The Yellow Papers

by Dominique Wilson

  ‘Sorry we’re late, old boy. Ran into a spot of trouble getting here – some rickshaw driver managed to get himself run over. Held up traffic forever, stupid fellow. But we’re here now. I asked my friends here to join us – you don’t mind, do you? Edward Billings – Ming Xueliang. He’s in silk. And his wife Ming Li.’

  When drinks and amuse-gueules had been served, and the conversation had turned to Victor Sassoon’s latest party – a fancy-dress affair whose theme had been to come dressed as if caught when your ship sank – Edward sat back and observed the two women at his table.

  Olivia was dressed in the latest Shanghai style – with hair curled and piled on top of her head, she wore a skin-tight high split floor-length cheongsam, much decorated with bright embroidery, and around her shoulders a fur stole with the fox’s head still attached. Not for the first time Edward wondered why Western women insisted on wearing the cheongsam – in his opinion their figures were just not right for the garment. As she sipped her Pink Gin and chatted, Olivia’s gaze constantly flitted across the room, never resting, and Edward thought she gave off a frenetic aura, as if afraid to stop and listen to her own thoughts.

  Ming Li had not chosen the cheongsam. Instead she wore a simple bias-cut, low-backed silk dress. It barely skimmed her body yet gave the impression that she was naked beneath it. Her hair was cut short, parted at the side in the deep fingerwaves that were currently the fashion, with three little kisscurls above a pencilled eyebrow. Over her shoulders she wore an elbow-length, delicately beaded cape. She didn’t touch her drink but sat with her hands resting motionless on her lap, her gaze focussed on whoever was speaking. To Edward, she seemed to have woven a cocoon of tranquillity around herself.

  ‘Stark naked! It’s true – the Cathay’s never seen anything like it!’ Olivia’s voice intruded. ‘They came with their hair soaking wet and a shower curtain wrapped around themselves – nothing else. Said they’d been taking a shower when the ship sank. Victor was so amused. Oh look, speak of the devil …’

  Victor Sassoon was indeed arriving. Elegantly attired, with his trademark monocle and a carnation in his buttonhole, he limped in on the arm of two beautiful women. One was Emily Hahn, the American reporter, with her inseparable pet gibbon, Mr Mills, draped around her shoulders. Mr Mills, as always, was elegantly dressed in a morning suit.

  ‘They say,’ Olivia stage-whispered, ‘that Mr Mills bites any man that approaches her. I wonder how Victor manages …’

  Edward caught Ming Li’s gaze and smiled. Emily Hahn provided endless gossip for the Shanghailanders, and he knew that Olivia may pretend to be shocked, but in fact relished each titbit that came her way.

  ‘You should approach him for an apartment, Edward,’ Jonathan suggested. ‘It’d have to be better than that thing you’re living in.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Well, slumming is all well and good, old boy, but you really should think of your reputation.’

  ‘Jonathan doesn’t approve of my accommodation,’ Edward explained to Xueliang and his wife. He was living in an area near the Avenue Joffre, known locally as ‘Little Russia’ because of the many White Russian refugees who had settled there and opened shops and businesses, but there were also many Chinese, French, Germans and British living there – hardly a slum area in Edward’s opinion.

  ‘You’re living like a Chinaman,’ Olivia quipped, referring to the fact that his residence was in a Chinese complex, ‘but if that’s what you want …’ She turned towards the orchestra. ‘Listen, Jonathan – they’re playing ‘Blue moon’. Dance with me?’

  Edward mentally cursed Olivia’s thoughtlessness. Xueliang was watching the dancers, his expression restrained. Ming Li sat with her gaze lowered, also expressionless except for the slight flush of her neck. The silence between them grew, but this was not the comfortable silence Edward had experienced with Chen Mu. He knew Xueliang would not be the first to break it.

  ‘I bought a Shikumen house in a laneway just off the Avenue Joffre,’ he said at last, ‘Two storeys. Nice. I’m here so often it seemed the easiest thing to do. My amah looks after it when I’m away. It helps both of us …’

  ‘A wise decision,’ Xueliang conceded. ‘Property is always a good investment.’

  Ming Li smiled. The tension eased.

