Читать книгу The Nine Fold Heaven - Mingmei Yip - Страница 14

3

Home to Heartbreak

With light luggage, a heavy heart, but at least a thick purse, I dragged myself aboard the ship for the short trip back to Shanghai. In my modest stateroom, I unpacked my few belongings. Soon the ship was under way and I went up on deck to watch people. Some looked like harried businessmen, others, excited tourists, and yet others, happy families going home. But sadly, I felt none of their cheerfulness. I turned to look at the infinity of the turquoise sea, and into my mind popped the words of the Tang dynasty poet Wei Zhuang’s “Jiangnan, South of the River”:

The Spring water is bluer than the sky,

I listen to the soft rain, dozing off aboard the painted boat,

By the fire sits a woman beautiful as the moon,

Her pale wrists white as frost and snow.

Don’t go back to your homeland, not until you’re old,

Because returning home is heartbreaking.

I had no idea why Wei thought that homecoming—to Shanghai, which is south of the river—was heartbreaking. And why it’d become bearable only after you gathered snow on your sideburns. Is it because only when we are old can we let go of painful memories?

Finally, the next evening, with much shouting of the crew, the ship bumped against the same pier that I’d left in a hurry three months ago. With more shouting the ship was made fast and the gangplank was lowered with a crash. To take no chances of being recognized, I had disguised myself as a man. This way, I felt a little less anxious because I could not imagine anyone would recognize me as Shanghai’s most famous songstress. Just in case, I’d made up a man’s name—Shen Wei—and would pose as a university student returning home from overseas. I’d also made up a woman’s name—Jasmine Chen—for when I didn’t need to dress like a man.

But I had no illusion that even with my new hairstyle, new name, and new gender, I was out of danger. I might not look like Camilla now, but I did not want to be looked at anyway. So as soon as I was off the ship, I hired a car to drive me to a slightly shabby hotel on Rue Lafayette in the French Concession. I hoped this busy street inside a foreign territory could give me some protection.

After settled inside the hotel room, I washed, unpacked, and then took out a pen and paper to write down my plans. My first step would be simply to explore my surroundings and gather information. I needed to read the local newspapers to see what news there was about Master Lung, Big Brother Wang, Jinying, Gao—and myself. Then I’d quietly walk by the apartments of those I needed to visit—Jinying and Madame Lewinsky—to be sure they were not being watched by gang members. It was my singing teacher Lewinsky who’d helped me when I gave birth to Jinjin—and her who had told me he was stillborn. Too, I wanted to revisit the Bright Moon Nightclub where I performed.

The next day when I woke up, it was already three o’clock in the afternoon. I hadn’t realized I was that exhausted. Dressing in my man’s outfit, I slipped out, bought two evening newspapers, and read them while I had an early supper in a noodle stall. I worked my way through the newspapers carefully but was surprised to find no news about me or the gang war that I’d set off.

With the newspapers under my arm, I set out for a walk in the crisp Shanghai air, hoping to clear my mind. I was still hungry, so I stopped at a street vendor selling fresh-out-of-the-boiling-wok doughnuts. The snack looked fresh and golden. Just what I needed: a fresh start and an golden opportunity! After I paid, the vendor wrapped the doughnut in an old newspaper, then handed it to me. Soon I was savoring golden hotness, both in my hand and my mouth. Then, when I had finished and was about to throw away the paper, I saw the word Camilla—my name.

Heart beating fast, I unfolded the paper and read the headline:

Police Chief Li Suspects Shanghai’s “Heavenly Songbird”

Killed Lung, Chief of the Flying Dragons

After an intensive investigation, Police Chief Li has announced that the famous nightclub singer is now hiding in Hong Kong. But even if Li is right, the police cannot arrest her because China has no jurisdiction in the British Crown Colony.

Police believe Lung has been killed because he has not been seen in Shanghai since the shoot-out in his secret villa.

