At this he smiled again, but looked quizzical, and inquired where their new home might be. When I told him Shanghai, he seemed truly surprised.

“Madame, Shanghai is under Japanese occupation. Civil war rages in the countryside, and foreigners abandon China on every ship that sails. I understood my fellow passengers to be refugees from oppression, but Shanghai seems an odd choice of new home.”

“Choice? We are Jews, sir-we have no choice! The countries we leave hound us, steal from us, throw us behind bars. We’re ordered into exile and would gladly go, but no place will have us-except Shanghai!” I swept my hand toward the boys. “These children leave home, family, and friends for an unknown place where the language, the streets, the very food will be wholly new to them. Yet they laugh and play. And you dare take them to task for it!”

Finally reining in the runaway horse that is my temper, I felt myself redden up to my scalp and was appalled at my effrontery.

The gentleman regarded me, his face grave. He asked if there were truly no other place for us. “I’d thought Shanghai was a transit port,” he said. “A stop on the way to someplace more hospitable.”

Surprised by the catch in my throat as I spoke, I told him “hospitable” was not a sentiment the world felt toward Jews.

He kept his gaze on me for another brief time. Then he turned to the boys, who’d been watching in part fear, part fascination. He bowed-at which they took a step back, as though afraid of what might happen next!-and requested that I convey his apologies. I told them in German they might continue their game but must take care not to disturb their fellow passengers, and I shooed them off.

The gentleman turned again to me, and again, he smiled. “I am Chen Kai-rong. Chen is my family name, and so, if we’re to be friends, you must call me Kai-rong. I’d be honored if you’d take tea with me.”