Shanghai Shadows Read Online Free Page A

read a word from her American friend. Mother had told us her friend was from an Irish family, which was how we came up with the name Molly O’Toole. So I’d imagined a loopy handwriting in blue ink, the kind that fades when you blot it: To my disappointment the note was barely a few words typed on onionskin:
    January 29, 1941
    Frieda ,
    I hear that many goods are hard to come by in the Far East. I am sending some things you and your family might need during these difficult times. Be well .
    M. O .
    Well, it certainly wasn’t a warm note. There wasn’t a hint of the Irish brogue I’d always imagined for Molly O’Toole. And the parcel had taken months to get here!
    Mother dug deep and fished out one delectable after another—coffee candies, a tube of Ipana toothpaste, a tin of Hills Brothers coffee, two bars of Ivory Soap. Also in the package were some white shoelaces, a sack of kidney beans, red ribbons, and Doublemint chewing gum.
    Mother blew the envelope open to put the letter back in and found a crisp American ten-dollar bill. We were rich!
    Then she pulled out of the box four pairs of ugly gray wool socks and buried her face in them. When she looked up over the socks, I couldn’t read the unfamiliar look in her eyes. Embarrassed, I reached into the box again and scooped out three packs of Lucky Strikes.
    â€œWe will sell them one by one. American cigarettes are worth a small fortune,” mother said.
    â€œI know.”
    Mother laid all eight socks out in a marching row on the bed. There was slick sweat dripping down my neck, so those itchy, nubby socks didn’t look a bit appetizing.
    â€œRemember winter, Ilse? Winter will come again,” Mother said, “and we’ll be grateful for these homely socks.” She stuffed the ten-dollar bill under her bodice, into that handy pocket grown women have and I didn’t have much of to brag about.
    That night we had a whole roasted chicken for dinner, our first in seven months. Erich hid a wing under his pillow, or it could have been something else he hid. He was always full of secrets.
    Me, I refused to wash off the chicken grease around my mouth or the delicious smell on my fingers, so I could taste them all night long.
    Erich brought home the news that Germany was battling the USSR, and Soviet cities were being tossed back and forth between the two powers. Then right before my thirteenth birthday in October 1941, rumors reached us that the Nazis had murdered tens of thousands of Jews in the city of Kiev.
    â€œBarbarians!” Mother said, listlessly stirring a pot of thin potato soup. “Ach, but tomorrow is Ilse’s birthday. Life must go on.”
    We pretended cheer. Erich said, “You’re anxious for us to learn English. You know what would really help? An American movie, that’s what.”
    â€œA movie?” Mother repeated.
    I quickly chimed in, “Cinema. At the Magestic Theatre. Imagine what two whole hours of hearing Americans talk to one another will do for our vocabulary.”
    â€œSure, it’s expensive,” Erich said. “Maybe we can have half a dollar from your Molly O’Toole money?”
    â€œA little, too, for popcorn?” I begged. “Americans always eat popcorn at the movies. Say yes.”
    â€œI will talk to your father,” Mother answered dubiously.
    By the time these movies crept across the ocean to China, they weren’t exactly current Hollywood hits, but we didn’t care. Everything American was wonderful. I couldn’t think of a better birthday celebration than sitting in a nice, dark movie theater watching huge, beautiful Americans talk and kiss on the flickering screen.
    â€œWhat is the movie they’re playing?” Mother asked.
    â€œIt’s called Going Places ,” I answered quickly.
    â€œGoing where?”
    â€œOh, Mother, I don’t know! But it’s starring Ronald Reagan. Very big Hollywood