Shanghai Twilight
Page 2
Tom stopped at a table occupied by the only two Chinese patrons in the dining hall and gave a slight bow. The occupants stood and offered Tom firm handshakes and welcoming smiles.
Uniformed in a blue-gray tunic, breeches, and black jackboots, Tung Hsi-shan struck an imposing figure. A graduate of the Whampoa Academy – the West Point of China – Tung was the epitome of a modern officer in the Nationalist Army, the military arm of the Kuomintang. Here was a soldier who fought, not for warlords or plunder, but for the Chinese Republic. Metallic rank insignia on his collar – a gold stripe against a red background and three gold triangles – denoted his rank of infantry captain.
With a large, shaven head and a lean, muscular frame, Captain Tung’s presence was both intimidating and comforting, like a trained wolf. Despite their many differences, Tom had managed to befriend the Captain, further ingratiating himself with the Nationalist Government. It was Captain Tung who had set up this mysterious meeting in the first place.
Tom had never met the other man before but his identity was no secret. Thin and bespectacled, Chow Chun-wah looked the part of a government bureaucrat. A pressed gray suit hung off his gaunt body, ornamented with a White Sun insignia on the lapel, the emblem of the ruling Nationalist Party, the Kuomintang. Tom glanced down at his lapel to make sure his own Kuomintang badge was fastened tight.
“May I present Mr. Chow Chun-wah from the Ministry of Finance,” Tung said and then gestured to Tom. “Mr. Thomas Lai, the owner of Club Twilight.”
Chow gave another good-natured smile and Tom reciprocated, Party member to Party member. With the introductions completed, the men took their seats. Tom pulled out his gold cigarette case and offered a round of Lucky Strikes, a clear sign of respect to the older men. After lighting up, they took a few moments to enjoy the tobacco before Tom began.
“I apologize for being late,” Tom spoke in Cantonese, the language of southern China. The region was not only where the Kuomintang had been born, but also where the Lai family traced their roots. “There was a lot of commotion outside.”
Chow’s face lit up and he replied back in Cantonese, “You mean the anti-Japanese demonstration? Ah, such a fine display of patriotism!”
“Whatever it is, it caused traffic to back up,” Tom said, blowing a curl of smoke.
“Our citizens are outraged at Japan’s naked aggression and banditry in Manchuria. They demand action,” Captain Tung said, slamming his fist down on the table.
“Well, it looks like they might get it right here,” Tom said, “if Mayor Wu rejects their demands to stop these boycotts. It’s hurting them in the pocketbook, and in this depression, Japan needs all the money it can get.”
Chow scoffed. “The Chinese people won’t stand for another national humiliation! Mayor Wu Tieh-cheng will stand firm against Japan’s attempt to bully China once again.”
Tom wasn’t convinced and let it show on his face.
“Remember that Japanese monk who was beaten to death last week?” he asked. “Just a few minutes ago, a Japanese couple was almost poked full of holes by some of those protesters.” Tom didn’t volunteer who saved them. “All Japan needed was a fake attack on their railroad to invade all of Manchuria. Now, they have plenty of reasons to attack Shanghai under the pretext of ‘protecting their citizens.’”
Chow gave a knowing smile between drags on his cigarette. “That is why I traveled all the way from Nanking. Indeed, the next confrontation with the Japanese will be here in Shanghai. And you, Mr. Lai, will pay for it.”
CHAPTER THREE
Tom peered through the veil of cigarette smoke and scanned Chow’s face for any sign of humor. Unfortunately, there was a disturbing seriousness in the bureaucrat’s face. Perhaps a joke would diffuse the situation.
“Sure, I’ve been keeping a sock full of cash under my mattress for just such an occasion,” he said with a wry smile.
Chow chuckled and shook his head. “Perhaps I misspoke. Not you alone. But Generalissimo Chiang expects all Party members to donate generously to the defense of the nation. He needs your help again.”
“Anything for Gimo,” Tom said, using the affectionate nickname for Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek.
