by Alexa Kang
Tang Wei couldn’t have been more pleased with his decision. “Now that we have you, the chances for our success will only get better,” he said.
Arriving at the office, Clark walked to the reception area, where a large portrait of Sun Yat-Sen hung behind on the wall. Tang personally came out to greet him and brought him to meet their direct superior, Sītu Yong-Jian, the Bureau’s deputy secretary who had worked for the KMT for more than twenty years.
Soft-spoken and mild-mannered, Sītu appeared genial and unassuming. He invited Clark to take a seat. “Your father is Yuan Ren-Qiu?”
“Yes.”
Sītu nodded, widening his shoulders and extending his arms out on his desk. “In Shanghai, the Yuan Enterprise can be counted among the top.”
“It passes,” Clark said. He didn’t want to appear pompous.
“Tang Wei spoke highly of you.”
Clark bowed his head. “I hope I’ll live up to everything he has said.”
“Tang’s a good judge of people.” Sītu looked straight at Clark. His fierce, steely eyes pierced through his benign exterior, catching Clark off guard. “You won’t disappoint me.”
His words came off like less a compliment than a command. Clark tensed and clasped his hands.
“You’ve been out of the country for some time. I can’t say enough to describe the great strides Generalissimo Chiang has made to strengthen our country.” Sītu curled his hands on his desk. “And yet, there are elements that would want nothing more than to take him down and see him fail. They’re angry, jealous. Their minds have been corrupted by toxic ideologies that feed their hate. Above all, they’re hungry for power, and they’re ready to wrest it away from those in charge by whatever means.” He held his gaze, preventing Clark from looking away. “They’re a dangerous threat. They must be stopped.”
Unsure what Sītu was referring to, Clark remained silent.
“I’m talking about the Communists,” Sītu continued. “Mao Ze Dong and his Red Army. They’re the single biggest obstacle to our efforts to build up our country. They’re a disease infesting the world. Our job here is to eliminate them. Wipe them out before they infect everyone else.”
Clark stared at his hands. Tang had talked about the Communists being a threat, but why would it be the Foreign Affairs Bureau’s job to wipe them out? Shouldn’t that be the work of another government branch? And what did Sītu want him to do on that front? Didn’t Tang bring him on board to help build relationships with foreign countries? The United States in particular? “Pardon my ignorance, Deputy Secretary. I have much to learn still. Isn’t managing foreign affairs our primary mission?”
“No,” Sītu said. “It doesn’t matter which part of the government we serve. Generalissimo Chiang’s direction is clear. Our main task is to defeat the Communists. The problem may not be obvious to many. When we look around, the economy seems to be thriving. The country seems to be stepping out of the shadow of colonialism. But appearance is deceptive.” His face darkened and he lowered his voice. “A civil war is brewing. We dare not talk openly about it. Talking could fuel the fire. Reality is, our government is in its infancy. As long as the Communists are not reined in, our country will be divided. Broken. As long as the Communists are at large, our hold on the country will remain under threat. And if our regime is not secure, China will remain vulnerable.”
Clark didn’t dare to contradict him, but he had to ask. “What about outside threats? Japan, for example? Aren’t we concerned about them too?” Surely, foreign countries, Japan especially, posed as much threat as the Communists. One only needed to look at what happened to his father at the factory yesterday.
“Of course, we have to keep an eye on the Japanese. In our view, however, internal pacification must come first, then external resistance. A country united has the strength to defeat the enemy. A country divided, and everything will be lost. If we want to keep the Japanese at bay, we’ll have to first stamp out the divisive fractions within.”
Clark listened with deference while he stole a glance at Tang. Tang gave him a subtle nod, warning him with his eyes not to contradict Sītu. Clark got the message. “What can I do? How can I do my part?”
Sītu’s face eased with a look of approval. “Your job is to rally American support for Generalissimo Chiang. The one thing Western countries have in common with us is our mutual desire to suppress communism. You can leverage this and keep them on our side. As long as the United States recognizes us as China’s legitimate regime, as long as they deal with us officially, the Communists cannot topple the KMT. Further, you’re to solicit American aid as much as you can to fight the CPC.”
