The Last Rose of Shanghai(95)

I chose the beautiful villas with wrought iron balconies and shuttered windows behind the towering plane trees, the former residences of the captured or escaped Americans and Europeans. These houses had no central hall, reception room, or covered wells but had a dining room, study, swimming pool, and servant bedrooms. I climbed over the fence near the swimming pool and hit the windows with a rock to get in. From the front entry, I went straight to the food storage, called a pantry, and then to the wine cellar to take whatever I could find. Which was not that much. For many houses had already been raided and emptied, probably by the families’ Chinese servants.

I was doing well with packets of spaghetti, dried soup mix, tomato sauce called ketchup, cookies, and sometimes chocolate, but never rice. Once I found a box of Twinkies among trampled glass and debris. Knowing these were rare desserts that would fetch good money, I carefully ripped those Twinkies, licked out all the crumbs and the cream inside—they tasted like a slice of heaven, even better than the pastries I had enjoyed at the afternoon teas in Sassoon House—and then rewrapped them, sealed them over fire, and traded them on the street. I was able to barter for necessities such as soaps, matches, coal bits, rice, kerosene, and a bowl. It was the most profitable deal I’d ever had.

Little Star was pleased with my loot, and sometimes I took her with me. But life for a woman on the street was dangerous. In my fitted dress that began to show some wear and tear, I was wary of the glances of men. I thought of dressing up as a man, wearing a suit and pants, but I was almost caught stealing the suits at a stall. So when I entered a grand two-story European-style house, I raided the servants’ bedroom and found a long black cotton dress with white ruffled cuffs and a high collar, a white apron, a white mobcap, and a leather key holder. I took off the scruffy dress I had worn for months and changed into the maid’s dress. I also took the apron, which could be altered into a shirt for Little Star and the leather key holder, which could be used as a toy. Under the bed, I found a pair of worn cloth shoes with rubber soles and put them on too.

From then on, I raided villas in the maid’s dress and robbed the houses in daylight. The gangsters left me alone, believing I was a foreigner; so did the soldiers who thought I was a foreigner’s servant. I went in and out from the front doors without being harassed.

I grew bolder. When the houses were locked up and emptied out, I crossed the ferry and went as far as the northern district near Hongkou. I saw the sign for the stateless people, but I didn’t intend to stay for long. This was not an affluent area, and it was likely I would come home empty-handed.



“Aiyi?”

The voice, so familiar, startled me, and I withdrew my hand that was about to grab a strip of dried yam on a bamboo tray and turned around. I had not imagined it. Across from me, near the sign THE DESIGNATED AREA FOR STATELESS PERSONS, stood Ernest.

He looked haggard in the late summer heat, his face wan, his eyes sunken. What have you done to yourself? I wanted to ask, but I refused to say it.

“You . . . What happened, Aiyi?”

Irony. We still shared similar thoughts. I could see myself through his eyes. I was no longer fresh, vivid like a painting. I had no mirror, but I had seen my reflection in the water. My skin, which used to shine like a pearl, was lackluster and dull; my face was dotted with smudges I was too tired to wipe off. My eyes, which had reflected the glimmer of a thousand lights, were shifty with hunger; beneath them rippled what I had dreaded. Wrinkles.

“War happened. What else?” I looked straight ahead of me, where a Japanese soldier on a motorcycle was rubbing his hands, humming a tune unfamiliar to me. He hadn’t noticed us yet.

Ernest staggered across the sign, his hand reaching out. There were tears, regret, joy, and so much more in his eyes. “I’m so happy. I can’t believe it. I thought I’d never see you again.”

He was not lying; he still loved me. But why bother to say that?

“I looked for you, Aiyi.”

He was going to ask me about our daughter, and he was going to lash out at me, at my selfishness. But he had no right. He had let me go, and he had never come to my home. “You said it was over.”

The soldier swung a rifle on his shoulder to point toward us and shouted at Ernest to stay back. He didn’t seem to hear. “I’m sorry.”

What did it even mean? Sorry that he had loved me, sorry that he had forsaken me? I had lost my business, fought my family, ruined my life for him. And he kicked me away, pregnant with his child. Now my child was gone, my home was lost, and my life had fallen apart. I wished I never had fallen for him, never had hired him, never had met him.

“Goodbye, Ernest.”





78


ERNEST


He watched her leave as the soldier thrust him back to the designated area. He wanted to call out and ask her: What happened? Why was she not with Cheng? And would she forgive him? But he couldn’t speak. He had left her when he was wealthy, and now he was destitute and imprisoned; it would be pointless to ask for her hand. Still, he was grateful to see her face, grateful that he had wandered off to the boundary of the district, with no hope and no purpose, when he stared at the maid’s dress. There she was. It was almost like a disjointed dream, a vision from a distant sky, a colored picture above a dusty street.

She had changed, but who wouldn’t? She hated him, but what else would he expect? He still loved her. He would always love her.