.

Nathan played on the strings of Sarah’s heart with a skill and devotion he had never addressed to the keyboard. She had responded by falling passionately, exhilaratingly in love. It was as if all the affection and devotion Sarah had ever lavished on abused wives, desperate cattle, lost kittens, and fallen sparrows had focused on a single person—the slim, aesthetic Jew, Nathan Blum.