by Mingmei Yip
Jinying went on. ‘I studied in America, so I’m not superstitious. I don’t believe you can borrow an animal’s energy.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘I don’t agree with my father about a lot of things. Sometimes he regrets that he sent me to Harvard.’
In the distance, under a pink-blossoming tree, I spotted the golden and turquoise body of a peacock. As if to greet us, it gradually opened its tail like a huge fan. Rather than being soothed by the sight of this beautiful and rare creature, I felt a chill, because I imagined that the countless ‘eyes’ on his fan were spying on me. Could Lung have recruited even this bird to spy for him?
But maybe my imaginings were wrong, for Jinying said, ‘My father loves the haughty way it struts around like an aristocrat. To him, the “eyes” on the tail look like gold coins, which will bring him good fortune. But, Camilla, I believe that the peacock is spreading its tail for our happy future together.’
‘I thought you said you’re not superstitious.’
He smiled handsomely. ‘But I am happy that I am with you now.’
He looked so pleased, I had not the heart to challenge him about our ‘happy’ future.
We kept walking until we came to a fine mesh cage under some trees. Within it snakes glided and writhed. A dark green one hissed at me, intimidating, spitting out a crimson venomous tongue, like a hit man’s blood-dripping knife. Another snake, dark yellow with long stripes, coiled its body regally on a flat rock as if it were Guan Yin meditating on a Zen cushion. I wondered, could a snake be one of the many transformations of the Goddess of Compassion reaching out to enlighten?
Did she have a message for me? Could it be the famous Buddhist saying, ‘Put down the knife, then become a Buddha,’ meaning that even a murderer can give up evil and be redeemed?
But I thought it might be too late for me. And even if I wanted to be redeemed, did I have a chance?
It was too disturbing to think about this, so I looked up at Jinying and asked instead, ‘Why does he keep snakes?’
Definitely these creatures were not, like the grandfather clock, here to please the eye. I wondered if, like the tigers, they might be murder weapons to be used against Lung’s enemies. But I kept this thought to myself.
‘They’re for food. In winter my father likes to eat snake soup. He also gulps down the bitter gall, then drinks the blood mixed with his liquor. He believes these will strengthen his blood and his virility …’ Jinying stopped, looking upset, no doubt because this was unpleasant reminder that I was the recipient of his father’s virile energy.
Just then the snake with the blood-red tongue hissed at me again, as if saying, ‘I know what you are, Camilla, skeleton woman!’
For the Chinese, snakes symbolise evil. Skeleton women are referred to as having ‘a snake’s heart and intestines.’
I felt a jolt and stepped back. The Guan Yin snake still seemed to meditate placidly, as if having overcome all greed and anger.
Jinying put his arm around my shoulders again. ‘Let’s move on. I don’t want them to scare you.’
But what I felt was not fear but agitation, because the two snakes seemed to know just what my mind was grappling with.
Just then the sky suddenly turned dark, and Jinying suggested we return to the house. We had just made it through the door of the villa when the rain began to pour heavily, hammering at the doors and windows like hungry ghosts frantically trying to return to the world of the living.
Once inside, Jinying led me upstairs and gave me a quick tour. There was one master bedroom and two guest rooms, all elaborately decorated. I tried my best to take in everything, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. However, this was Lung’s hideout, so his secrets must be hidden here somewhere.
But where?
Finally Jinying led me back to the master bedroom. When I sat down on the king-size bed, I saw a red velvet box next to me.
‘Jinying, there’s a box here.’
He smiled mysteriously. ‘It’s for you. Open it.’
The elongated box opened with a click of my finger to reveal a pearl necklace and a matching bracelet. All the pearls were of matching size, roundness and luster, glistening mysteriously in the lamplight.
‘Camilla, do you like them?’