Master Lung’s Harvard-educated lawyer son, Lung Jinying, refuses to say anything about his father, or his mistress, Camilla. He says he knows nothing about the shooting, except what he’s read in the newspapers. But Chief Li is sure the son knows a lot more than he is saying—

Damn. The rest of the article was cut off, just at this crucial place. I looked at the dateline: It was more than two months ago, three weeks after my escape. But no more news. It seemed I would have no choice but to see if Jinying was holed up in his apartment.

It was good that Police Chief Li thought I was still hiding in Hong Kong when I was actually back in Shanghai. As in the saying, “The most dangerous-seeming place may actually be the safest.” But not always. To go to Jinying’s place would really be dangerous, but I knew I would go there anyway. But I waited until midnight before I took a tricycle rickshaw to my lover’s flat.

My first worry was the police would still be watching, even though it was unlikely after three months. So I kept my disguise as a man, wearing a suit, glasses, a hat to cover up my hair, even a mustache. I was well aware that the chance Jinying would be staying in the same place after all that had happened was close to zero, but I had to see for myself—and even if he was long gone, I might find a clue as to his whereabouts.

I sighed with relief that there were no police, nor any pedestrians near Jinying’s place. Looking at the building, bittersweet memories rose up in my chest. This was where Jinying and I had first consummated our forbidden love, despite my being his father’s mistress—with little lost Jinjin the result.

Blinking back tears, I took my time walking up the stairs, savoring my memories. Arriving at his floor, I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, and knocked, preparing for anything and everything. I could feel the beatings of my heart like that of a lost deer bumping around in the dark. But what if he was there? How would he react to me as a man? I had no chance to find out, for despite more and more knockings not a sound came from inside the apartment.

Finally, I decided to make use of my spy training. I took out my Open-One-Hundred-Doors key, the same one I’d used to open Shadow’s apartment to steal her magic secrets. This key proved itself so worthy that with just one twist, Jinying’s apartment opened like the sore legs of a desperate prostitute. I pushed the door open just a crack so as to see what was inside, in case someone else was now living here. After making sure that his sofa, redwood dining table, landscape paintings, bookcases, and the upright piano with its decorative objects were in their familiar places, I went inside.

“Hello, anybody here?”

Not even a ghostly response.

“Jinying, are you there?”

The ghosts, if there were any, remained stubbornly silent. I looked at the bedroom, the restroom, and kitchen; there was no Jinying, not even his pleasant body scent. Disappointed, I sat down on the sofa to think. It was late, why wasn’t he home? Suddenly a chill rose in my heart—perhaps he had forgotten me already and was now in a nightclub admiring another pretty singer. After some disheartening thoughts, I started to search his apartment for clues of his whereabouts.

I started with his drawers, then methodically went through his writing desk, cabinets, and closets. But there were only piles of bills, receipts, old magazines, and newspaper clippings, mostly about me. Then my wandering eyes landed on his upright piano and I dashed over to open its lid. Yes, a notebook, almost new, was staring at me like an orphan baby begging to be picked up. I snatched it out and opened it to discover that it was a diary filled with Jinying’s irregular, agonized handwriting. There were also some drawings of a naked woman who actually looked like me with phoenix eyes, a watermelon-seed face, and long, curly hair swept to the side. And the woman was pregnant! More surprises came when I saw what was written underneath two of the drawings of the woman’s bulging belly. The first one read:

Precious Baby formula:

Medicine to protect the embryo: ginseng, red dates, white fungus, bird’s nest.

Note: Taking these, both the mother and her baby will have fair, clear skin, thick, dark hair, and strong qi circulation.

The second read:

To dear Jinjin,

Son, even if I never meet you in this world, your baba still loves you wherever you are.

The next few pages had been torn out, leaving me wondering what more Jinying had written about me and our baby: stillborn, according to my singing teacher Madame Lewinsky, but alive somewhere according to my dream.

So I flipped back to the beginning of the diary and started to read.

Whether dead or alive, the people closest to me have eerily vanished. My father, gone. Camilla, gone. Our little Jinjin, gone.