So that’s all this meeting was. Just another collection drive for the Nationalist Government. Still, if anyone deserved the money, it was Chiang Kai-shek. Hadn’t the Generalissimo mopped up those feuding warlords with the Nationalist Army and turned China into a unified nation? But the country was still plagued by poverty, banditry, Communism, and foreign aggression. The survival of the Chinese Republic was a dream that Tom Lai would help make a reality, no matter what.
Behind his glasses, Chow’s eyes brightened. “I’m glad you feel that way Mr. Lai. Captain Tung tells me that Club Twilight is one of the most popular spots in Shanghai.”
“You flatter my unworthy little nightclub,” Tom said, blowing out a puff of smoke with a grin.
“Tell me, Mr. Lai,” Chow said, flicking the ash off of his cigarette. “Why did you open up your club in Chapei and not in the International Settlement?”
“Well, I want to say it was motivated out of a desire to give back to the Chinese community…but the truth is that real estate’s cheaper over there,” Tom said with a grin.
The three of them shared a laugh.
“Spoken like a true Chinese,” Chow said. “We love to save money.” He sighed and continued, “Unfortunately, we cannot afford to be so frugal when China faces its greatest peril. That is why I’m in Shanghai, selling bonds and securing loans from the local businesses and bankers.”
“Mr. Lai is a loyal Party member who has come to our aid before,” Captain Tung cut in. “He helped finance the last Bandit Extermination Campaign.”
A colorful term for civil war. There had been many “Bandit Extermination Campaigns” directed against the Communists who had set up their own Soviet Republic in the southern province of Kiangsi. All of which had resulted in defeat for the better-equipped Nationalist Army.
“As a businessman, Communism offends me,” Tom said, after another puff. “But Gimo seems more determined to crush that nest of bed bugs rather than to deal with the ravenous wolf that’s right outside his front door.”
Chow gave the Captain an offended glance.
“The Generalissimo believes in the policy of ‘internal pacification first, external resistance second’,” Tung offered after a sheepish cough.
Chow frowned and ashed his cigarette. “You doubt Chiang Kai-shek’s strategy, Mr. Lai?”
“It’s the American in me,” Tom said, holding up a placating hand. “We’re accustomed to criticizing our leaders. I just feel that the Japanese are a greater threat. Besides, nothing breaks my heart more than Chinese killing other Chinese, even if they are Reds.”
Captain Tung nodded. “The Communists can be finished off in time but only if the Japanese devils are dealt with first.”
Chow puffed away on his cigarette. “I actually agree with you and the Captain, Mr. Lai. It is unfortunate that the Generalissimo does not see the danger coming from that island of dwarf bandits. When the fighting begins, Shanghai cannot rely on any help from Nanking.”
“Oh? Is Shanghai no longer part of China?” Tom asked, softening the insult with a coy grin.
Chow chuckled. “Well, I’m sure you know that although China is unified on paper, the central government – that is the Kuomintang – really only controls about a third of the country. The rest is ruled by warlords who have pledged loyalty to Generalissimo Chiang and the Kuomintang. It is difficult to have national unity with so many alliances.”
Tom shrugged. “Still, China is the most unified it’s been since the Manchus were overthrown.”
“A fair point, Mr. Lai. However, I’m sure you’re aware of the internal politics that are tearing the Kuomintang apart?”
“From what I hear, Chiang resigned as Chairman of the Nationalist Government because of that mess in Manchuria. Now it’s a power struggle in Nanking.”
“We do not need reinforcements from Nanking!” Tung roared, banging his fist on the table. “The officers and men of the 19th Route Army are ready! My company has been tasked with guarding the North Railway Station, which I will turn into a fortress! Our commander, General Tsai Ting-kai, is one of the most brilliant officers in the entire Nationalist Army. With him leading us, we cannot lose!”
“I’m sure even Hirohito heard you over in Tokyo, Captain,” Tom said, taking one last drag on his cigarette. “Let’s have a toast.” Flagging down a waiter, Tom switched over to English and ordered, “Three whiskeys, please. Scotch.”
A few minutes later, the men received their liquor and raised their glasses.
“To the Chinese Republic! To Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek! And to victory!” Tom toasted.
