Last Princess of Manchuria

by Lilian Lee

"I heard."

  "Ugh! That name! 'Ah-fu' makes me sound like some sort of country bumpkin! But I have a ... a stage name!"

  Yoshiko smiled at his sweet sincerity. He didn't have the faintest idea who she was. He treated her the way he would have treated anyone else and had no preconceived notions about her. They were complete strangers, and they could not use each other. A relationship this simple and straightforward was a strange and new experience for her.

  "Thank-you, Ah-fu," she said, adding with emphasis: "Good-bye!"

  Cool and polite, she turned and walked away.

  The actor felt torn. On one hand he felt angry and cursed the elder apprentice under his breath, muttering, "You dog breath! See if I don't beat you up later!" But he also felt deeply disappointed as he helplessly watched her move away.

  "Miss!" he called out after her.

  Yoshiko paused, turning to look at him.

  "Remember," he said, as if in benediction, " 'Wait for the parting clouds, and you will see the bright moon!''

  "Sure. That's only common sense, isn't it?"

  This time she did not turn around again, and he watched her back recede until it disappeared into the crowd.

  "Hey! Hey! Sleepless nights ahead thinking about someone special, eh?"

  Ah-fu paid no attention, for he was aware only of his own sadness. She was gone, without a trace. Had she come to Shanghai to search for her relatives? Or had she come in search of work? He would never know. Making it big in Shanghai—that was easier said than done!

  Shanghai was a city like no other. Although it was a Chinese city, it had little in common with China's other big cities. Shanghai was the most modern Chinese city, and it was also the most dangerous, wicked, and debauched. It had everything: opulent hotels and restaurants, nightclubs, dance halls, theaters, and department stores. There were jai-alai arenas, racetracks, strip joints, opium dens, and brothels. There were neighborhoods full of splendid mansions set in lush gardens. But behind this glittering facade were stinking alleys lined with hovels and the corpses of the starved. Here dwelt men and women who would sell anything just to stay alive: their bodies, their self-respect, their youth, their strength, even their souls. They had no choice if they wanted to survive.

  Shanghai's foreign concessions were known the world over as a paradise—but only for foreigners, not Chinese. Foreign nationals lived there, beyond the reach of Chinese laws, on land "ceded" by a humiliated China after the Opium Wars. There was a park in the British concession along the Whampoa River with a sign posted at its front gate that read no Chinese or dogs allowed.

  In spite of, or perhaps because of, all this, Shanghai was a magnet for China's revolutionary leaders. But the city attracted movers and shakers from other nations as well, especially politicians and military men.

  Anything was possible in this city of vice and enchantment, and it was filled with opportunities for an ambitious young temptress like Yoshiko. As it turned out, she did not have to wait long for an opportunity to exploit, and the Mitsui Products Corporation's annual gala ball was just the opening she was waiting for.

  Waltz music filled the grand hall with its overripe cadences, adding to the extravagant atmosphere. The guest list of this ball was a Who's Who of Japanese society.

  Mitsui Products was a subsidiary of the Mitsui Investment Group, which the parent corporation had set up to exploit economic opportunities in China. Ever since its establishment in China some two decades before, Mitsui Products had hosted a yearly gala. High-ranking military and civil officials always topped the guest list, and this year's guests were even more illustrious than usual. When these men thought about exploiting China, they did not just think about the balance of trade. Their ambitions toward China went much further.

  Yoshiko chose this occasion for her first public appearance, and she showed up in a dazzling gown. She was the talk of the ball, and she danced beautifully, too. The waltz step was a perfect vehicle for Yoshiko's sexuality, as she gracefully whirled around the dance floor with her bright gown fluttering about her. She changed partners many times, gliding from man to man. All eyes were on her, and soon a circle of handsome admirers gathered to watch her. Multitiered chandeliers blazed above her, their hanging crystals trembling like tassels and showering her with a shimmering light.

  But Yoshiko did not come just to dance, and her entire performance was targeted at one man: Shunkichi Uno. Yoshiko researched him and learned that Uno held the rank of commander in Japan's Army of conquest, the North China Expeditionary Force, and that he was currently posted to the Japanese Consulate in Shanghai. But his real work consisted of running a network of spies, and that was why she chose him.