CPC. The Communist Party of China. With their country in dire need to advance and foreign threats lining up at their doorsteps, why did these troublemakers have to add tons on top of hundreds to make everything even more difficult for their government?
“I understand,” Clark said. “I’ll do the best I can.”
Sītu’s eyes relaxed. Tang hung his arm over the armrest and grinned. “I knew you’d catch on quick. Don’t you worry. You’ll have the party’s full support.”
Clark thanked him with a humble but grateful smile.
“We’ve already arranged for you to meet Joseph Whitman, foreign service officer at the American consulate. He’ll be your primary contact,” Sītu said. “Get to know him. Take him to the racetrack. Take him to golf. Do whatever you think would be the best way to win him over. Be on the lookout for any chance to persuade the Americans to send us more aid. Keep your ears open for any clues what the Americans are up to and what they plan to do next.”
“Yes,” Clark said, trying to take it all in. Nothing he’d done in his life had ever prepared him to do something like this.
“Convince him you’re his friend, but never forget you’re not in fact his friend. You have an assignment at hand. You’re to put us in the best position to take advantage of what the Americans can offer.”
Clark drew in his breath. Building relationships, he could do. Manipulating others for his own cause, he’d never tried. What Sītu was advising came close to crossing an ethical line—or did it?
Sītu didn’t give him a chance to think. “About the Japanese, that isn’t something you need to concern yourself with. Madam Chiang Kai-shek will be returning to Shanghai next month. She has the matter under control. If she has any new plans for us in that regard, we’ll know soon.”
Madam Chiang, the Generalissimo’s wife. Known just as well on her own by her maiden name Soong Mei-Ling. She was the second daughter of the powerful and distinguished Soong family in Shanghai. Everyone had heard of her. Her photos appeared so many times in newspapers. Her older sister had married Sun Yat-Sen.
“That’ll be all,” Sītu said, closing their conversation. At that moment, Clark understood. He could not doubt. Not himself, not the KMT. The party had big plans in place that were moving ahead. There was no room for questions. Their only concern was that he delivered his part.
An aide knocked on the door and entered. “Deputy Secretary, the Japanese consul is here.”
The Japanese consul? Clark didn’t let on his surprise. How inexperienced of him to feel surprised. Just because they knew the Japanese had hostile intent didn’t mean that they wouldn’t maintain an outward show of goodwill. He saw how it all worked now. Foreign relations was a game. A game in which you commit real deception against your friends and extend false friendships to your enemies.
“Bring them in,” Sītu said to the aide. The aide went out and returned with two men. The older one had a plain, round, ordinary face. Easily forgettable. The younger one, in contrast, looked remarkably handsome with an athletic build in his military uniform.
Sītu stood up to greet the guests. Clark and Tang followed suit.
“Consul.” Sītu offered to shake hands with the two men.
“Deputy Secretary, how are you?” asked the younger one. His Chinese sounded almost native.
“Captain. Good to se
e you again,” Sītu replied in Chinese. “Consul, Captain, you’ve met Mr. Tang before. Allow me to introduce my new assistant, Yuan Guo-Hui. He has just finished his studies in America.” He turned to Clark. “This is Tanabe-san, assistant to the Japanese consul-general in Shanghai, and his military attaché, Captain Kenji Konoe.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Clark bowed his head. He wasn’t sure if this was the correct protocol but it felt like the right thing to do. The consul and the captain returned the gesture. Konoe then explained to Tanabe in Japanese what Sītu had said. Tanabe opened his mouth and nodded.
“Which university in America did you attend?” Konoe asked.
“Wesleyan,” Clark said. “Wesleyan University in Connecticut.”
“Captain Konoe also went to college in America,” Sītu said.
“Did you?” Clark gave him a second look.
“Stanford,” Konoe said. “Class of ’34. If there’s a chance, we should meet up sometime. It would be interesting to share our experience as students in America.”