“Kanpei,” Tung and Chow responded before they all downed their whiskeys.
The alcohol soothed Tom’s nerves but unease lingered in the air along with the smoke. Suspicious, shifty glares from the surrounding tables made him feel even more like a Chinaman. Part of Tom wanted to relocate to a friendlier bar, but he couldn’t lose face in front of his fellow Kuomintang members. After all, the survival of Club Twilight and his future with Mei-chen depended on keeping favor with the Nationalist Party.
“Will two hundred thousand American be enough?” Tom asked, pulling out his checkbook.
Chow gave a faint hissing noise, expressing disapproval. “Unfortunately, that won’t be enough. I told Finance Minister Soong that we could count on at least half a million.”
Tom blinked in confusion. “That’s how much I gave last time.”
“Yes, but things have changed,” Chow said as he began cleaning his glasses with a pocket cloth. “A year ago, we only had to contend with the Communists. The loss of Manchuria has robbed us of millions of our countrymen, valuable natural resources, and countless factories. Added to that, the world economic depression makes securing loans from foreign nations almost impossible. All patriotic Chinese – especially members of the Kuomintang – must dig deep into their pockets.” Placing the glasses back on, Chow added, “You are Chinese, aren’t you, Mr. Lai?”
At times like this, Tom wasn’t sure of what he was. American by birth, Chinese by ancestry, both yet neither. The police officer’s insults resurfaced in his mind, along with countless slights, taunts, and cruelty he’d endured back in the States. He’d given so much to both countries and for what? Part of him wanted to write a check out for one million, two million, three million dollars, just to prove his loyalty to China out of spite. But San Francisco entered his mind and quelled his fury.
He would be back there soon enough, where he and Mei-chen would own a nice Victorian mansion together. They’d travel back and forth between Shanghai and Frisco, opening up businesses in both cities and for that, he’d need to save his money.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chow, but business has been slow over the winter. As you said, the depression has hurt everybody.”
“I see,” Chow said, irritation flickering behind his glasses like a dimming light bulb. Within moments, it was gone. “May I ask your Chinese name?”
“Huang-fu,” Tom said.
Chow pursed his lips and nodded. “Wealthy future?”
“My father was a businessman, like me. He wanted us all to be rich.”
“And Tom came from…?”
“Thomas Jefferson, of course. He was the most famous American my parents could think of.”
Chow gave a gracious smile. “Well, Lai Huang-fu, on behalf of the Chinese Republic and Chiang Kai-shek, I thank you.”
“I wish I could give more,” Tom replied with some truth. He glanced over to Tung, who couldn’t hide his disappointment. The same look that his father had given him so many times. “But with men like Captain Tung leading the fight, victory is assured.”
The Captain nodded. “I wish I could have you fighting beside me, Lai Huang-fu.” He turned to Chow. “Do you know he served in France?”
Genuine surprise lit up behind Chow’s glasses. “You were in the World War? I didn’t know America allowed Chinese to fight in their army.”
“Of course! There were even Chinese fighting at Gettysburg,” Tom said. Tung gave an impressed nod but Chow stared in confusion. “During the American Civil War,” he clarified.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Lai,” Chow said. “Did you order white men into battle?”
“Never made it past private, I’m afraid. But the US Army did award me the Citation Star.” Tom didn’t volunteer any further. In Chinese culture, accomplishments should be hinted at but not boasted. Besides, revisiting the war always left him with a hollow, washed-out feeling.
“If you change your mind and wish to fight, there’s always a place for you in my company,” Captain Tung said.
The hint was clear enough. If Tom couldn’t pay the half million, the least he could do was fight for the country that had allowed him to prosper so much. A valid point, Tom conceded. But he’d already done enough soldiering in the mud and muck of the Argonne Forest to last a lifetime. Instead, he settled on a third option.
“Tonight’s bill will go on my tab,” Tom said. Fighting over the bill was customary for any Chinese dinner, with each man insisting he would pay for the other. Rather than endure that staged drama, Tom would settle the matter here and now.
“Very well, Mr. Lai,” Chow said smiling. “What do you recommend here?”
