The Last Rose of Shanghai(78)

The old man was counting. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

“Longjing or Biluochun?” Sinmay spoke with his usual gramophone voice, but his tone, to my surprise, was without rancor.

A tea aficionado, he could spend hours lecturing on the varied shapes of tea leaves. A Longjing leaf looked like the tongue of a spring swallow, and a Biluochun leaf appeared to be a supple conch from a fertile bank. All that poetic nonsense.

“I don’t drink tea. Peiyu loves tea.”

“They are the finest of our country. Try them.” He reached for a teapot and poured the tea into a cup in front of me.

Sinmay, like Cheng, had never poured tea for anyone, let alone me. I stared at him.

“Don’t look surprised. It’s tea. The last cup in this teahouse. They don’t have any more left. Drink while you can. Hong Kong has fallen, do you know? I received a letter from Emily, dated in December after Hong Kong’s fall. It took the letter six months to arrive. But she replied after all. She said the Japanese arrested many American sailors, British soldiers, and their families, and drove them to markets and beheaded them.”

A shiver ran through me. “How’s Emily?”

“She was arrested, but she showed them our marriage certificate to prove she was a wife of a Chinese citizen. So she was released. Remember the certificate? It was her idea. She wanted to save our printing press from falling into Japanese hands. She carried the certificate with her in Hong Kong, and it saved her life.” He handed me a letter.

My dearest Sinmay, my love, my soul mate, she wrote.

“She loves me, little sister. I know love will not turn into ash.”

“Is she coming back to Shanghai?” I gave him back the letter.

“She didn’t say. She asked about you. She said you were a talented businesswoman. I shouldn’t have hit you and locked you up.”

Another surprise. Sinmay was too arrogant. Apology was one of the metaphors missing in his poetry. When he’d crossed my name off Mother’s will, he had never thought of my rights.

I picked up the teacup, unsure what to make of this change.

He stared at the floating leaves. “I envy you, little sister. I was like you once. Emily and I fell for each other head over heels. We didn’t care about what others thought. Your sister-in-law didn’t approve of us, my friends didn’t approve of us, but they couldn’t stop us. Emily was born with a free spirit, and I loved her for that. We wrote our poetry in bed, shared our verses under the moon, composed the rhymes in the sun. We were in love.” Scratchiness appeared in his voice. “If you really wish to live with that pianist, I won’t stop you. And I shall give you my blessing.”

I didn’t expect this. A wave of laughter came from the trio at the far end. “You mean it?”

He nodded. “Come home. A good woman cannot live in an inn.”

I looked at him. “I’m with child, older brother.”

He put down the teacup. “I was worried about that. Come home. You need your family.”

Tears of relief, of joy, of gratitude burst in my eyes. “I don’t know what to say, but why?”

Sinmay turned to the window, his long aristocratic nose a ridge of sadness reflected by the light drilling through the latticed windows. “These days, I often wonder, who am I? If I’m a poet, why am I flying like a bird who can’t see the sky? If I’m a man, why do I feel trapped in my own courtyard? If I’m a husband, why am I miserable with my wife?” He bent to pick up a suitcase, which I had not noticed before. “I don’t want to live like this anymore. I’m going to find Emily. I’ll get her back.”

“Wait . . . Does Peiyu know? Did you tell her? You have a family. You can’t just leave.”

“If I stay, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“But what about your publishing business?”

“My publishing business has long been nonexistent. The Japanese burned my magazines. They forbade me to publish my stories, and I refused to publish theirs. The calendar printing was profitable, but it was not enough to sustain the whole enterprise. I’ve closed them all.”

“You didn’t tell me. Does Peiyu know?”

“She doesn’t. If she needs money she can sell the heirlooms. She runs the house.”

“Sell heirlooms! You’re broke!”

“I’m a better poet than businessman.”

That explained why he asked me to go home. He had lost all, and now he’d decided to run away.

“I can’t believe it. You’re destitute. You’re a terrible person. Irresponsible. What about our family? Did you talk to Ying? Does he know?”

“I couldn’t find him.”

A mournful tone flowed from the two-string instrument and rippled across the teahouse.

“Can you wait so you can talk to him first?”

“You know Ying. He’s never around. Who knows what he’s doing. You can let him know when you see him. Our family will be fine. You’ll be fine. Your foreigner will take care of you, too.”

“But you can’t just leave!”

“I have to, Aiyi. Now, now. This is good tea. Let’s finish it. I like Longjing better than Biluochun.”

I held my head. I was shaking with anger, but tears poured out of me. I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t form a coherent thought; I didn’t know what was wrong with me.