by Tan, Amy
We went into the garden. I realized that my feelings toward Lu Shing had changed. I did not need him for happiness or a home or a future. I had been freed in mind to see him as he was: a man whom I had been infatuated with, whom I might still love, but that was not certain. I wondered if he sensed the difference in me.
“My mother has agreed to see our son,” he said. “I told her that he has many of the Lu family features and that there is no question he is part of our lineage. From the moment I saw him, I said, he fastened his eyes on me and recognized me as his father.”
I laughed at the lie.
“And I told her his name is Lu Shen. Shen means ‘profound.’ I would have chosen a name with you, but there was no time. I saw the opportunity to speak to my mother when no one else was around to hear what I had to say.”
“I certainly can’t criticize you for giving him a Chinese name. I’ve already given him an American one. Teddy Minturn Danner. Teddy not Theodore.” Two names, given separately, a sign of how far apart we had grown. “I just now realized I never thought to ask you what your name Shing means.”
“‘Fulfillment,’” he said, “a name that mocks me. I have fulfilled nothing—not to you nor to my family. I have failed as an artist. But our son will make up for my failures. He will one day be the head of a great family.”
Those last words were opium to my soul. “When does your mother want to see him?”
“Tonight. She is already eager. It would be best that I take him to her by myself. If she wants him as her grandson, she would then present him to my father. And if he agrees, we can then tell them that you must be recognized as his mother.”
“Tell me again what we would do if they do not recognize me?”
“You and I will raise him outside of the family. But he will not have legitimacy as a Chinese son, and so he would not be entitled to position or an inheritance, and I want those for our son.”
I asked him to let me think and I would give him my decision tonight whether he could take our son without me. I posed the question to Golden Dove and Danner. They could reject him, I said. Or they could accept him but not accept me. We talked throughout the day. I posed the possibilities and they reflected with me. And if they gave me advice that differed from what I wanted, I did not hear it. I wanted my children—Violet and Teddy—to be recognized and given every opportunity for a good life of their own choosing.
I had Teddy bundled and ready when Lu Shing came that evening. He had brought a nursemaid and silk baby pajamas. He held me in gratitude and professed love for me. Tomorrow afternoon, he would return Teddy to me and I would have had hardly enough time to miss him. I kissed Teddy’s sleeping face. And then I let him go.
I could not sleep. I imagined what Lu Shing’s mother would feel when she saw him. I imagined the worst, her look of disgust. Danner kept me company, trying to distract me with stories of Little Teddy’s namesake. When I expressed worries that all would be for naught, I was grateful when he enumerated the reasons I could hope Lu Shing would succeed. He began with the desperate need of a grandmother seeing a grandson before she passed from this world. He said that she was likely indulgent with Lu Shing, since he was her firstborn son. He cited numerous families who were known to have mixed blood. He said that Teddy was too beautiful for any grandmother to refuse.
At 9:00 A.M., Lu Shing’s coolie arrived with the familiar envelope in a silk pouch. “My dear Lucia, Our hopes are closer to coming true. She is very much taken with him.” I gave out a shout of joy. I continued reading: “She is confident she can persuade my father to accept our son as his grandson. She will do so tomorrow when he returns to Shanghai. For now, she would like to spend more time with the baby. This, she said, will enable her to say just the right words to my father to overcome obstacles. We must be patient for another day.”
I was not happy that Lu Shing’s mother would keep Teddy. It had been difficult for even one night. I debated whether to send a letter asking that he return Teddy for the time being. If his mother was as pleased as he made her out to be, she would still be pleased when Lu Shing’s father returned. I sent a note requesting that Lu Shing return the baby.
In the afternoon, when I expected him to return Teddy, I received his note in reply: “My dear Lucia, all continues with hopeful signs. My mother had a message delivered to my father, and he is returning early. He will arrive this evening.”
