Читать книгу The Nine Fold Heaven - Mingmei Yip - Страница 18

7

River Cruise

The next morning, I was jolted when I read Rainbow Chang’s Leisure News gossip column:

Has the Heavenly Songbird Alighted?

Yesterday, one of my Pink Skeleton girls reported back to me some exciting news!

At the American Consul General’s garden reception, a young Chinese singer surprised the partygoers with her beautiful voice. My source said that this singer looked a lot like our beloved, but disappeared, Heavenly Songbird Camilla. But how could it be her?

If Camilla, the ultimate cunning skeleton woman, flew away from Shanghai, why would she come back?

Curious, isn’t it, that she disappeared right after her patron Master Lung’s Flying Dragons shoot some still-unidentified victims? Can this be the strategy of mantian guohai, “crossing the sea to fool heaven”? Did her departure for places unknown have something to do with the shoot-out that left many of Shanghai’s eminent gangsters in pools of their own blood?

Police speculate that Lung’s safe was opened and some valuables taken. If the police are right, then who took Lung’s valuables? Can it be that someone is now living in newfound luxury somewhere? If yes, then why would this person return to the scene of the crime?

One of my sources says that the singer Jasmine Chen looks very much like Camilla, but another says her hair is too straight and her chin too pointed. We’d all know if the photo of Jasmine Chen taken by my Pink Skeleton girl had not been confiscated by the consulate’s guard.

But I have my sources, so more to follow. . . .

Rainbow Chang

This was most alarming. Why would Rainbow Chang send her girls to spy at the ambassador’s party in the first place? Did she get wind of my return? If so, from whom?

There were no answers for now, so I went on to read the other newspapers. I felt relieved that besides Rainbow’s column, there was no mention of me in the other papers. But, of course, that didn’t mean I could let my guard down. Rainbow was on to me, even if she didn’t quite come out and say it. No secret was safe from her and her girls—they’d even infiltrated the American Consul’s garden party!

But then my attention was caught by a small headline in the Shen News:

Gangster to Be Executed

Hong Bin, a gangster and spy, will be publicly executed outside Shanghai—a mile from the Xu Jiahui Station—this Sunday at noon. After a thorough investigation by the police and a trial, the gangster confessed that he has been spying and gathering information for the Communist party.

I suddenly realized this execution must be the same one brought up by one of Miller’s guests at the garden party. I wondered who this Hong Bin was and what gang he belonged to. There were so many gangsters and spies in Shanghai, including me!

Faced with death, a gangster would likely make a deal to betray his own gang and take refuge with another one. But relationships in Shanghai’s underworld were even more complicated than the fate-determining, crisscrossing lines of our palms. So I wondered what was happening between this Hong Bin and his gang that his boss didn’t just spread some bribes around to set him free.

I decided to go see the execution. I was curious to know who this ill-fated man was and I hoped that, like me so far, he would somehow escape the hopeless situation.

But in the meantime a more pleasant event awaited me. After the garden party, Emily told me that her boss would like me to join him for a day on his yacht down the Huangpu River. As I set out for the harbor, the day was pleasant with clouds crossing in the afternoon sky like fishes swimming leisurely in a gigantic tank.

I arrived at the pier right on time, punctuality being one of my “virtues” as a spy. Edward was already waiting, leaning on a piling on the dock. He waved as he saw me approach, planted a kiss on my cheek, and took my hand. Then he led me to his yacht nestled at the dock among several others floating on the sparkling turquoise river.

“Welcome aboard!” He enthused, looking very charming in whites—shirt, shorts, shoes.

He took my arm and helped me on board. Two Chinese in crisp white uniforms stood on either side as we stepped onto the deck, undulating slightly in the gentle swell. After introducing me to the two sailors, he gave me a tour. I didn’t have much experience of boats, but this one seemed to be a cozy little paradise with almost everything. There were deck chairs near the bow and a comfortable cockpit aft with cushions along the benches. Down below was a cozy salon with a small but well-equipped galley including a bar. A door led to a curtained bedroom with a broad bunk. Though I liked his boat and was sure it had cost a lot, it did not seem so impressive compared to the rich men’s mansions I had visited.