  Yoshiko caught a glimpse of Uno out of the corner of her eye as she danced. Although he was in his fifties, he looked more like a man of forty and was clearly still in his prime. Tall and somewhat forbidding, he seemed to look down on those around him from a remote height. And something in his features suggested a streak of sadism. He wore his hair clipped back very short, and with his bristly hair and his well-tailored Western suit, Uno looked modern and poised. From time to time, he would throw back his head and give a loud and lusty laugh, but that laugh had a cutting tone that invariably made his companions look as though they had been slapped in the face.

  Yoshiko walked nonchalantly over to where he stood and looked at him without saying anything. Uno gazed back steadily, without expression. The two of them had not danced together yet, and they took each other's hands, each testing the other's strength. Just as Uno was about to introduce himself, Yoshiko flitted away to another dancing partner.

  Later in the evening, an announcement went out over the public-address system.

  "Ladies and gentlemen. The Queen of the Waltz at this year's gala ball has been chosen. And the lovely lady is Miss Yoshiko Kawashima!"

  There was enthusiastic applause, but nobody went up to the podium to accept the award. Yoshiko Kawashima was nowhere to be found.

  Shunkichi Uno distractedly swirled the fine amber brandy in his glass. Raising his eyes, he searched every corner of the room, but there was no trace of her. He spent the remainder of the evening in a state of restless agitation, looking up periodically to scan the hall. He never found her. He felt as if he had lost something but carried on as before, throwing his head back in laughter and pretending to take pleasure in the company of his colleagues.

  The day after the waltz, Uno was at his office, with his head buried in the paperwork that had piled up on his desk, when there was a knock on the door. He raised his head.

  It was Yoshiko.

  She showed up completely unannounced. People who wished to see Uno ordinarily went through the proper channels, and he was accustomed to being notified of visitors in advance. But this young woman had come directly to headquarters without any introduction, and had walked straight into the room and sat down opposite him at his desk.

  Overnight, she had undergone a complete transformation. On the previous evening, she had worn an elegant French ball gown. Today, she was dressed in a Chinese cheongsam. Modestly attired in this perfectly fitted garment, she had the restrained coquettishness of a Chinese girl.

  Uno had done some research of his own since last night.

  "So, Miss Yoshiko, how did you manage to disappear into thin air?"

  "I show up when it's important, don't I?" She laughed.

  He laughed, too.

  "This is quite unexpected—but most flattering!" He winked.

  "Perhaps I've come at an inconvenient time?"

  Shunkichi Uno stood up and walked over to his liquor cabinet.

  "It's not that," he said, picking up a bottle of three-star brandy. "You simply should have let me know that you were coming. Tea? Or brandy?"

  Without waiting for an answer, he poured two glasses of brandy.

  She raised her chin almost imperceptibly and said provocatively:

  "I would like you to be my sponsor, Mr. Uno!"

  She was neither groveling nor ar
rogant, and her eyes were filled with mirth, but there was nothing spontaneous about her expression. She spent many hours in front of her mirror practicing every smile possible. Once each smile was tried and perfected, she filed it away in her memory until such time as she needed it. Today, she chose this particular smile.

  "Why do you want my protection? Is somebody giving you trouble?" he asked.

  "No, it's not that. It's just that I'm tired of all these silly men coming around to waste my time. As you're well aware, Mr. Uno, time is a precious commodity. A woman's time is the most valuable of all."

  "Women have always had to contend with unwanted male attentions, and they always will. I'm sure that that's especially true for you, Miss Yoshiko." He was no longer smiling. "But the truth of the matter is that you have been capitalizing on this situation and taking advantage of your social standing to do so, my dear 'Princess.'

  "Please, call me Yoshiko. I shall call you 'Father,' " she said with false sincerity. She was using her social "capital" at this very moment, just as she used it all the time, implicitly and confidently. "Father" was a respectful form of address, but there was nothing respectful about the way she said it.

  "May I refuse?" he asked. "After all, even the slightest impropriety between father and daughter would be incest!"

  "Incest!" she exclaimed. "How can you even speak of such a thing?"

  Uno gave a hearty laugh.

  "We can still dance together," she said, giving him a scathing look, but Uno kept laughing.

  He was dangerous and crafty, and she knew it. But he was also very powerful. That was what had attracted her to him, for she hoped to use his power to achieve her own ends.

  10

  A chauffeur-driven car sped through the outskirts of Shanghai. Yoshiko and Uno were riding in the back.

