The Last Rose of Shanghai(41)

It almost sounded as though the old man was worried about a possible attack from the Japanese. But Ernest wondered if he was overly apprehensive. The Settlement was within the jurisdiction of Britain and the US. An assault on the Settlement would mean an assault on those two countries. It was unimaginable to see a small country like Japan take on these giants.



A few days later, on his way out of the bar, Ernest saw an English magazine on a table. The magazine was dog-eared, water stained, and dated December of last year, but Ernest read it hungrily. Inside was a black-and-white photo of three figures: a German official in a uniform with a swastika, an Italian official wearing a cap with an eagle clenching a fasces, and a Japanese official with a military cap emblazoned with the rising sun. Their hands joined to grasp tightly, their eyes dark with ambition.

The three evil Axis powers had signed the Tripartite Pact! He was disgusted. But he realized now why Sassoon was agitated. His fear of the Japanese attacks wasn’t entirely baseless, for with the Japanese being the allies of Germany, all the Britons in Shanghai became the enemies of the Japanese.

Ernest’s heart sank. If war broke out in the Settlement, then his job, Miriam’s school, and all the security he had built, even their lives, would be in danger.





31


AIYI


For days, Sassoon’s proposal kept me up. So I went to see Emily, the only person I felt I could trust, to whom I could speak freely.

Emily lived in an apartment in the Concession. Her cook led me to her bedroom. As soon as the door opened, a wave of smoke, filled with a sickeningly sweet flowery odor, hit me. My limbs grew soft, even as anxiety gripped me. Unbelievable. She was smoking the “great smoke.”

“Emily? Why are you smoking? Is everything all right?” In the dim room, a vague figure lay on the bed. “Emily?”

“I can hear you, Aiyi.” She struggled to rise, her hair spilling around her face like a dark cloud.

I sat on a couch across from the bed. Part of me wanted to lecture her about the danger of falling into the morass of addiction; part of me understood nothing I said would make a difference. My father, an addict, had showed me every ugly aspect of addiction. “I thought you’d quit. Why are you smoking again?”

“He doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Sinmay? Of course he loves you.”

A sob reverberated in the dimness. “But he won’t leave Shanghai with me. I’m done. My life is over. I want to find another job, but I can’t write a single word. I’m dry, I’m spent, I’m stuck.”

“It’s temporary. All writers have writer’s block, Sinmay said once. You need to get some fresh air. You’re throwing your life away by smoking. Would you like to go to Kiessling’s Café with me? We can have tea. We can talk.”

She was quiet. Her voice was still husky when she said, “No one asks me for tea anymore; no one comes to visit.”

“So you want to go?”

She got out of bed, turned on the light, and sat next to me. The robe was loose on her, exposing her shoulders and breasts, full and drooping slightly; her large eyes looked sad and tired, her face pale. Emily, Emily. A woman with many talents, many lovers, many faces, and many moods, yet utterly alone. “Is that Sassoon’s hotel’s robe?”

“It’s a robe.”

“Look, Emily. I have something very important I need to ask you. I wonder if you can help me. You know I’m in love with my pianist, and now I don’t know what to do.” I told her everything: Yamazaki’s threat, my relationship with Ernest, and Sassoon’s proposal.

“Sassoon proposed to you? That goat. He never asked me to marry him. If you marry him, you’ll get his money and protection for your club.”

“It’s not that simple, Emily. I’m going to open the windows, do you mind?”

She shrugged. “I see. That pianist. You’re in love with him. But you also don’t mind marrying Sassoon and sleeping with him because he’s rich and he can protect you.”

I supposed I could get used to her style, but had I not seen the roomful of ribbons of toxin, I wouldn’t have believed she’d been smoking. Her mind was sharp and perceptive. I leaned against the window. “I didn’t sleep with Sassoon.”

“Come on. You love money.”

“Everyone loves money.”

“Maybe not more than everything else. I left Sassoon for your brother.”

I looked out the window. “All I can tell you is, Emily, I would do anything I can to protect Ernest.”

“You really do care about him, I see. What about your cousin-fiancé? Never mind. It’s an arranged marriage, and you should not be bound by it. But now you have to choose. Which one can’t you live without? You can’t have both love and money.”

“Why can’t I have both?”

She shrugged again. “Fine. You sleep with Sassoon and then Ernest. One on Monday, the other on Tuesday.”

“Emily,” I called out indignantly. I was not a promiscuous woman; I was a woman with morals.

She took off her robe, and naked, she walked to the wardrobe near me. I had to avert my eyes—most Chinese women were too modest to bare themselves. Emily didn’t seem to be embarrassed, however, opening the drawer and taking out some clothes. “Or you marry Sassoon and leave Ernest.”