But I said excitedly, “Oh, heaven! It’s so beautiful. I’ve never been in a sea palace like this!”

Edward gave me an appreciative once-over, his eyes lingering on my breasts and slim waist conspicuous under my simple, crocheted top and blue slacks. Then he took my hand and led me back onto the deck. We leaned on the railing, silently inhaling the fresh air while appreciating our expansive view of the river with its scattered junks, boats, and ships weaving back and forth in front of the city’s skyline.

“Jasmine, I’m glad you like it. I use this for both business and pleasure. People feel more relaxed out on the water and thus speak their minds more freely. Sometimes I also come here by myself to think or meditate on the flowing river.”

“How interesting,” I said, calmed by the rhythmically undulating waves, “I also used to come here to sing to the rising sun and its reflection on the water.”

“Did you?” he cast me a curious look, “When? You mean you could just leave the orphanage and come here?”

Damn. I’d forgotten Confucius’s famous precept, “A refined person is careful in speech.”

Fortunately, I had to learn early in life to make up answers quickly.

“Of course not, they’d never let me do that when I was in the orphanage. It was after I left.”

The crew already cast us off from the dock and we were now under way, the engine throbbing quietly, making it easy to change the subject.

“So today there’ll be only the two of us?”

“Just us, and, of course, my captain and his mate. I like to steer the boat myself, but this way I can enjoy your company.”

“It’s fine with me, Edward.” I smiled mysteriously. “No one from the orphanage is going to see me here with you.”

“Jasmine, I’ll be right back.” He returned with two flutes of champagne. “To our wonderful cruise,” he said, smiling handsomely while tapping my flute with his.

I returned his toast with a coyly flirtatious smile. “To our cruise, Edward.”

My diplomat friend went on enthusiastically. “We will be passing some of Shanghai’s most scenic spots: the Bund’s Western-style skyscrapers, the Customs House with its bell tower, Shasun Mansion with its pyramid top, the Garden bridge at Suzhou Creek, and many more. I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

From behind his back, Edward produced an orange orchid and put it above my ear.

Staring at a few sea gulls gliding above the waves, I thought of a poem and began to recite it for Edward:

Last year the plum blossom failed to bloom,

This year it bloomed aplenty.

Every year the petals unfurl to welcome Spring,

How many times to appreciate a flower,

even if you live to a hundred?

Why busy oneself rushing in all directions?

After I finished, he exclaimed, “What a lovely poem! And how well you recite it!”

“You flatter me too much, Mr. Ambassador. Poetry is just a hobby for me. And, Edward, you know so much about Chinese culture!”

“Jasmine, from the first time I met you I knew you were different from the others. As the Chinese say, ‘After one look at the loftiest mountain, all the other hills look flat.’ ”

What a naive foreigner, and a Consul General at that! If only he knew how different I was: That I could throw knives with deadly accuracy. That I was skilled in having sex in the most contorted positions possible. That I was indeed an orphan but rescued from the orphanage, not because of anyone’s compassion, but, on the contrary, to be trained as an assassin.

After more compliments bouncing back and forth between us like Ping-Pong balls, Edward suggested we go down into the salon for a late lunch. From the galley he took a platter of cold snacks, placed them on the center table, and we began to eat. When he was busy consuming his shrimp, chicken, beef, or whatnot, I took the chance to look around.

The room was decorated with old charts and paintings of Chinese junks. A wooden shelf was filled with books, held in by an elastic cord. On one wall was mounted a miniature Chinese dragon boat.

The dragon boat reminded me of what I had read about the Chinese luxury boats of the past. The wealthy would invite a select few to enjoy their aquatic paradise. The guest list might include close friends, celebrities, high monks, talented scholars, beauties, and honest merchants. The last category always amused me. If there are “honest” merchants, are there also “sincere” spies like me, “on the house,” or on the boat, courtesans, “compassionate” gangsters? What about “spiritual” monks, who ate meat, drank wine, and seduced women?