“I’m thinking of an old American delicacy. Have either of you gentlemen had chop suey before?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Club Twilight glowed like an oasis in a wasteland. As he stepped out of his Bentley, Tom felt like a proud parent. Blinking neon signs proclaiming its name in both English and with Chinese characters hung above the entrance. Their cascading glow seemed to warm the crisp night air.
Until two years ago, the structure had been one of the many somber warehouses that dotted the city. Through hard work and connections, Tom had transformed it into one of the most popular nightclubs in Shanghai, despite being located in the industrial Chapei district.
A stream of clientele moved in and out of Club Twilight like flowing rivers. Tom joined their ranks and entered the lobby, where a Chinese boy – one of Shanghai’s many orphans – took his hat and coat. Off to the right, another boy sold tickets for taxi dancers, where a line had formed.
Tom turned and almost collided with what looked like a wall wearing a tuxedo. With his massive build, bald head, bulbous nose, and thick mustache, Yan Ping resembled Genghis Khan stuffed into a dinner jacket. Fitting since he had been a veteran soldier in the warlord Sun Chuan-fang’s army. That is, until Chiang Kai-shek and the Nationalists had defeated them in battle and occupied Shanghai.
No hostility remained inside Yan though, since Tom paid him good money to be head of Club Twilight’s security.
“Welcome Mr. Lai,” he said with a little bow.
“Thanks for opening up the club, Yan. It’s busy, I see.”
“Oh yes, very busy tonight. Whenever there’s trouble outside, people try and forget about it inside.”
“Yan my friend, you’re wiser than Confucius,” Tom said with a smile. He made his way into the main hall and looked for Mei-chen. Large American and Chinese flags hung crisscrossed on the walls – the Stars and Stripes locked firm with the White Sun of the Kuomintang.
Fifty or so tables surrounded a large dance floor, completely packed with guests. A few of his taxi dancers stood off to the side, mostly Chinese and Russian girls, willing to dance with any man so long as they paid. Just like taxicabs, these girls had their fares.
The Twilight Band was a motley assortment, drawn from Peking, Canton, Hong Kon
g, and Shanghai. Despite the lack of standard dialect, they all understood the language of jazz and played as if they were at Harlem’s Cotton Club. The long bar was crowded with guests, drowning their worries in liquor.
About half of the clientele were native Chinese, decked out in Western clothes and traditional changshan long shirts. The others were foreign, hailing from America, Britain, Italy, France, Germany, Siam, the Philippines, Malaya, Persia, and maybe even Timbuktu. Club Twilight didn’t have opium or gambling, but it could boast the prettiest taxi dancers and the best jazz band in all Shanghai. Despite its lack of vice, the club had become a haven for foreign diplomats and Chinese taipans looking for foreign connections.
In the sea of dancers, Ho Mei-chen was easy to spot in a red cheongsam gown and her signature flared black leather gauntlets. She swayed and twirled with a tall white man in a light gray double-breasted suit. Charles Whitfield was instantly recognizable, and – even though he was dancing with his girl – Tom couldn’t suppress a smile.
Blonde, blue-eyed, and strapping, Whitfield looked like a cross between Lucky Lindy and Tarzan. In contrast to his football player physique, he was actually a government bureaucrat, specifically a foreign service officer attached to the US Consulate. He was also one of the few white men who treated Tom as an equal, probably because he was the son of Christian missionaries.
Through the dancing throng, they soon spotted Tom and waved. Whitfield took Mei-chen by the arm and led her off the dance floor. Tom joined them at a nearby table.
“Good to see you, old boy,” Whitfield said as they shook hands. “I hope you don’t mind me dancing with your lady.”
“Not at all, so long as you paid her,” Tom said with a wry grin in Shanghainese.
The Consulate man threw back his blonde head and laughed. Fluent in many regional dialects, Whitfield had served all over China, from Peking, followed by Nanking, then Canton, and finally Shanghai. Although a missionary’s son, service in the World War seemed to have killed whatever Christian zeal had resided inside Chares Whitfield. Either that or it was Shanghai itself that had corrupted a once nice church boy from Boston into this secular, worldly diplomat.