by Mingmei Yip
Jinying now looked a lot happier than he had in my room two days ago. ‘Are you enjoying this, Camilla?’
I nodded, then continued to look around. All around me was wealth and elegance but also pomposity and snobbishness. Did these rich and privileged people really love opera or merely love the idea of being opera buffs? I looked back at Jinying. He was equally rich and privileged, but his passion for opera was as genuine as his father’s love for money and power.
Tonight’s performance was Madame Butterfly, Puccini’s famous work, which I knew because Madame Lewinsky sometimes sung arias from it for me. Unfortunately it was a tragedy, which I was not in the mood for. My life was unfortunate enough; I felt no need to be entertained by someone else’s misfortune. Nevertheless, I still felt lucky to be watching a famous opera in the formidable Paris Opera House. So I decided to set aside my troubles for the next two hours to let myself enjoy some fleeting musical moments.
Before the performance started, I reflected on what I knew about the story.
Madame Butterfly, or Cio-Cio San, was a geisha procured to be the wife of B. F. Pinkerton, an American Navy Lieutenant. Although Pinkerton was at first infatuated with his beautiful, fragile Japanese lover, he never took the union seriously. She was but a romantic diversion to fill his lonely days in a foreign country. He always intended that someday he would go back to his country and marry a real American wife.
After Pinkerton’s departure back to the United States, Madame Butterfly and their young son waited patiently and faithfully for his return. During her interminable wait, the devoted Cio-Cio San even turned down the marriage proposal of a wealthy prince. But Cio-Cio San’s devotion was rewarded only by heartbreak. One day Pinkerton did return – with his American wife. Mortified, Cio-Cio San sent her son to play in the garden, then killed herself.
In the dreamy atmosphere of the grand hall, as we waited for the performance to begin, Jinying took my hand and stared at me with his dark, intense eyes. ‘Camilla, I’m so happy to see this opera with you.’
I said nonchalantly, ‘Don’t be.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Why not?’
‘Why are you so happy? This is a tragedy, and the world already has enough sorrow.’
‘Oh, Camilla, this is just a play.’
I retorted, ‘You should know our situation better, Young Master.’
He withdrew his hand as hurt spread over his face. ‘But can’t we just enjoy ourselves for this moment, even though it’s fleeting? Can’t we dream and linger in the evanescence for a while, while we can?’
‘As you wish,’ I said calmly.
My whole life, I’d been trained to live, or endure, each moment but never to enjoy it. I never forgot that I was a girl with no past or future, just the dangerous present. So how could I not grasp this fleeting moment? I remembered I had read that Zen Buddhism says if you can truly live in the moment, you won’t have any worries. Just look at me, and you’ll believe the opposite!
Finally the curtain began to rise, and the orchestra struck its first note. This was the first time I’d seen a Western opera or even heard a full Western orchestra, and suddenly I couldn’t help but feel elated. Although I didn’t understand the strange-sounding language, I loved the music. The acting was quite exaggerated, especially that of the actress who played Cio-Cio San. Her make-up too; it was so heavy that I couldn’t tell if she was a man or a woman or Asian or Western.
I turned to peek at Jinying and saw that he was totally immersed in the tragic illusion unfolding onstage. If he realised that my life offstage was equally elusive and tragic, would he still be as attracted to me as he was to the opera heroine? I sighed inside. Would I taste happiness someday? If happiness was the man now sitting right next to me, should I reach and grasp it tightly in my hand?
Pondering, I had been only intermittently following the story until the last act, when Cio-Cio San, her heart irretrievably broken by Pinkerton’s unfeeling one, was about to end her tragic life. Although I already knew the story, I was still stunned when the actress onstage sent her son away, sang her last song, then plunged a knife into her already shattered heart. How sad that love could drive a woman, even one with a young, adorable son, onto this path of no return.
Why is love – and the falling in and out of it – such an overwhelming force? It brought Cio-Cio San to death but Liniang in the Peony Pavilion back to life. Which would be the outcome of Jinying’s imprudent love for me? A happy life – or death?