I should have been happy that progress had been made. But I was not happy that Teddy was not in my arms. I should have insisted on being there. Were they jostling him too much? Did they allow him to sleep? And then another fear, the size of a grain of sand, crept in under my skin. Would she return him? The grain of sand went into my eye, and I became so anxious I walked up and down the alley. Danner could not follow me without becoming winded. He suggested I smoke opium to take my mind off what I could not change for the moment.
The next morning, Lu Shing sent more good news: “My brothers and their wives have seen the baby and were also very much taken with him. They, too, thought he has the features of the family. My father is already so fond of his grandson he talks to him of his future. All obstacles are being rolled out of the way.”
I could not celebrate this victory until Lu Shing returned with Teddy. Danner and Golden Dove tried to distract me from worry. They talked about all the privileges my children would receive—education, respect, and power. My son could become a corrupt bureaucrat, if I did not instill good values in him. Danner bounced two-year-old Violet on his belly, singing a ditty and raising her above his head: “Ride a high horse, giddy-up up up …” Teddy would be home by the afternoon.
By evening, I was frantic. Lu Shing still had not arrived. If he had been delayed, he should have sent a note of explanation. I went through the different possibilities of what might have happened: Teddy had fallen ill and they did not want to tell me. Perhaps Lu Shing’s father had a change of heart and his mother wanted to keep Teddy longer to encourage him to reconsider. Maybe Lu Shing’s wife objected and more time was needed to smooth this out. But none of these fears was as great as the one that came true.
Late at night, the coolie handed me a note, this one hastily scrawled. “My dear Lucia, I am at a loss to tell you what has happened …” Lu Shing’s father and mother had decided to keep Teddy. They would not recognize me as his mother. He would be the son of Lu Shing’s wife. His mother had already taken Teddy away when she told him of her decision. He did not know where the baby was. “Lucia, if I knew where he was, I would have delivered him into your arms by now. I am sickened by what has happened, and I can only imagine your shock.” He went on about a threat his family had made to never allow Lu Shing to ever see Teddy again if he attempted to see me.
I was shaking and could not make sense of the letter. I raced downstairs to find the coolie gone. I ran out into the alley and along Nanking Road. I cursed and wept. When I finally returned two hours later, Danner and Golden Dove were sitting at the table with grim expressions. They had read the letter several times to decipher what each sentence meant.
“This is kidnapping,” Danner said. “We shall go to the American Consulate first thing tomorrow morning.”
Moments later, horror washed over his face. During all the excitement of gaining the Lu family’s approval, we had neglected to register Teddy as Danner’s and my son at the American Consulate. How could we claim a child was missing when he never existed in their records? Lu Shing may have already made a legal claim.
I lay in bed for three days, neither sleeping nor eating. Golden Dove and Danner took care of Violet. I went through everything that had happened. I had felt the danger. I should have accompanied Lu Shing, at least in the carriage. I should have hired a carriage to follow the coolie. I wrestled with the idea that Lu Shing had been part of the plot all along. At last he was rid of me, his problem, the American girl who would never understand what it meant to be Chinese. He had no feelings for me or for little Violet.
Danner grieved nearly
as much as I did. In little Teddy, he had resurrected his old companion and now had lost them both. Instead of eating insatiably, he stopped altogether. Golden Dove organized herself to find Teddy and assured me she would. She searched among her friends in courtesan houses for those who might know a man named Lu who worked for the Ministry of Foreign Relations. There are ten thousand Lu families, they said. What part of the foreign ministry? There are many foreigners requiring administration these days. What is your business? Why do you wish to find him?
When I revived myself and left my bed, I held Little Violet close to me, afraid that she, too, would disappear. She squirmed. I put her down and watched her toddle over to a pile of books and knock them down. She looked at me for approval and I forced myself to smile. For her, there was no such thing as hatred, betrayal, or false love.
A MONTH AFTER we lost Teddy, Danner stood up from the dining table with a groan and complained of indigestion. He went to bed at ten in the evening. He never woke up.
