“They may have some details off, but the outline’s probably right. Some of it may be in the diary.”

“It would explain why Mei-lin gave the book, and her son, to Rosalie. And why she never came back. But why didn’t C. D. Zhang tell me any of this?”

“If your father had murdered your stepmother sixty years ago, would you tell a stranger? And in fact he might not know. He was a kid himself.”

“That navy report is public. Anyone can read it.”

“It’s not on the front page of the Times. He’d have to have gone looking for it, and why would he?”

“Well, he’s read Rosalie’s letters, so he’s interested in his own past. And he didn’t even tell me they all left together. I think I’d like to talk to him again.”

“You can do that second thing tomorrow. First thing, I’ll pick you up for Joel’s funeral. Eight thirty.”

“You think we need to be there right at ten? Jewish time is like Chinese time, I thought.”

Joel always said our matching fondness for starting events late was one piece of evidence-he had others, like the emphasis on literacy, on family, on food-that the Chinese are among the lost tribes of Israel.

“I don’t know,” Bill said. “I’m not sure that really goes for funerals.”

The thin morning air had already begun to heat and congeal when I came outside to wait for Bill. The night before, he’d suggested we bring our respective undiscovered primary sources to read on the drive today; Joel’s Long Island town was more than an hour away. I suspected him of wanting to take my mind off where we were going as much as he wanted to hear voices from sixty years ago, but that was okay with me.

“You’re early.” I climbed in the car.

“And you’re ready. Does that show impatience, or faith? There’s tea and a sesame bagel in the bag there.”

“Wouldn’t impatience be proof of faith?” I checked out his charcoal suit and clean-shaven face. “You look good. Almost suave.”

“Considering how early I had to get up and how late I went to bed, I’ll take that as a high compliment.”

“Don’t get carried away. Why did you go to bed so late if you knew you had to get up so early?”

“I was working. My boss is a slave driver.”

“You don’t have a boss.”

“My partner, then.”

“Oh, you have a partner?”

For answer he gave me a glance, then said, “The envelope at your feet.”

I checked the floor, and sure enough, a manila envelope lay in the space a taller person’s legs would have taken up. “What’s this?”

“Translations of Rosalie’s letters.”

“Written translations? That’s what you stayed up all night doing?”

“Of course. Don’t tell me you didn’t stay up translating Mei-lin’s diary. That was what kept me going through those lonely hours: the picture of you burning the midnight oil while the candle dwindled down-”

“If I had midnight oil, what would I need a candle for? Anyway, I didn’t.”

“You mean I’m a step ahead?”

“Not likely. I got up at five and read through most of it.”

“Five? What’s that?”

“Someday you’ll have to check it out, dawn. It’s kind of pretty.” I opened his envelope and pulled out a scrawl-covered yellow pad.

“Listen,” he said. I glanced up: His tone had changed. “What’s in there-it’s not very cheery.”

“I guess I didn’t expect it to be.”

He nodded. “The top one isn’t Rosalie’s. It’s to her, from a neighbor.”

I took a look. Bill’s handwriting isn’t particularly legible, but I’m used to it.

He headed the car over the Manhattan Bridge as I took a sip of my tea and began to read.

12 June 1938

My darling Rosalie,

It is with a heavy heart that I put pen to paper tonight. I hardly know how to tell you of the events that have occurred here. My dear, prepare yourself: Your dear uncle Horst is no more. I have no further facts than this: Attempting to go to the aid of an elderly rabbi who had been set upon by a mob, he would not obey a soldier’s command to back away and let the mob go about its business. They exchanged angry words. Without warning, the soldier drew his pistol and fired. For what consolation it may be, those who saw say the bullet pierced Horst’s heart and he died instantly; he did not suffer. Rosalie, I am so sorry. But it is my painful duty to tell you that the troubles of the past days do not end there. Oh, my darling! Your mother was arrested hours later as she was preparing to go claim your uncle’s body. On what pretext I do not know-it has become a common thing here for Jews, for Catholics, for supporters of Chancellor Schuschnigg, to fall into the arms of what now passes for the law. I saw the police mount the steps of your home, and watched them lead your mother out. I ran and asked where she was being taken, and went myself to that police station, where after a few hours’ wait I was allowed to see her. She was unharmed, but she is being sent to a work camp and they would not tell me where. As you would expect of your mother, she was much more composed than I. She asked me to take some things from your home, as she fears, and with reason, I’m afraid, that her possessions will be confiscated before she is released. I returned quickly and retrieved what she requested: your letters from Shanghai, and the tickets for the train to Dairen. I took also some family photographs-the one of you and Paul at the Mirabell Gardens the day we all went together; your parents’ wedding portrait; and some others. At your mother’s request I’ve given one of the train tickets to Herr Baumberg for his eldest son, and will keep the other for your mother, praying she will be released in time to use it. Her instructions were that if she is not, I should give it away also. She also asked that I request of Herr Baumberg that if possible he arrange for a proper Jewish burial for Horst, which I have done. Klaus and I will remain in Salzburg until she is released, or until the date of the train’s departure. Then, Rosalie, whether or not your mother is on that train-which I dearly hope she is!-we will leave for Switzerland. We will go to Klaus’s brother in Geneva, and Klaus will start a practice there. We have been discussing the unhappy possibility of this step since February, and are now prepared to take it: We feel we can no longer remain in a country that treats its citizens so. Klaus is traveling there tomorrow to make our arrangements, and I shall give him this letter to send to you, because I find I am distrustful now even of my beloved country’s post. Oh, Rosalie, Rosalie, I am so sorry! With you I mourn your dear uncle, and I pray for your mother’s rapid release. I hope the day comes very soon when you are reunited. And that the day comes even sooner when this wicked, murderous, usurping government is overthrown and we live in sunlight once again!

Please keep yourself and your brother well, my dear. I hope to be able to send you more and much better news very soon.

With much love,

Hilda Schmitz

When I finished reading, I looked at Bill, then back out the window. “I guess this is what Mei-lin meant.”

“When?”

“She mentioned Rosalie’s terrible news, how bad she felt for her, but she didn’t say what it was.” Almost afraid to turn to the next sheet, I asked him, “She didn’t, did she?”

“Who didn’t what?”

“Hilda Schmitz. Send better news.”

“There aren’t any more letters from her.”

And we already knew there wasn’t any better news.

“What are the rest of these?” I asked. “If her mother was in a camp?”

“Rosalie kept writing. She responded to that one, not to the neighbor but to her mother. After that there are only a few more, when big things happened.”

I hesitated, then pulled out the next sheet.

5 July 1938

Oh, Mama, Mama! I’ve received a letter from Frau Schmitz with news so horrible I cannot bear it! Mama, I cry for you, for Uncle Horst, I feel my heart will break! Please, please, keep yourself safe, I pray, yes, pray, I beg God to prove His kindness by releasing you unharmed and bringing you to us here!!!