  ‘Your friend tells me you’re interested in our artefacts?’

  ‘Some …’

  ‘Are you interested in a particular dynasty?’

  ‘Not really, not at this stage …’

  ‘I know of something that may interest you. My uncle has —’

  ‘Edward, dance with me! Jonathan refuses to move another step. He’s becoming an old man!’

  Edward rose, even though still annoyed with Olivia, but he knew better than to refuse her.

  From the dance floor Edward watched Ming Li. Though he liked her calm composure, he felt an underlying intensity. The music stopped then started again with Fats Waller’s ‘Honeysuckle Rose’. As he led Olivia around the dance floor his gaze returned to their table.

  ‘You haven’t got a chance you know, Edward darling.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Li. You haven’t got a chance.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Oh come on, Edward! This is me, remember? I’m not blind. You can’t keep your eyes off her for more than a minute.’

  ‘She’s intriguing …’

  Olivia laughed. ‘Is that what you call it? Come on Edward, don’t be so pompous! Be honest – she’s gorgeous; even I can see that. And she doesn’t say much, which you, being a man, will probably interpret as being mysterious.’

  Edward laughed. ‘Am I really so very transparent? No, don’t answer that. So tell me, what do you know about her?’

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. I only know her through Jonathan. He and Xueliang are working on some business deal together – a mill he’s interested in. So I see her now and then, but she doesn’t open up much. Something of a traditional marriage, I suspect – she’s so much younger than Xueliang. I know they have a daughter called MeiMei. Eight? Nine? Something like that. Cute little thing.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, not really. Oh, she did say she went to a mission school as a girl, which would explain how she speaks English so well … Oh bother! Jonathan’s signalling. I think he wants to go. Will we see you for dinner tonight?’

  Edward entered the small antique shop in Soochow Road – Shanghai’s foreign red light district. The owner had contacted him about some mandarin seals of office. Nestled between two bordellos, outside which Russian whores congregated, the shop smelt of moist dust and incense.

  ‘This one belonged to the mandarin of Kiangsi Province, and this to the mandarin of the Yunnan Province,’ the small Chinese man explained.

  Edward examined the seals. He knew such items to be the most important possession a mandarin owned, for to lose one’s seal resulted in losing one’s post. These seals were perfect, right down to the four little feet projecting from the four corners of each face.

  ‘And you say these were owned by mandarins?’

  ‘Yes, yes. From Yunnan and Kiangsi.’

  Edward controlled his irritation – these seals were fakes. Two years previously he’d hesitated buying such a seal, believing it to be damaged because three of the feet were missing. But that Chinese dealer, whom Edward had dealt with before and knew to be honest, explained that the missing feet were a sign of authenticity. A seal was made with all four feet intact, he’d explained. Then, before leaving Beiping, the maker would break off one foot when he handed it to the Board. Before forwarding it to the viceroy of a Province, the Board would break another foot. A third would be broken by the viceroy, and the last by the mandarin for whom it was intended. This was to prevent any unauthorised use of the seal. If those seals had reached a mandarin’s hands, at least three – and most probably four – of those feet would be missing.

  ‘Are they old?’

  ‘Yes yes.
Very old. Very valuable. Very rare.’

  ‘Very new – and very fake.’

  ‘Fake? No! These seals belonged to mandarins from the Kiangsi and Yunnan Provinces!’

  Edward put the seals back onto the counter; he didn’t feel like arguing.

  ‘Thank you, but they’re not what I’m looking for.’

  He was still irritated as he pushed his way across Soochow Road into Kiangse, suddenly anxious to reach the seclusion of his apartment. It was a hot steamy August Saturday. That morning they’d caught the edge of a passing typhoon and the sky was still overcast and brooding. Yesterday, the Chinese had exchanged small arms fire with Japanese troops in the Chinese districts. Then in the afternoon Japanese naval ships stationed on the Yangtze and Huangpu rivers had opened fire on the Chinese positions around Shanghai. Those in the Cathay having drinks before dinner had gone to the rooftop to watch the fireworks display, as fires burnt and black smoke skimmed the river. Then, since early this morning, Chinese planes had been flying overhead on their way to bomb Japanese targets. The Japanese were responding with anti-aircraft fire. As a result, terrified Chinese refugees had been pouring into the Settlements since the night before. Many had been trampled to death.