My heart was too worn to feel the sharpness of his death. I could not possibly feel more pain, and I refused to know what the loss of him meant. But over the days, a gnawing hollow of grief enlarged. Where was the man who had given me the fullness of his heart, his home, his compassion and love? He had felt my hopes and defeats, my fury and sorrow. He had given me decency and bestowed upon Violet a legitimate birth. He equipped me with armor to be brave and go forward. Danner had been the father I wished I had had. I should have told him. We were the little family he had wanted to have. We belonged to him and he to us. He knew that.
Upon reporting his death to the American Consulate, I discovered that Danner’s possessions had passed to me—the house, the paintings, the furniture, and the tassels. I had been his wife and was now his widow. He had not forgotten Golden Dove. The rent he had collected from her had gone into a bank account in her name. She offered to pay me her usual rent so that she could stay and still serve her clients. I told her to live with me as a guest, and she said I was better than a sister. Although I had inherited the house, there was only a little bit of money for daily expenditures. We had already used much of that for Danner’s burial. For income, Danner had sold a painting or two each month and always after great deliberation over which one he could bear to part with. I brought a few paintings to a gallery and was told they were worth next to nothing. I would not let Danner’s paintings fall into the hands of cheats. I took the paintings home and told the servants that I could not pay them. Two left, but the amah and coolie stayed. They said it was enough to have a place to live and food to eat, and they even argued that they could haggle and buy provisions for prices far cheaper than a foreigner could get. I was grateful, yet we all knew we were delaying the inevitable. And then where would we go? I walked through the house, noting what I might sell—the sofa, the large armchair with its sagging cushion, the table and lamp—surveying all as I stepped between piles of books snaking through the house and piled on the mantel with swags of tassels. Books and tassels, the overflow of two spendthrifts, which now would sustain two frugal women.
At first, I was particular in selling only the books I would never read: the medical benefits of leeches, tide tables, the mechanics of musical instruments, the density of liquids. It turned out that they were the same books that no one else wanted to read. I then parted with the novels that would sell quickly among the American and British recent arrivals. Maritime history, historic accounts by British sea captains, and an atlas of maps were surprisingly popular. When the floors were cleared of books, I began with those on the shelves. I calculated how soon we would be broke: six months, less, if the remaining books proved unpopular reading. At bookshops, I always asked if a customer named Lu Shing had come by. I explained that I had found the book he was interested in. I always carried a pen with a sharp nib so if I found him, I would be ready to slash his face if he did not take me to Teddy. He should bear his shame publicly and forever.
Golden Dove and I made a list of all the possible routes for making money. She could teach English and Chinese. I could serve as a guide for Westerners wishing to explore “the mysteries of Shanghai.” We left leaflets in the American shops, at the clubs, along the walls near the American Consulate. In between, I went to art galleries, looking for paintings of dark rain clouds, a long green valley, and mountains. Every day we walked through the streets of the International Settlement to look for places where we might promote our services and vowed not to give up, despite the ever-growing number of people crowding Shanghai—a million, Danner had told me, double what it had been not that long ago. Many of the men around the Bund, along Nanking Road, and other parts of the International Settlement were rich Chinese men dressed in tailored suits and wearing Homberg hats like Lu Shing’s, and I would hurry to catch sight of their faces. I always returned home exhausted but never defeated.
After all that effort I had discovered one thing: No foreigners were interested in learning Chinese—all except the missionaries, and they had their own Chinese teachers. I found a few American men who were eager for a tour of Shanghai, but they also believed we were prostitutes who would provide a tour within the mysteries of female genitalia.
One warm day a man who watched me posting a notice of our sightseeing services asked if I knew where he could find a pub. I suggested the American Club. Too stuffy, he answered. I mentioned the bars along the Bund. Too boisterous and full of drunk sailors. He wanted a small-town pub that reminded him of the one back home. ”Everyone claims Shanghai has everything,” he said, “but I have yet to find a pub where a fellow can share a pint with friends, smoke a cigar, and sing old tunes around the piano.”