“Of course there will be a chance,” Sītu said. “Next time.” He glanced at Clark and Tang, signaling them to leave. They excused themselves and said goodbye to the Japanese guests.
Before he left the room, Clark acknowledged Konoe again with a nod. Despite Konoe being Japanese, he felt an instant bond with him. A kindred spirit of something they both shared. Clark wished he could explore what it was. Maybe it was the shared experience of having gone to university in America. More likely, it was a quality in Konoe himself. The Japanese captain exuded intelligence. Outwardly attractive, he also carried a superior presence. Not superior as in arrogant, but superior as in elevated. Noble. Something akin to an inner source of perfection.
How unfortunate it was that they stood on two sides of radically different roads. In another time, in another place, Clark was sure he and Konoe could be friends, not enemies.
His first day of work over, Clark looked forward to returning home. His father would want to hear all about it, and he couldn’t wait to tell his mother and sisters about it.
His first job, he thought when he closed his office door. A tinge of pride rose inside him. He was no longer a student. No longer someone learning and watching the wheels spin from the outside, but someone with a role in the world.
He arrived home and found Mei Mei with a young man he’d never met before.
“Ge.” She broke into a huge smile when Clark walked in.
Clark noticed the purse on her arm. “You’re going out?”
“Yes. Let me introduce you. This is Liu Zi-Hong.”
Zi-Hong. Right. Mei Mei’s boyfriend. The young man had a youthful face, almost boyish. But he carried a bit of the air of a scholar, which made him seem wiser beyond his age. Normally, people with this trait elicited respect. This one, though, wore it like an ice shield that kept him beyond the reach of others beneath him.
In an instant, Clark’s enthusiasm for meeting him vanished.
Mei Mei gave her boyfriend a gentle nudge. “Zi-Hong, this is my big brother, Guo-Hui.”
Zi-Hong surveyed Clark from head to toe. “How are you?” he asked, making no effort to step forward. His hands remained in the pockets of his pants.
Clark merely nodded. How rude. He was Mei Mei’s oldest sibling. Shouldn’t this yellow-hair upstart show him some deference? He turned to his sister. “Where are you going? It’ll be dinner time soon.”
“I won’t be eating at home tonight. Zi-Hong and I are meeting our friends. We’re seeing Blood on Wolf Mountain. Li Lili is in it.”
Li Lili, the movie star who people called the Chinese Mae West.
“I’ve liked her since I was a kid. Ma and I saw her dance troupe perform before she began making movies.”
Clark smiled at the way Mei Mei’s adoring eyes lit up when she talked about the actress.
Behind her, Zi-Hong checked his watch. Mei Mei noticed and hushed. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
“We shouldn’t keep people waiting,” Zi-Hong said. “And what did I tell you about not worshipping movie actresses? You shouldn’t engage in such a shallow pursuit. The movie we’re about to see has a deep, important message. That’s why we’re going to see it.”
Mei Mei lowered her eyes. “You’re right.” She gave Clark an apologetic smile. “We have to go. I’ll see you when I get back.”
Clark watched them head out the door. What an annoying boy. Who was he to chastise Mei Mei?
And he was so excited to come home to tell his sister about his day at work. Guess that would have to wait.
Before he started toward his room, Peng Amah’s angry shouts erupted outside the kitchen. Her voice could be heard all the way from the hallway in the living room. He changed direction to go investigate. By the stairs, Peng Amah was waving a small wad of bills at their maidservant Liang Xiaochun. Xiaochun apologized over and over as she wiped her tears.
“What happened?” Clark asked.
“Young Master! Good, you’re here.” Peng Amah came to his side. “This one’s been stealing from us.” She glowered at Xiaochun. “She lies about how much the groceries cost when she goes to the market, then she keeps some of the change for herself. I finally found out when I decided to go to the market myself today. I wanted to see what’s in season and which vendor sells the best meat and vegetables. When your guests come for dinner this Saturday, we have to serve the best dishes.”
Their guests. Eden and her family. The beautiful face of the German Jewish girl came to his mind.
“I went to the stall of the vendor we’ve been buying green vegetables from to complain about how much he’s been charging lately. I found out he hadn’t been charging such high prices at all. This one’s been lying and stealing.”