I nodded, feeling an unbearable sadness. While he was feeling amorous in this gorgeous mansion with his beloved woman, I was envisioning the terrible scene that would unfold if his father arrived here. I secretly prayed that Lung would go back to his house in Junfu Lane instead of here. But if Lung did not come here and get killed, what would happen to me? I had no idea as I listened to the rain hiss as if heaven were lamenting my doom.
‘Let me put them on for you.’
He turned me slightly so we both faced the mirror. ‘Camilla, see how flawlessly beautiful you are, just like these pearls?’
‘Thank you very much, Jinying,’ I said softly. I didn’t know what more to say, for I really wanted to take them off right away. They implied that I was flawless, but I was anything but; I was bad and poisonous, a skeleton woman, period.
I wanted to scream to Jinying, ‘Young Master, even the snake knew who I really am! How come you can’t see that?’
But of course Jinying had no idea what was going on in my mind or in my life. He looked at us in the mirror with an ingenuous smile.
He held my shoulders with both hands, then rested his chin on my head. ‘I love you, Camilla.’
I smiled back at his reflection but said nothing.
‘All right. I’m going to cook now. You look tired, Camilla, so why don’t you take a nap? I’ll come up to wake you for dinner.’
This was the sort of opportunity I had been waiting for. ‘I’ll nap for an hour.’ I said, while having no intention of doing so at all.
Once he disappeared down the stairs, I began to snoop around. Fifteen minutes later, after looking everywhere – in drawers, under the beds, inside the lamps, behind paintings and even in the water tank inside the bathroom – I still had not found a safe or anything else that looked like a secure hiding place.
When I heard Jinying calling me from downstairs, I hurried back to lie on the bed, feigning sleep. As soon as he entered the room, I pretended that I had just awakened.
‘You already finished cooking?’ I asked, groggily rubbing my eyes.
‘Not quite. But if you’re not too hungry yet, there’s another interesting place for me to show you.’
‘Is there even more here to explore? What is this place?’
‘You’ll soon find out. Come on,’ Jinying said, pulling me off the bed.
In no time we had climbed down another flight of stairs into the basement. Jinying threw a switch, flooding the underground chamber with light and revealing its grandeur. Myriad crystals sparkled on an enormous chandelier. The densely grained floor, though covered with a light layer of dust, was polished to perfection, like a mirror reflecting its own illusions. A few paintings were scattered along the walls.
As I was wondering what this room was for, the young master went to a corner where a gramophone sat upon an antique Chinese table. Immediately the space was filled with a dreamy waltz. Jinying walked back to me, pulled me close to him, and we began to swirl.
‘This is my father’s private ballroom.’
‘Jinying, if this is a private mansion, why did your father build a ballroom – surely not to hold parties?’
‘Of course not. He built this many years ago for my mother. They loved to practise their dance steps here. It was their secret paradise.’
‘Oh, how romantic.’ Did Lung really have a tender side? If so, I had never seen it.
‘Then what happened? Why did he send her away?’ I asked.
‘I think my father just got tired of her.’
But the son looked like he would never lose his romantic feelings for me, as he continued to waltz me around the polished floor that his parents had twirled across so many years ago. I felt exultant, though I tried to tell myself it was but a false h
appiness induced by the sumptuous music and the glittering chandelier. If only the rest of my life were but a bad dream from which I was now awakening …
32
The Grandfather Clock
Jinying turned out to be a good cook. He’d brought some groceries and fixed steamed fish, a simple dish but one requiring exact timing. He also stir-fried some rice with mushrooms and other dried vegetables. A plain meal but quite satisfying.
After dinner, he led me to the white grand piano I had noticed earlier. He wanted to hear me sing, but I insisted that he play first. As he stroked the keyboard, music spread through the room like honey. Judging from Jinying’s entranced expression, it was in music that he found his soul. His eyes closed, and his lips trembled; he looked as if he were about to experience a sexual climax, not through a woman’s mysterious gate but through the mystical interplay of musical notes.