These rich people’s boats were lavishly decorated with lanterns, ribbons, and latticed windows. In these pleasant surroundings, the honorable guests would engage in sipping aromatic tea, or expensive wine, dancing, doing calligraphy, reciting poetry, and meditating on the ever-changing waves. The boats were given names based on their unique shapes, like Gourd or Banana Leaf, or poetic images, like Swallow’s Garden, Jade Pavilion, Pine Grove....

I wondered, in a past life, was I a courtesan entertaining on one of these luxurious boats? Had my past karma led me to be gliding over the water with a high official on his beautiful yacht? I inhaled the clean air, imagining myself living in the purity of tall mountains, far away from this dusty world. But sadly, reality always paints a different picture.

My life was a boat drifting on a limitless expanse of water—when would it land on the shore?

Miller seemed to be enjoying himself so much that he was oblivious to my sadness. As we ate and drank, he rambled on about the city and the sights we were passing. I mostly listened, fearing the more I talked, the more chance I would reveal more of myself than was prudent. I didn’t want to spoil this seemingly pure, innocent encounter. Or was it? Maybe he had more in mind than simply rescuing a poor orphan girl from her horrible fate.

But I put this out of my mind for the moment as the rocking of the boat, soothing in its monotonous rhythm, gave me a sense of peace and security. It was a little cooler now, and the setting sun was casting golden highlights on the waves. Feeling mesmerized and nostalgic, a song involuntarily slipped from my mouth.

Everyone has parents, but I don’t.

Where are you hiding, dear mama and baba?

When, if ever, will we meet?

Would we recognize each other,

Or merely rub shoulders as we pass?

To my surprise, after I finished, my host was blinking back tears.

I asked. “Edward, are you all right?”

He took a small meditative sip of his wine, then softly put down the glass. “It’s your singing. It makes me sad, for you—and also for myself.”

“How’s that?”

He spoke slowly, his tone sad. “I also consider myself an orphan.”

I was surprised to hear this and quickly put on a sympathetic expression. “What do you mean?”

“My parents were missionaries in Shanghai years ago. When I was fifteen, our house burned down and they were killed.”

“What a horrible accident!”

“It wasn’t an accident; it was murder.”

“Murder! But who would want to murder harmless missionaries?”

I was not at all sure that missionaries are absolutely harmless, and didn’t feel much about his parents, since I would never meet them. But I knew I should sound sympathetic.

He shook his head, his blond hair glistening under the yacht’s yellowish light, rendering him still handsome but now sad, and vulnerable.

“It was gangsters.”

My heart skipped a beat. “They were killed by gangsters?”

What I really wanted to know was whether they’d been killed by the Flying Dragons or the Red Demons.

He split a bitter smile. “My parents did nothing but preach God’s good deeds. I think this offended the gangsters because they believe only in their own gods, who don’t mind illegal deeds.”

To my surprise, my hand had already reached to touch his. “Edward, I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.” I paused, then, “At least now you have a good life.”

I suddenly realized why this privileged American ambassador took an interest in me. Because he and I shared the same fate, though he’d known his parents, but I hadn’t.

I was starting to worry. Although I constantly reminded myself to stay emotionless, was I starting to feel more for this man than was safe for me?

Edward gently lifted my hand and put it to his lips. Not knowing how to react, I left it there for seconds before I tactfully withdrew it.

He went on. “When I was at school, someone burned down the house.”

“Then what happened?”

“I was fifteen when they died. The church brought me back to live with relatives.” He sipped more wine. “It must be more than coincidence that fate brought us together.” He studied me with his penetrating eyes. “Jasmine, let’s heal together.”

I feigned a smile. “Thank you for your concern, Edward, but I’m fine, really.”

“You can trust me with the truth. I can tell you’re hiding things from the world, and also from yourself.”

I might or might not be hiding things from myself, but I was certainly hiding a lot from the world.

“Edward, not now please, maybe later.”

“All right, if that’s what you want.”

Finally realizing that he would not get anything more from me about this, he changed the subject with another startling announcement. “Henry is adopted.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I decided not to comment on his son’s adopted status, but instead offered, “Henry is so adorable.”