“Sorry. I’m really sorry,” Xiaochun cried. Rivers of tears ran down her face. “Young Master, I promise I won’t do this again. Please forgive me. I’ve done wrong to your family. I’m very sorry.” She knelt down.
Quickly, Clark lifted her back up. Xiaochun didn’t look like a thief. His family paid their staff fair wages. What could’ve driven her to do such a thing? “Are you struggling for money?”
“A little. My father’s been sick. My son needs to pay his tuition. But I promise I won’t steal from you again.”
That didn’t worry him. Leftover grocery money couldn’t have been very much. The little woman looked so frightened and distraught already. Only Peng Amah, doing her part as a loyal servant, had turned this into an overblown drama, as if the maid had committed a great crime.
Out of respect for Peng Amah, Clark assumed the demeanor of the master and cleared his throat. “Don’t cry anymore,” he said to Xiaochun. “You’re forgiven this time.”
With great relief, Xiaochun held her hands in prayer toward him. “Thank you, Young Master. Thank you. I won’t steal again. I promise.”
“I believe you. Next time you have money troubles, come talk to me instead.”
Her smile broke out through her tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“Now go on. I won’t tell my mother.”
Bobbing her head, Xiaochun thanked him again and scurried away to the servants’ commons room.
“Young Master!” Peng Amah exclaimed after she left. “You let her off too easily!”
“Eh.” Clark waved his hand. “A person inevitably makes mistakes. She doesn’t look like a bad person. We’ll give her another chance.”
“You’re too kind-hearted. When the other staff members find out, they’ll think you’re soft. It’ll be hard to control them.”
Possible. Nonetheless, Clark didn’t want to be so harsh on the maid who already looked terrified.
Peng Amah recounted the money and stacked the bills. “I tell you, the problem is, she’s not Shanghainese. You can’t trust them when they’re not Shanghainese.”
Clark tried not to chuckle at her misguided notion. Like many Shanghainese, Peng Amah always looked down on Chinese people from other provinces, believing them to
be more uncouth, less dependable, and less capable.
“I wouldn’t have fallen for her trick if the vendor was Shanghainese to begin with. I really believed the seller was overcharging! Those Fujianese would take advantage of people. The Shanghainese wouldn’t be so mercenary.”
Clark shook his head. Why was it that no matter where one went, people always had a need to feel superior to others who were not like themselves? Human nature, he supposed.
Peng Amah probably thought he shook his head in agreement with what she said.
“I thought she was a dumb village woman. Who knew she would know to steal? That’s why they say, you can’t judge someone by their looks.”
Can’t judge someone by their looks. That reminded him. “Peng Amah, I want to ask you. What do you know about Mei Mei’s friend, Liu Zi-Hong?”
“Him?” She tilted her head and considered the question. “Acceptable, I think. Can say he’s from a good family. Doesn’t qualify as rich, but his father is a university professor. His mother is an elementary school teacher. All are scholarly people.”
“Mm.” Even so, Clark still had doubts about that boy. “How long have he and Mei Mei been together?”
“Almost a year.”
That long? He hoped that upstart wouldn’t be a bad influence on his little sister. “Thank you very much, Peng Amah.”
Peng Amah returned to the kitchen. As Clark walked away, a new weight hung in his heart. If that upstart did anything to upset Mei Mei, he swore he would not let him get off.
9
Dinner at the Yuans’
One thing special that Eden liked about living in China was the abundance of experiences. In Shanghai, every day brought a new experience. As much as this was a city of commerce, it was also a city of leisure. Horse racing, rugby, golf, theaters, high tea, parties, restaurants, dance halls. Shanghailanders knew how to live it up.
Within the Jewish community, an endless string of activities kept her entertained. Concerts, lectures, dinners. With Miriam Stein showing her the ins and outs and who was who, she’d had soon formed a new circle of friends. Last week, she’d joined Miriam and several others on a trip by train to Hangzhou. A wonderful summer getaway to see the famous West Lake.