Suddenly I saw the man’s hardships, so different from mine, with greater clarity. He loved music but could not become a concert pianist because his father despised this talent and forced him to study law. He loved a woman but could not make his love public, nor even reveal it to his own father, a father who provided him with expensive luxuries but not the luxury he craved most – freedom to follow the life he wanted.
But Jinying had never been without all the luxuries he thought he despised. If one day he were stripped of them, including the Steinway concert grand on which he was now expressing himself so movingly, could he subsist by just making love with his music and me?
Jinying looked happy, seemingly pushing our difficulties into a remote chamber of his brain. After he finished his first piece, a Chopin nocturne, his elegant fingers went on to shape the same composer’s ostentatious Polonaise in A-flat Major. Then he surprised me by moving on to something simple: Mozart’s Sonata in C Major.
Madame Lewinsky had told me that Mozart, though living a miserable and abused life, had never expressed even a hint of his sufferings in his works. His music always seems to declare that human life is truly worth living. In his music was always happiness, never sighs or tears.
Was there any hope that someday my life would be like Mozart’s music, rather than his life?
As Mozart’s sonata was reincarnated under Jinying’s fingers, tears stung my eyes. The cheerful mood of the first movement evolved into the darker but mellow movement of the second, then lightened again into the third, like a bad dream dissolving in the early dawn.
Jinying stopped playing to touch my cheek. ‘Why are you sad, Camilla? Please stop shutting yourself off to me and to our love.’ I shook my head, trying to seem tranquil. ‘I’m not sad. Just moved by your beautiful playing.’
‘Camilla, I really want to know you more. Is it about my father?’
Of course there was no way I could confess to him anything about myself.
So I said, ‘Jinying, I’m fine now, happy to be with you.’ To further distract him, I asked, ‘Now why don’t I sing while you accompany me?’
I sang a few familiar Chinese pop songs, then told Jinying I’d try the famous aria from La Traviata. I felt a special connection with this opera, named for its fallen heroine. Would I, the skeleton woman, end up any better off than the protagonist, Violetta? Would I be saved by my spy training in the four ‘nothingnesses’: no family, no feelings, no attachments, no morality? I was beginning to think not, because these had brought me nothing but loneliness and hardship.
So as the first few notes of this melancholy aria sounded, I found myself trying to charm a man I knew I shouldn’t care about.
We wait for someone we can hold,
We pray we will never be alone.
When you leave, a part of me leaves with you.
But like the sun without the moon,
It’s half my life without you here …
After I finished, Jinying immediately sang the lines by Alfredo, the young man who would not succumb to his father’s demand that he leave Violetta.
Love is the beating pulse of the universe,
The torment and delight of my heart …
When the last note vanished like a dream, Jinying stood up from the piano, pulled me to him, and kissed me fervently. To my surprise, I kissed him back with the same intensity.
After a long and searching meeting of tongues, the young master pulled his head back and looked into my eyes as his hand stroked my cheek.
I asked, ‘Is my make-up smeared?’
He looked a bit surprised. ‘No … Camilla, you’re crying …’
Before I could respond, my lips were again covered by Jinying’s warm ones. I felt myself let go to enjoy this man’s love. The sky might be about to fall, but I would still savour these stolen moments.
Jinying held me gently, stirring something inside me that I’d not known existed. Until now my world had held nothing but indifference and deceit. Stimulated by Jinying’s human feelings, I felt insatiable, like a ghost in hell thirsting for water. As if drowning, I grasped him desperately and pressed my orphaned body against his cologne-fragranced one. Tenderly he lifted me up and carried me towards the stairs leading up to the bedroom.
Jinying savoured my body in a way none of my other lovers had. He was like a kitten playing with its spool, or a child on Chinese New Year. I squirmed as his tongue, like a greedy lizard, crawled all over my body. His hands, freed from the restraints of the keyboard, now seemed, like those of a beggar, to be importuning my body for more and more.