Even my father’s trusted bodyguard Gao, gone. He’s probably taking care of Father, but actually, I don’t care. He hung around Camilla too much. But I’m afraid to ask Camilla about him, because her answer might crush me.

The newspapers said that Police Chief Li suspects Camilla was involved in the gang shoot-out at my father’s hideaway. When we thought we would both be killed, Camilla confessed to me that she was working as a spy for my father’s bitter rival Big Brother Wang.

So she’d been using me to kill my father! Although I hate my father and his evil deeds, heaven would strike me if I’d have him murdered!

But I miss Camilla terribly, can’t sleep, and have no interest in other women. I’m afraid to talk to reporters, lest I let slip secrets about her.

I must find Camilla. If she truly loves me, we’ll find a way to start a new life together. If she doesn’t, I’ll go back to America and never return to Shanghai.

I think Camilla must have left Shanghai. She must be hiding in Hong Kong—that’s what Chief Li thinks too. And, of course, he can’t go after her there. So I’ll go there myself to look for her.

I have no idea what I’ll do if I leave Shanghai. I definitely won’t practice as a lawyer. My father sent me to law school at Harvard, but that was really for him, not for me. He wanted me to be a lawyer for the prestige, and especially for me to help his business. My father sent me to the most prestigious law school to help him break the law!

On the next page was a cutout newspaper photo of me, but the rest of the page was missing, like some of the others. I set the diary down on the coffee table, feeling anxious but also touched by Jinying’s drawings of a pregnant me with all the nutritious herbs for our baby, and his loving note to little Jinjin.

Then I rubbed my temples and thought. I had just risked my life coming back to Shanghai to find Jinying—and now he was in Hong Kong looking for me? Heaven really enjoys playing games with us mortals!

Would we ever meet again? I thought of the Chinese saying, “Five hundred incarnations of looking at each other just to rub shoulders in this Dusty World.” But we didn’t just rub our shoulders, we had a son together! So we must have turned to look at each other much more than five hundred times in our past lives to be awarded a son in this one. I hoped Jinying and I would be reunited and have a chance for happiness. But I also knew this would be determined not by what I wished, but by the mysterious working of karma.

And I was all too aware that my karma was bad, very bad.

I remembered the pessimistic Chinese saying, “Husband and wife are like birds in a forest, when disaster strikes, they will fly their separate ways.”

But Jinying, instead of ignoring me and going his own way, traveled to Hong Kong to look for me. But how could he possibly expect to be able to find me there? Of course anyone could post a flyer or buy a newspaper ad for Xunren, “Finding a Missing Person.” But I didn’t think he’d be so naive as to give away my name so my enemies could find out where I was.

Worse, I’d already changed my name from Camilla to Jasmine Chen and Shen Wei when disguised as a man. Therefore, Young Master, your effort would prove to be futile one more time! So maybe we were not destined to be together after all, and I should accept that our brief encounter was like a failed magic show. Just like my former rival and partner Shadow, who was about to disappear from a water tank, but instead nearly drowned in it!

Feeling an unbearable sadness, I went to his piano and sat down, but afraid of alerting the neighbors, I did not touch the keys but began to hum very softly.

It’s only those love truly who suffer from separation.

Worse, when it takes place in the cold and lonely season.

Where am I when I wake up from my drinking?

Willows sway by the shore where the half-moon shines and the dawn breeze chills.

Gone for so many years, the happy times now only illusions.

A thousand kinds of amorous sentiments,

But to whom could I express them?

After that, I went to put a disc on his gramophone and turned the volume to the softest. My singing of “A Wandering Songstress” flooded the room with bittersweet emotion. All I could hope was that “wandering” would lead to something sweet, not bitter.

That evening, after I returned to the hotel, I decided not to go back to Hong Kong to look for Jinying. For if I did, how could I find him, or him, me? It would be what the Chinese call “looking for a needle on the sea bottom.” Anyway, sooner or later, he would have to come back to Shanghai.

Instead, I would look for Jinjin. The first step was to pay my singing teacher, Madame Lewinsky, a visit.