man. Gentle, intelligent, so dark and . . .”
“Why do women prefer dark men?” Bill asked with mock petulance. He and his father were blond, as was Bill’s long-dead mother, Valerie. Neil’s second wife was Japanese, so Sarah and Shipton were Eurasian or, more properly, Amerasian.
“I sometimes suspect you don’t like Nathan because he’s a Jew,” Sarah said, suddenly turning pugnacious.
“Oh, I don’t mind his being a Jew, but he’s too smooth a talker and—well, a bit too refined for my taste,” Bill said, happy to deliver tit for tat.
“You think he’s more interested in our money than in me? Well, let me set you straight, dear brother of mine. His father owns most of the movie theaters in Dairen.”
“As well as most of the opium dens, gambling halls, and good-time houses.”
As Sarah’s cheeks flushed, her eyes kindled with the fires of confrontation. “Money’s money, no matter where it comes from, Bill. I’ll bet your sweet little Miss Bluestocking Quaker would die to have some of ours, too. Talk about setting your cap for a rich husband!”
“If you’re talking about Helma Graf, you can stop worrying, Chankoro.” That was the family’s pet name for Sarah, somewhat analogous in Japanese to the English pejorative “Chink.”
Why the family called Sarah “Chink” was another story.
“When I board my ship in Yokohama next week,” Bill went on, “I hope I will have seen the last of her. Besides, she despises wealth as much as she does war and our family arms business. She’s altogether rabid on the subject.”
“Is that the hogwash she’s been feeding you?”
“Lay it to rest, Chankoro. Helma’s greed or lack of it is not the issue. There’s a lot more involved.”
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
