The Last Rose of Shanghai(43)

Ernest’s heart chilled. The Shanghai Municipal Council functioned as an administrative government, rectified laws, drafted trading permits, and even issued identity cards to refugees like him. Now all the British and American members were being driven out at gunpoint.



Later that evening, the bar boiled with men’s curses. Sassoon slumped at a table, surrounded by his bodyguards and his cousins who managed the hotel. His face livid under the light, Sassoon gulped down a drink and smashed the empty glass on the ground. He rarely left his hotel, only going to the Shanghai Club for meetings; now he was kicked out.

“The Japanese cut off the legs of the pool tables in the club because they were too tall,” someone said.

“The Japanese have organized their own police,” someone else said.

“They’re asking for war,” another said.

All quieted, their heads down.

Ernest looked at one wary face after another. Sassoon’s plan to protect the Settlement had failed, their Seaforth Highlanders had left Shanghai, and Britain was fighting for its life in Europe. All Britons in the Settlement were on their own.



The next day, the bar was unusually quiet. Only three customers came, eating peanuts and drinking red martinis. Colonel William Ashurst arrived late, ate his favorite spaghetti, and left in a hurry. Ernest hoped quiet evenings like this wouldn’t become a pattern. If no one came to the bar, then there was no need for a pianist.



When he left the bar after midnight, Ernest put his Leica around his neck and went to the pier where the Japanese cruiser was docked. Through the lens of his camera, he could see the marines patrolling on the deck. At dawn, just after the bell on the Customs House struck five, a motorboat, loaded with German beer and boxes of frozen steak, reached the cruiser.

He pressed his camera shutter.





33


AIYI


By the light through the window, I wiped off the powder and lipstick and took off the pearl hairpin, the gold necklace, and the gold leaf earrings. I stared at myself in the mirror. I rarely frowned to keep crow’s feet from creeping up around my eyes, never did laundry or scaled fish to avoid roughening my hands, and only drank warm rice milk to keep my skin free of black spots. For I had learned, even though I had the business acumen that Sassoon praised, my looks were valued most by my customers.

I took off the skintight dress and stood in front of the mirror. My figure was lean, lithe; my waist was slim; and my breasts were small but pointed. My body was not plump and voluptuous like Emily’s, my breasts not dramatic like Peiyu’s, but I was youthful and beautiful.

Growing up, I was told that revealing part of my body and, God forbid, showing cleavage was shameful. So even though I’d learned the Western ways in St. Mary’s Hall and seen nude paintings in magazines, I considered nude photos scandalous. If I had nude photos taken and Cheng or Sinmay got wind of it, they would skin me. My family’s reputation in the city, and my own, would be destroyed. I was not free like Emily, and my body could never be a form of art.

I opened my rosewood wardrobe to find something to wear. Inside were the one hundred silk dresses I had collected. Each was meticulously tailored and lovingly folded. They gleamed in colors of sea turquoise, metallic gold, peony red, milk white, and bamboo green, with various fasteners such as braided frogs, spiral knots, round medallion closures, classic buttons, and woven loops. Dresses were of utmost importance to me, like Mother’s jewelry, which I kept in drawers with the perfume bottles. They were the reminder of the life I used to have.

In one of the drawers, I had a hidden latch that stored five hundred American dollars. No one knew this, but I also hid cash in a drawer in my office. Always save money for a rainy day, Mother had said.

I picked out a turquoise silk robe from the wardrobe and put it on. Pulling aside the flaps of the silk tent over my four-poster bed, I climbed in. Tomorrow I would go see Ernest.



In my car, parked in a dark alley, Ernest said he had found a job in the Jazz Bar, which he greatly enjoyed, but trouble was brewing in the Settlement. The Japanese had taken control of the SMC and ordered the disbandment of the Sikh police. All the British were frightened.

I frowned. “This is disturbing. Did Yamazaki come to your bar?”

“He came to the hotel.”

Of course Yamazaki was still after him.

“Has he visited your club again, Aiyi? How’s your business?”

“Not good. But I’ll take care of it. You stay safe.”

Ernest had a smile on his face, his eyes the shade of blue that had become my favorite color, and his hand had healed completely, the stab wound a straight line in the center of his old scars. Just like that, I made up my mind.



Later I entered my office and closed the door. I took Mother’s photo and put her beside Buddha’s head. I knelt and prayed. Mother had said Buddha blessed the room wherever his statue rested, but kneeling in front of them, I asked not for their blessing, but their forgiveness. Then I picked up the phone near the calendar on the desk and dialed.

His impeccable British accent came through once I gave my name to his secretary. “Darling, I could hardly believe it’s you. Such a pleasure to hear your voice.”

“I promised to call you back, didn’t I?”

“Ah, I’m delighted. Would you like to have a tiffin or a supper at your leisure? Say, tomorrow?”