The performance was a tremendous success. The thunderous clapping seemed to last a whole incarnation. The actors came out three times to bow and thank the audience. It was nice to see that ‘Cio-Cio San,’ who had been the personification of tragedy, was now as happy as a tickled baby.
Finally, when we made our way through the crowd to the outside, leaving the glory of the opera house behind, Jinying asked, ‘Did you like it?’
‘It was sad,’ I said softly.
‘Then let’s take a walk along the Seine – its tranquility will pacify your mind. After that, we’ll have a drink at a nice cafe. How’s that?’
‘Sounds good,’ I responded, not knowing what to feel any more.
The leisurely flowing Seine, the luminous moonlight, the looming mystery of Notre Dame playing hide-and-seek in the fog were so beautiful that, strangely, instead of making me feel poetic or amorous, they made me sadder. I feared that if I allowed myself pleasure, or anything even agreeable, disaster would strike. After all, wasn’t I a spy and a wicked person who didn’t deserve happiness, or even a beautiful evening accompanied by a kind, handsome man?
Jinying put his arm around me as we ambled along the quay. There were not many people about, only a few couples here and there. Some sat on the benches watching the occasional pleasure boats float by. Others, like us, strolled along, quietly accompanied by the soft sounds of the river. Under trees or behind the wall, couples kissed passionately, unperturbed by curious eyes or heated whispers.
My daily meditation on the Huangpu River always gave me a sense of calm that was much needed in my chaotic life. But this equally famous river in an exotic land did not give me the same calmness; instead it stirred something deep and dark inside me. But what that was I couldn’t yet name.
We continued to walk. Suddenly, when we were passing a big boulder, Jinying pulled me behind it and pressed his mouth to mine. His searching, burning lips were so urgent that I could almost read what was on his mind: Time is running out, so let’s enjoy these exquisite moments before they vanish! Instead of pushing him away, I surprised myself by responding passionately to his advances. I pressed my body hard against his until I felt his sex burgeoning. My hands, like a naughty beggar’s, ambushed his body’s forbidden places.
After we had kissed and caressed for a while, I pushed the young master away to take a good look at him. His face was glowing, his lips moist and his breathing deep, as he savoured the aftertaste of our illicit acts. I searched his eyes, trying to find something there to comfort me, to change my mind. To save me from sinking, and eventually drowning, in love, in life.
He spoke. ‘Camilla, I can’t go on like this. I love you too much. You’re killing me.’
I remained silent. What else could be done?
He touched my cheek, his hand warm and gentle. ‘Camilla, let’s elope.’
A few seconds passed before I asked, ‘You’ve suggested this many times.’
He nodded.
‘Then where, and how?’
‘I’ll find a way. I have to. I can’t live like this.’
I didn’t respond, fearing any words, or even an exhalation, would blow away his promise and my hope.
Jinying possessed a lot of good traits; unfortunately being street-smart was not one of them. He’d been sheltered too much and for too long to realise what he was up against. How could someone who had never met any challenges in real life imagine that he could get the better of his cunning and powerful gangster father?
‘Jinying, why don�
�t we just enjoy the moment? It’s so beautiful out here.’
He nodded, then took my hand and wrapped it in his.
As I felt the warmth from his whole being, I also felt nausea rising in my chest. A terrible thought, like a malignant ghost, crept through my mind, a thought I could not exorcise. I nodded towards an empty bench some dozen yards ahead of us. ‘Jinying, my feet are hurting. Can you go save that bench so it won’t be taken?’
He looked at me curiously. ‘But I can carry you to it.’
I pointed again, into the distance. ‘See that couple over there? Looks like they’re going to sit down, so please get there first, quickly! I’ll follow you. I just can’t walk fast enough with these heels.’
‘All right,’ he said reluctantly, then hurried towards the bench.
When Jinying was some distance away, I immediately turned around, rushed behind a clump of shrubs to hide myself from sight, and jumped off the tall quay into the Seine.