  This combination of conflict in the Chinese quarters, coupled with the Shanghailanders’ complete disregard of it, had created a surreal atmosphere that Edward had found exciting. He’d wanted to see what would happen next, but now was weary of it all. The air was acrid and felt like molasses. Sweat trickled down his back and he told himself once again that he’d been mad to go out in all this. He could have spent the afternoon in the coolness of the courtyard of his Shikumen with a book.

  If he were honest, his irritation stemmed as much from his experience regarding the fake mandarin seals as from the fact that he was due back in Sydney in a few days. He didn’t want to go back to Julia; his marriage was as fake as those seals. He could still hear her voice, nearly eight years ago, the day his daughter Charlotte was born. The day his marriage ended.

  He sat on the edge of Julia’s hospital bed, cradling his newborn daughter. A nurse hovered nearby.

  ‘She’s perfect,’ he said, gently stroking his daughter’s cheek. Never had he imagined he would be so moved by such a little being. ‘Thank you,’ and he leaned towards Julia to kiss her, but she turned her face away.

  ‘Julia? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. But we need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Us. The family you want. Edward, I don’t want any more children.’

  The nurse took the child and left the room. Edward looked at her retreating back. He wanted to argue with his wife, but he knew he had to be patient. She’d told him she’d had a difficult delivery; once she recovered, he felt sure she’d see things differently.

  ‘I don’t think this is a good time, Julia. When you come home we can talk about it again.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind.’

  ‘Well, if you still feel the same way then, there are things we can do. Precautions I can take.’

  ‘No. I’m not talking about precautions. I think you should move into one of the spare bedrooms.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Just that. I want you to move into another room.’

  Edward breathed deep, controlling his temper. ‘You can’t do that, Julia. I’m your husband. I have rights.’

  ‘And I meant what I said.’ She opened the drawer of the bedside table, pulled out a mirror and fluffed up her hair. ‘Be sure to move out before I come home.’

  ‘I’ll divorce you.’

  Julia lowered the mirror and laughed. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Edward. People like us don’t divorce.’

  And now Charlotte, who had grown up mainly under the care of nannies, was copying her mother’s attitude towards him. What did he have to go home to?

  He pushed his way through the throng that crowded the footpaths, ignoring the leper showing his sores, the group of professional beggars. He saw a woman up ahead that he thought was Ming Li, but she turned and he saw he was mistaken. The bitter yet sweet pungent smell of opium in the air suddenly sickened him, its soft musky sharpness no longer sensuous as it became one with the smoke from the fires and the smell of frightened, sweating bodies. The wretched humanity around him, the babble of tongues, suddenly provoked nothing in him but annoyance. Nanking Road was but a couple of blocks away and he considered for a moment stopping at the Cathay to drown his frustrations.

  The woman he’d mistaken for Ming Li passed him and he realised the only similarity was the hairstyle. Ming Li. LiLi, as he privately thought of her. Since first meeting her and Xueliang at the Cercle Sportif Français, he’d sought out functions where she too was invited – easy to do in a place like Shanghai. And the more he saw of her, the more he wanted her.

  They had spoken, of course – polite, meaningless social talk that was, for him, just an excuse to stay close to her. He’d become so attuned to her that he could feel her physically when she entered the room, even though his back may be turned. He constantly sought her presence. Hungered for her. And he was sure she felt the same, that she purposely sought out his company, if only for a moment before her husband joined them. He wanted some time alone with her – just a moment away from the prying eyes of the Shanghailanders, a moment without her husband hovering in the background.

  And if he was granted that moment, what then?

  A car backfired and Edward started, and as he turned towards the sound he accidentally elbowed an old woman in the face. Her nose bled but she bowed low.

  ‘Please pardon my clumsiness,’ she said, and before Edward could apologise – could offer to help – she tottered off on bound feet. Never had he felt so guilty. He walked on, more anxious than before to reach the sanctuary of his building.

  ‘Mr Billings? You shouldn’t be out here.’

