The Last Rose of Shanghai(32)

23


AIYI


The next morning after kissing Ernest, I finally put on loose trousers and a long tunic and went to the reception hall to talk to Peiyu. My eyes were swollen from crying, my hair messy; in the calmest voice I could muster, I told her about Cheng in the car.

Peiyu was eating sweetened lotus seed soup with dried chrysanthemum blossoms. She had given birth to a baby girl in the spring. For several months, she had stayed in bed, and today was the first day she succeeded in making the longest march from her bedroom to the reception hall.

“I see. Cheng must be angry. What did you do wrong?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

She spooned some soup into her mouth. Each time after she gave birth she had the lotus seed soup for six months and then complained about her waist. “So he stopped when you told him. What’s the matter? He didn’t force himself on you. Nothing happened. He’s a young man, and young men have urges, they have needs; they’re different from women. Besides, your wedding is next spring. I’ve had the invitations printed. They’re in the drawer. Would you include a note and your personal seal with each? Have you tried this soup?”

I was speechless. Had I overreacted?

Another spoonful of soup. “He’s waited long enough.”

I couldn’t argue with that. We would have wedded years ago had it not been for the sudden deaths of my parents, the sudden war, the sudden occupation, the not-so-sudden dwindling wealth of my family, and the must-not-be-so-sudden process of finding an auspicious date for marriage, which included considerations of our birth dates and our animals and the signs of the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches.

“I’m leaking again. Where’s the baby? I shouldn’t have let the wet nurse go. Don’t forget to mail the wedding invitations with your notes and personal seal, Aiyi.” She waddled away on her tiny, bound feet.



I took out the stack of invitations and placed them next to the lotus seed soup. It was my marriage, my future, except it felt like a time bomb.

“What’s wrong?” Emily Hahn stood in front of me. Her voice was husky, like smoke, and slow, like Sinmay’s. But she looked sober, her eyes discerning. She wore a navy-blue cotton shirt with sailor front and wide-legged black trousers with a sash, the style of my favorite movie star, Hepburn.

“Nothing.” I gathered the invitations. She didn’t come here often.

“You won’t thank me for the article?” She went to sit on a rosewood chair, a gift from the late empress of the bygone dynasty.

Emily had done a lot for my family. When the Japanese won the war, they had tried to confiscate Sinmay’s printing press imported from Germany, which had the world’s most sophisticated technology. Without it, his publishing business would collapse. Emily went to great lengths to save it. She produced a marriage certificate with Sinmay, sealed by the American consulate, and argued that the printing press belonged to her, an American citizen, so it couldn’t be confiscated. And she succeeded. She relocated the press to a warehouse in the Concession, essentially saving Sinmay’s publishing business.

“I suppose so, but was it a favor?”

She lit a cigarette. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I wrote that because it was newsworthy, like you said. So thank you for the lead, little girl. Frankly, I was rather surprised. An aristocratic Chinese woman who had the audacity to hire a Jewish refugee, who somehow won over the motley crew of locals. I didn’t expect that. It was a good article. You’re a businesswoman, a woman with brains. You’ve grown up.”

A surprise to hear that from her, and gratifying. Perhaps Emily would be my friend now. I longed to have a friend again—to go shopping, get a drink in a bar, or go to tea. “So will you not call me little girl?”

“It’s a term of endearment, but fine, Aiyi.”

Her Chinese was impressive. She even got the tones of my name right. “So you saw my pianist. He’s brilliant, could you tell? A brilliant pianist. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

Emily gave me a look. In that instant I knew why she could make a living as a journalist.

“A warning, Aiyi. Falling in love is like teetering on the edge of a precipice blindfolded. It’s wonderful, but it might cause life-threatening injuries.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fortunately, Peiyu was not around.

“You don’t like me talking about your secret? I’ll tell you mine.”

“You’re pregnant.”

She nearly choked on the smoke. “What made you say that?”

“You rarely come here. It must be something important.”

“So you assume I’m pregnant? Why do you Chinese like children so much? Sinmay wants me to get pregnant. He said Chinese people love children.”

“Not me.” I disliked those infinitely annoying brats. Once my nephew had set off a firecracker in my bedroom, and another nephew had added rat droppings to my tea. Not to mention all the candies they stole from my drawer. “I’ll never have children.”

She shrugged. “I came here because I’m miserable. I don’t like Shanghai anymore. I used to be loved by poets and plutocrats, female friends and male friends. Look at me now, ostracized, lonely, and poor.” She was the woman on the chesterfield again, distant and irascible.