As I fell, tears rained down my face, quickly becoming one with the expanse of water. Nineteen years of miseries, sufferings and loneliness had hit me like a witch’s broomstick. Tears stored up for nineteen years finally had their chance, their last and only one, to make their escape into eternity. Nothing would trouble me any more, for I’d soon leave this pitiless world that, from the very beginning, had offered me little but cruelty. Of course the world wouldn’t care one way or the other. It had not cared when I was alive, nor would it after I was gone. Rivers, whether in the East or the West, would continue to flow on endlessly day and night. I was a nobody, an orphan. There were no relatives to give me a proper burial, so this beautiful river in a strange country would be my final resting place. Here, no one would find me or remember that I was once a living soul …
Instead of feeling sadness, when my body hit the cold water, a euphoric sensation engulfed me. I was not sure if Jinying heard the splash, but I no longer cared. There would be no goodbyes. Mere minutes from now, the world that had so oppressed me would be gone.
As I was letting myself sink and feeling the cold water seeping into my eyes, ears, mouth and bones, I heard Jinying’s desperate cry ripping the air.
‘What happened, Camilla? Camilla! Help! Someone fell into the river – please help!’
Soon my only sensation was the cold water, invading all my orifices. Yes, I was going to die. I was dying …
But then why did I still hear a loud splash? Someone else had jumped into the river. Jinying! Why would he do that?
Fool. Please stop being a fool for once, I beg you, Young Master!
Then I felt my chilled body being held and lifted, and soon my head rose above the water, and I was face-to-face with the same world I’d just left behind. I sucked in big gulps of the life-giving air that I’d thought I’d no longer need. The world had not changed; it was still indifferent and cruel, with me or without me. Why couldn’t heaven have just left me to perish so I could enter the blissful state of oblivion?
After pulling me to safety, Jinying gently laid my shivering, sopping body on the bank. Several people rushed towards us and began to ask questions in a language I didn’t understand.
Jinying waved them away, speaking in English. ‘It’s okay. She just leaned too far and fell in accidentally. Don’t worry, I’ll get her back to the hotel.’
A young man asked in accented English, ‘You want me to call ambulance?’
Jinying smiled faintly. ‘No, it’s really not necessary. She’s fine. But you can call us a taxi if you don’t mind.’
Jinying lifted me in his arms and carefully laboured up the long steps, leaving the other people behind whispering heatedly in French.
Jinying bent his head to stare at me, his body and mine trembling in sync. ‘Camilla, oh, Camilla …’
The water dripping from our clothes left a long trail on the stairs, looking like blood in the dark.
It was a long ordeal for him to ascend the narrow steps to ground level. When we reached the top, a taxi was waiting with the door open and the young couple standing guard. Jinying lifted me inside, then crawled in after me. He thanked the couple profusely and gave the driver the hotel’s address. From the rear-view mirror, the driver cast us curious glances and opened his mouth as if to ask something. But then it seemed he had second thoughts and decided against it. Inside the speeding car, the young master cradled me like a baby, probably trying to transmit his body heat to me without realising that his body was just as soaked and cold as mine. With a trembling hand, Jinying gently smoothed aside my matted hair as he cooed soothing words into my ear.
When the car arrived at the hotel, Jinying signalled the driver to pull up at the back entrance so our bedraggled presence would not cause a stir. A few minutes later we had made our way to my room.
After Jinying put me on the sofa, I said, my voice weak and trembling from the ‘accident,’ ‘Jinying, please leave. Your father might come back at any time.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not going to leave you alone. If he finds out about us, so be it. Now stay where you are.’
He dashed to turn up the heat, started running a hot bath, then came back to carry me to the bathroom. As gentle as a mother with her baby, Jinying peeled off my soaked clothes and lifted me into the tub. The contact with the steaming water began to soothe my nerves and even lift my mood.
Seeing me feeling better, Jinying began to take off his clothes and shoes, then got into the bathtub with me.
‘Why?’ he asked as softly as if he was talking to a newborn, taking my hands in his.