“If it’s homey you want, I know just the place. It will open its doors next week.” I wrote down the name and address: “Danner’s Pub. 18 East Floral Alley.” When I returned home and told Golden Dove the exciting news, she was elated. “At last!” she cried. Then she said: “What is a pub?”
“Whatever it is,” I said, “we can do it.”
Danner’s Pub took shape over the next few months through the suggestions and dissatisfactions of our early customers. We started our first week with a pitiful stock: beer, cheap cigars, and gut-smoldering whiskey. Our greatest asset turned out to be sentimental songs. I thanked Mr. Maubert for having my extra pinkies chopped off, thereby enabling me to take piano lessons. In the piano bench, I found piles of sheet music—sweet ballads for the most part. I wrote down requests the customers gave for favorite tunes. I told them to return the following night with a promise they would be able to sing it. The next morning Golden Dove and I would scour the secondhand shops for music. Sometimes we were successful. Our customers also named their preferences for whiskey, beer, and cigars. Each day we took the profits from the night before and bought the better liquors and cigars, which we sold at ever-higher prices. I used my mother’s technique of remembering the customers’ names, so I could personally welcome them each night. I chatted with them briefly, enough to be able to ask them the kinds of questions that made them feel at home: “Have you received another letter from your sweetheart?” “Has your mother recovered from her illness?” I offered sympathy, congratulations, and wishes for good luck. Those small gestures, I found, brought our customers back again the next day, and the day after that. Within six months, business overflowed. We found a house in another alley with rooms to rent on the lower floor. Abandoned pianos were plentiful and so were out-of-work musicians. We called our second pub “Lulu’s.”
Golden Dove, I discovered, was insatiable for success. She sold increasingly better brandy, port, and special liquors, charging ever-higher prices. The pubs made plenty of money, but Golden Dove never felt it was enough. There were other opportunities, she said. Those who jumped quickly made fortunes. She knew this, because in the pubs, she often overheard Western men talking about new businesses. She had a talent for eavesdropping. Our customers did not suspect that a Chinese woman spoke English well enough to understand their plots. She had mastered the ever-
smiling face of a woman who understood nothing and thus was invisible among them.
Through overhearing their conversations, she came up with the idea to start a small social club where businessmen could meet in an atmosphere that was fancier and quieter than a pub. It would also be more discreet than the American Club, and other places where your business was everyone’s. We rented rooms in a statelier house—and there were many, made vacant by businessmen who came with schemes and had gone bust. We furnished the rooms with settees, small round tables with tablecloths, palm trees, gleaming brass, and marble floors. The best of Danner’s paintings decorated the walls. The others were being sold by a dealer, a former friend of Danner’s, an honest man who helped us sell them one at a time and at a fair price. We named our club The Golden Dove. In addition to fine liquor, we provided a tea service. Instead of favorite sing-along tunes on the piano, we hired a violinist and cellist who played Debussy. We offered small private rooms, where men could conduct business and make deals. As the hostess of a sophisticated club, I wore simple fashionable clothes. As I had done in the pubs, I greeted our “guests”—as we called them—by name. Golden Dove hired the waiters and trained them well. She monitored how much liquor was poured in a glass, one ounce and a splash more. And she watched and noted what each man’s preferences were and what he had ordered, so that I could offer the returning guest the same table and ask if he would like what he had ordered the last time.
Golden Dove took her station standing at the ready in the private rooms. She whisked away empty cups and returned with clean ones that were filled. Among these well-to-do customers, the secrets were more lucrative. We heard which new businesses had immediately leapt onto waves of success, and which had quickly sunk, and we knew the reason why. We learned that certain banks had information ahead of time how to control the lion’s share of the profits. We knew how they did it. We also gained knowledge of illegal plots, one involving men from four different companies who had inflated sales figures to a gullible investor. We knew how to recognize crooked deals.