This time I really meant what I said. Of course the little boy was adorable, but so are many other little boys. I knew well that the main reason I liked Henry was because except in dreams, I could not express my love for my own Jinjin. I longed for someone to give my motherly love.

Now Edward took a sip of his bitter coffee, then, “Yes, I love him very much. But he is a reason that my wife and I divorced.”

“How’s that?”

“Miranda never wanted to adopt. She thinks it’s because of me that we could not have children of our own. I was the one who insisted on the adoption, and she always resented Henry.

“Henry was in an orphanage. A couple almost adopted him but at the last minute they changed their mind, so I was lucky.“

I was very tempted to ask why Henry’s parents gave him up, but suppressed the urge. I didn’t want the ambassador to ask me the same question.

But he asked another equally unwelcome one. “What is your orphanage?”

“Edward, it’s Compassionate Light. But please, you cannot come there asking for me.”

I knew the easiest way to take his mind off this subject. I placed my hand on his arm and stroked it gently.

“Edward, I am sure you have more important things to think about than a poor girl’s troubles.”

Anyway, my best strategy for now was to keep him interested in me so that someday, if it became necessary, he’d turn my savior.

He cast me a piercing look. “You know, Jasmine, you’re a talented, beautiful, mysterious woman. And your fragrance . . .”

So he had noticed that. But what man wouldn’t? Women pay a lot for perfume, but I had no need for it, because I was endowed with this natural fragrance. Actually, it was not “natural” because I hadn’t been born with it. Big Brother Wang had made me drink an expensive concoction from an imperial recipe. The esoteric formula consisted of honey mixed with morning dew to which were added chrysanthemum, lily, and ground pearl powder, plus some secret roots from a famous herbalist.

Once in a while there was a little white arsenic in the mixture. Although white arsenic is used as a poison, a small dose keeps one’s skin tight and wrinkle free. It also gets rid of excess liquid so you don’t look fat, and it warms your blood.

I’d been forced to drink the concoction by Big Brother Wang so I could bewitch and kill his rival Master Lung. Since I’d escaped to Hong Kong, I’d stopped taking it, because the rumor goes that a woman’s life will be shortened if she drinks this concoction for too long. However, I knew that the “natural” fragrance would still linger.

Of course, I was not going to divulge the secret of my irresistible body fragrance. Let him think that I was like the famous Emperor Qianlong’s concubine Xiang Xiang, or Fragrance, who bathed only in milk, flowers, and herbs.

Miller’s cheeks glowed with a pinkish flush, matching the twilight visible through the porthole. Was it the wine, or did he feel suddenly shy in front of a woman he was so strongly attracted to?

He moved next to me, gently pulled me to him, and pressed his lips against mine.

I found this man likable and attractive, but not irresistible. He seemed too reserved and decent. How many men, or women, made names for themselves for being decent? History tells us that it is the bad who get the fame and the women, and the good usually get killed for their efforts.

Then I realized my top had slipped down, and the ambassador was kissing my bare shoulder, then my breasts, so that my nipples swelled like the rising tide. Now my pants, as if having a plan of their own, kept slipping lower to reveal my narrow waist and my navel, below which lay the dense vegetation surrounding my mysterious fertility.

Outside the porthole, the rising moon seemed to wink at me, encouraging me to reveal even more. Hmm, I thought . . . why not? Though I didn’t think I felt anything like love for this foreigner. However, I did enjoy the chance to play my game of seduction, which had been out of practice lately.

As his hands caressed, he murmured, “Jasmine, you smell wonderful . . . so wonderful . . .”

But when he tried to slide my pants all the way down, suddenly Jinying’s loving face flashed vividly, but sadly, across my mind.

I gently removed his urgent hand. “Please don’t . . .”

The American looked shocked and puzzled. “Jasmine, did I offend you?”

I shook my head, buried it in my hands, and quietly sobbed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

“I am sorry, Edward. I . . . I . . . never had any experience with men.”

He gently pulled me against his broad chest and rested his head on mine. “Jasmine, I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. Please forgive me.”