My voice came out weak and eerie-sounding. ‘Why what?’
He sighed heavily. ‘Why did you try to kill yourself?’
‘I … I didn’t. I just … fell, like you said.’
‘Don’t lie to me please, Camilla. Please tell me. Tell me everything about you and why you are so sad.’
I stubbornly shook my head. ‘Jinying, please don’t make life more complicated than it is. Believe me, I fell.’
He didn’t respond but pulled me so my head rested on his chest. ‘Camilla, if you want to disappear, let me disappear with you.’
Some silence passed before I said, ‘Jinying, please leave. I’m fine.’
‘I can’t. What if you do something silly again?’ He said firmly. ‘I’ll spend the night here.’
‘Jinying, please don’t … what if your father …’
‘He won’t.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because the whole gang will spend the night at Pigalle.’
At first I was shocked to hear that, but I quickly realised that of course Lung was not going to miss the famous red-light district and the many exotic, French-speaking ladies of the Parisian night. As the Chinese saying goes, ‘Never leave a mountain of treasures empty-handed.’
As relief washed over me, I closed my eyes, too tired to respond. In my semi-conscious state, I felt Jinying’s arms lifting me, wrapping me in a thick towel, then carrying me to the bed. In a cocoon formed by the warm blanket and the young master’s arms, I soon fell into a deep, troubled sleep …
21
Shopping the Champs-Élysées
The next morning when I woke up, Jinying was no longer by my side. But he had left a note:
Dearest Camilla,
Sorry, I had to go back to my room, just in case my father looks for me. But I’ll check on you. I wouldn’t leave if I thought you were really sick. But you seemed to be fine, no fever, no shivering and sound asleep, melting my heart.
Please treasure your life and your heavenly voice; many people depend on them for their happiness, including myself.
If you’re no longer on this earth, I won’t be here either.
Holding the note, I didn’t know how to feel. Why would heaven use a man’s love to keep me here on earth? Maybe I was attached to this world and didn’t really want to die. Maybe my attempted suicide was a lesson sent from heaven that I shouldn’t fool myself by pretending that I couldn’t love. But that made
things even more complicated, because there were two men who loved me, Jinying and Gao. To whom should I return my love?
Was it out of despair or sheer stupidity that I had tried to kill myself? I didn’t have an answer. I only knew I was so disturbed after watching Cio-Cio San end her life that for a moment it seemed as if dying was a better way out.
Jinying saw through my lie right away; he knew my fall was not an accident. Were suicide and hopelessness inscribed on my forehead like a huge cigarette ad? Or, after years of training and practise, was I still only an amateur at lying? But fortunately or unfortunately, here I was, still breathing, sitting in a luxury hotel room, philosophising about life. And death.
I burst out sobbing till my eyes were sore and my face soaked. Feeling some relief after the outburst, I went to sit on the sofa, ate some grapes, sipped some wine, then tried to organise my thoughts. My reason for being in Paris was to finally see Lung killed, but not only had I flubbed this mission, I’d even failed to end my own life. So what was next? I downed more wine, thinking hard.
To clear my mind and better organise my thoughts, I decided to write down the Thirty-Six Stratagems, which I had learned by heart, to see if I could come up with a plan. After I deleted the irrelevant ones, there were eleven left. I analysed each, weighing it carefully against my present situation.
To kill with someone else’s sword – Maybe I should seriously consider playing Jinying against his father. But I doubted that, however much he detested his old man, he’d go so far as to kill him. After all, Jinying was a man with a heart. Then what about Gao, since he also had a crush on me? But what if he refused and instead reported me to Lung?
Wait until you exhaust your enemy – But how? Lung seemed a master at absorbing energy – sexual or otherwise – from things and people around him, even the universe itself. I’d probably be exhausted before he did.
Loot a house while it’s burning – This is also called ‘stir the water to catch the fish,’ meaning to take advantage of chaos. This was the strategy the fake Japanese couple and I had tried on board the ship, but it had failed.
