The Last Rose of Shanghai(54)

“I have an obligation to keep these photos safe. When I return, I’d like to see them again. I could take them with me, but transferring all the albums to the plane will put them in the hands of crass movers. I’d rather not risk it.”

Ernest took a drag of his cigar. No matter how angry he was at Sassoon, he still cared for Aiyi and her reputation. “Even if I’d like to, I don’t know how to keep them safe, sir.”

Sassoon smiled, limped across the sitting area, and disappeared behind the cabinet with shelves of whiskey bottles. When he returned, he held out a key. “This is the key to my studio. Come to check the penthouse once in a while if you decide to stay in Shanghai. I’ll give you the permission to access the penthouse. You don’t need to open the studio unless it’s necessary. Make sure not a single photo is damaged. If one is damaged or missing, I’ll hold you responsible. Agree?”

Ernest stubbed the cigar in the ash tray and took the key. It was golden, cold, like a frozen fish. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s good enough.” Sassoon picked up a decanter on the side table and poured some whiskey into two glasses. “I hear you were using the hotel’s phone to call Miss Shao.”

“There was a shooting incident in her club.”

“There was a shooting in Ciro’s too. Two men were shot by the Japanese. Unbelievable. I would never have imagined the Japanese attacking my property years ago. But the Japanese want control of the Settlement, and I fear there’s nothing we can do. Your photos are disturbing. My fellow businessmen have vowed to do all they can to protect the Settlement. Maybe it’s not too late. How’s she doing?” The Briton had the steady gaze he must have had when seated among the members of the Shanghai Club, though something in his sharp black eyes betrayed him for a fleeting moment.

The thought of telling Sassoon of their elopement crossed Ernest’s mind. “I don’t know.”

“I shall call her. Perhaps she would fly to New York with me.”

Ernest looked up. “She won’t do that.”

Sassoon handed him a glass of whiskey. “You seem to have strong feelings for her, Ernest. I’m not surprised. She’s an attractive woman. But I have a plan. A good plan.”

It was irritating to hear the confidence in the old man’s voice. Ernest drained the whiskey in one gulp. “God laughs when man plans, sir.”





43


AIYI


I felt sick on my bed. The bullet hadn’t penetrated me and barely touched my skin, but it seemed it had left a hole in my soul. In my twenty-one years of life, I had witnessed plenty of deaths, driven by the bloody execution stage, stepped over littered bodies, wept at the funerals of my parents and my brother, and heard stories of deaths at dinner. But I had never thought I would die.

I heard Ying’s voice, close by yet distant. He had saved me just before Yamazaki fired and brought me home. Ying was still talking about the shooting. He sounded proud, bragging about his skill, regretting that he’d only killed the soldier and missed Yamazaki.

So Yamazaki was still alive. Would he be enraged now, seeking revenge, or perhaps become more reasonable, letting Ernest and me go?

“Sassoon called. He said it was urgent. Since when did you become friends with that foreigner?” Ying said, opening my wardrobe, searching for cash, mumbling that he would pay me back once he won a poker game.

“Take my purse.” I buried my face in the soft silk quilt. Sassoon was the last thing on my mind. “Can you stay with me?” Never in my life had I been so frightened. My body ached, and I felt chilled.

“Can’t.” Ying emptied my purse and slipped out.

After a while, Sinmay came in. “You have brought this on yourself. You are reckless, thoughtless. I warned you not to get involved with the foreigner!”

I was almost shot, and that was all he could say.

“Why did you visit Emily and send her for the treatment? Now she’s clean and left Shanghai! You should have had the decency to tell me what you were doing behind my back.” He stormed out.

Peiyu, on her small lotus feet, waddled in with her handkerchief, her face strained with fear. This was bad luck, she said. The calendar had said we needed to avoid leaving home that day, and she should have told me. She must plan something festive to drive away bad luck. The wedding must happen as soon as possible. Finally, she toddled out.

None of them asked how I was doing.



Insomnia. A plague. For hours I lay in bed, thoughts of whys, hows, and what-ifs swinging in my head like crazy legs in the ballroom. I heard groans vibrating in the ceiling, caught shadows lurking behind the wardrobes, and glimpsed shapes of people: Lanyu, Yamazaki, the three gangly boys, Cheng, and even Ernest. They were bleeding, covered with blood, yet they all danced to the sound of gunfire while the windows, the lights, and the broken glass cascaded in a waterfall of shards. Lanyu was digging at my eyes. “Save me, save me!”

And the music. It was so loud. Disjointed. Raging. It wouldn’t stop. Make it stop.



Silence was a noise with teeth; it gnawed on my skin and left deep marks. Silence was a noise with arms and legs; it crawled across the rafters and spread its spawns of spells. Silence was a noise with a face, a face of dust and doom, a face of motes and moans.