  ‘Ming Li! I was just— Never mind. What are you doing out in this?’

  ‘Aren’t I allowed in the streets of my own city?’ she teased. ‘I have my amah to protect me.’

  Edward nodded to the amah. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, you’re right. We should all be at home safe. But I’ve just been to a concert at MeiMei’s school – I couldn’t miss that.’

  ‘You’re on your way home? Would you have time for a drink? A cup of tea?’

  Ming Li hesitated. Whilst talking to a Western man may be acceptable to the progressive Chinese of Shanghai when her husband was present, it was a totally different matter when he was not. She knew she shouldn’t even have approached Edward.

  ‘Just walk with me then,’ he said, guessing the reason for her discomfort.

  They walked in silence, side by side, with Ming Li’s amah following a few steps behind. No part of their bodies touched but both were aware of the heat emanating from the other. They slowed their pace – an unspoken agreement to prolong the moment. It wasn’t so crowded here, but the air smelt stale, of roasting meats and rancid fat, and the fusty stench of damp unwashed bodies. It overflowed with shrill voices and hoarse cries, the staccato beat of native music and the constant tinkle of bicycle bells. But Edward no longer noticed any of it. He was only aware of Ming Li.

  ‘Does she understand English?’ he asked, glancing back at Ming Li’s amah.

  ‘No.’

  They walked on. The tension between them grew. Edward wanted to make love to her right here, right now, but he knew that to simply touch her, no matter how innocently, would be frowned upon. The Westerners of Shanghai may well flaunt their feelings in public, but not so the Chinese.

  They turned into Nanking Road and Edward knew that any moment now she would say her goodbyes and leave. He was sick of only seeing her in the company of others, of never being alone with her.

  And never being alone was suddenly unacceptable.

  ‘When you enter a room,’ he said at last, ‘I can actually feel you – even before I see you.’

 
; ‘I know.’

  ‘You feel it too.’

  Ming Li walked on, silent.

  ‘Tell me! You do feel it too, don’t you?’

  Ming Li nodded.

  ‘I have to see you. Somewhere private.’

  ‘I can’t. Xueliang—’

  ‘I don’t care about Xueliang. When can I see you?’

  Ming Li walked on.

  ‘Why?’ she asked at last.

  ‘I want to hold you. Feel your skin beneath my hands.’

  Ming Li slowed her pace, her gaze lowered.

  ‘Answer me, Ming Li. You want me too. I know you do …’

  ‘To feel your hands on me now …’

  ‘Stroking your neck, your shoulder …’

  ‘I can feel you …’

  ‘Cupping your breasts …’

  Ming Li blushed. Looked away to the other side of the street.

  ‘Can you feel my hand on your breast? Can you?’

  She nodded but did not look at him.

  ‘My tongue licking your skin … tasting you … exploring …’

  ‘Please – no more …’

  ‘Feel my lips on your belly.’

  ‘Edward, please—’

  The horrifyingly human wail of the bomb barely registered before the shock wave picked Edward up and threw him breathless to the ground. The second shook the ground causing more bricks and masonry to crash down, knocking his head to the pavement. Glass fell and shattered around him. He saw another shockwave sweep down the street towards him – fractions of seconds stretched to hours. Then, as if from the bellows of hell, it swirled and swept back the way it had come. The ground beneath him shuddered a third time and he watched an electrical line slowly fall in a graceful curve before resting on a car, fizzling and crackling in a display of blue and white sparks. The air turned brown, choking. Bits of burning cloth floated into the swirling smoke. Disorientated, Edward looked around, unable to remember anything except this very moment. Around him people ran, obviously screaming, but though he could see their mouths moving he could hear no sound. Blood trickled down his forehead into his eyes. Beside him a man on fire mimed a macabre dance. Edward shut his eyes, creating a small dark cocoon of sanity in the bedlam surrounding him. From the wall of the building next to him came the silent shudder of a smaller explosion. Smoke bellowed out and the temperature increased rapidly, the air dry and searing. Edward opened his eyes and rose to his hands and knees. The exertion made him vomit but with vomit came back sound and with sound memory. Ming Li. He had to find Ming Li.