As his swollen sex plunged its way inside my mysterious gate, he exclaimed, ‘Camilla, let me die right now a happy man …’
Unwittingly he had just given voice to what I most feared. So I put a finger across his shivering lips. ‘Shh … Jinying. Please don’t say inauspicious things like this.’
After love, we cuddled against each other, but Jinying looked sad.
‘What’s the matter, Jinying?’
‘I love you very much, Camilla, but … why do you stay with my father?’
‘I told you, no woman can afford to say no to your father. I still love this life, even though it’s been nothing but misery and struggling to survive.’ I realised that I’d just spoken from my heart, something I often thought I did not have.
‘But, Camilla, don’t you feel any joy being with me?’
I was afraid to say it out loud, so I said, ‘How can we have a future together?’
‘Camilla, do you love me?’
I was even more afraid to say this, so somewhat guiltily I tried to put off this line of questioning. So I asked, ‘Jinying, can we not engage in a discussion about something so abstract but just enjoy our moments together?’
‘Camilla, this is not a discussion of philosophy, but of feelings, our feelings. My love for you is real, not abstract. My heart is aching right now.’
‘Jinying, if you want me to be honest, then I’ll tell you – I don’t really know how I feel any more.’ Again, I regretted what I’d just said. Why couldn’t I really have been honest and poured out my heart to him?
‘Do you like my father?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
His mention of his father only served to remind me that I needed to figure a way out of my predicament as quickly as possible. My only hope to placate Big Brother Wang was to uncover Lung’s secrets.
But meanwhile, there were still Jinying’s feelings to deal with.
‘Sorry, Camilla, I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s okay. I need time …’
‘I understand …’
While he went into the bathroom, I went down to the kitchen to get him a glass of milk. When he came back, he drank the milk and soon fell asleep, having not suspected that I had added a sedative. I felt terrible deceiving him in yet another way, but I had no choice.
While he slept soundly, I took the opportunity to more fully explore the villa. I began upstairs but, finding nothing, stepped softly down the stairs to continue my search for the secret hiding place I was certain must exist. I even looked inside the ra
dio to see if it was a safe in disguise. But still no luck.
Frustrated, I sat down on the living room sofa to think. If Lung’s safe was not in this secret mansion, then I would probably never be able to find it. I got back up and paced around the room, racking my spy’s brain as I scrutinised everything.
Now I was worried about the time. Maybe I should go back upstairs, in case Jinying woke up and found that I was not in bed. I looked at my wrist but saw only my pearl bracelet. My watch had been left somewhere in the tangle of clothes on the bedroom floor. I glanced up at the grandfather clock, only to be reminded that it was not working. The two hands had not budged from 10:38.
Feeling tired and frustrated, I sat back down on the sofa. Then my eyes again landed on the antique timepiece, looking forlorn in its lonely corner. It was almost six feet tall, with a reddish dark wood case and a white face that seemed to be reflecting on past glories. The pendulum was still; otherwise the gentle swinging would have generated some qi, as well as dreamy music when it sounded the hours.
It was a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship. But, however pleasing to the eye, a clock should still tell the time. Lung had no tolerance for failure. Why, then, would he keep something that failed to do its job? He certainly would not pay for a beautiful woman if her gorgeous legs were stuck together and refused to spread, so why pay for a clock that didn’t move? So Lung must have a use for this clock; I just did not know what it was. In the luminous metal I studied my own reflection, a portrait of bewilderment and anxiety.
My eyes strayed to the nearby writing table. Again I studied the scholar’s items on top – rice paper, ink stone, ink sticks, mountain-like brush stand – and again I had the sense that these were props rather than functional objects.
I went to take a closer look, and reached to lift up the brush holder. To my surprise, it refused to budge! Looking more closely, I saw that a small hole had been drilled in the wood behind the brush holder, with what looked like an electrical wire running through it. I tried pushing down hard on the middle hill. There was a whirring sound, and the front panel of the grandfather clock swung open. Inside was what I had been looking for – a safe!