  They followed the road into some woods, and suddenly they were in another world, another time. The noise and tumult of the city were like a distant dream. Lush trees arched overhead, bright with green leaves. Flowers blazed in their brief season.

  Deep in the woods the car came to an abrupt halt, and Yoshiko felt a touch of apprehension. Neither she nor Uno spoke at first.

  It was Uno who broke the silence.

  "Where are you living?"

  "I've just started to look for a place," she answered him, but she was thinking how strange it was that they had stopped here, in this isolated patch of forest.

  As Uno's breathing grew more rapid, Yoshiko realized what was going on. So that was it. After all, what man would be content to share just a glass of brandy with her? The driver pretended not to notice the drama unfolding in the backseat. He sat like a statue, staring straight ahead and minding his own business, a loyal servant.

  Yoshiko started to hum softly. It was a haunting tune, full of yearning, but it also had a vaguely lilting quality, like a waltz.

  "Shall we dance, Father?" she asked. She didn't look directly at him, but she flashed him an oddly intriguing look as she turned and slid out of the car. She extended her leg, exposing a garter, and stood up slowly before making her way toward the trees, her hips swaying to some inner music.

  She turned to face her opponent, but he was right behind her. Yoshiko placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and danced a few steps, concentrating on her dancing.

  "Let's just dance," she said firmly.

  Yoshiko felt a jerk as Uno pulled out a pistol. She jumped back and eyed him warily, unable to read his thoughts. His eyes burned through her malevolently.

  She stepped back a few paces but was blocked by the trunk of a large tree. Uno pressed close and poked his gun into her abdomen as he tore off her skirt and ripped away the waistband with his free hand.

  Yoshiko lost all sense of time and place. There was nothing but the sun-dappled trees trembling above. The sun shone down through gaps in the dancing leaves, painting their two bodies with a pattern of light and shadow. She felt exposed, as though all of heaven and earth were watching them.

  Uno sprang his trap on her when she least expected it. Caught off guard, she struggled to break away, but the pistol butt only dug harder into her flesh, and she gradually surrendered to her feelings of helplessness and let her eyelids close. She felt like a piece of meat pinned against the rough bark of the tree, and the pain and humiliation showed on her face.

  Her submissive and miserable expression made Uno feel even more powerful and potent. He was the king of beasts, the conquering soldier, the great man. He violated Yoshiko without warning or preliminary, like an animal. All men were the same, she thought. She strained to twist away from the pain and bit down hard on her lower lip, refusing to let out even the hint of a moan.

  Uno made no attempt at concealment; they were completely exposed in the open air. The sun shone down on their two bodies, locked together, half standing.

  She lost track of the cold metal nose of the pistol, but she knew it was still there. She also knew that one false move would be the end of her, and her fear and the threat of the unseen gun incapacitated her.

  He crushed her body against his own, reveling in his power, a common rapist. She realized that it was a lust to dominate that drove him. If she wanted to stay alive, she would have to satisfy that desire in him. He must think he had completely subjugated her, and so she allowed her expression to grow ever more abject, ever more ashamed. She would let him think he had conquered her. She gave him what he wanted and lured him in, although it hurt her.

  Through the pain she felt a secret pleasure, the pleasure of controlling him without his knowledge. A grassy odor in the air brought back the memory of that fateful evening in Kawashima's study. But this time it was different—this time it was she who was in control.

  And then he came, like a gunshot fired by a sniper, and she found herself crying out with him, a tangled and excited cry.

  Guns fired and shouts rang out over the battlefield. Japan was invading Manchuria.

  At 10:20 on the evening of September 18, 1931, the Kwantung Army carried out an act of provocation that became known as the September Eighteenth Incident.

  Japanese engineers dynamited a section of railroad track north of the Manchurian city of Shenyang, destroying the track and damaging a train. Japanese officials blamed the incident on the Chinese Army, and, on this pretext, the Kwantung Army began firing on the Chinese garrison at Peitaying. The Japanese commander then gave the order to launch the assault, and the Japanese Army brazenly drove deep into Manchuria. The invasion had officially begun, but the Chinese troops stationed in Manchuria were under orders from Chiang Kai-shek not to resist, and they fled in disarray back to China proper.

  After the September Eighteenth Incident, the Japanese invasion was launched on a big scale. In the following year, the entire region of Manchuria fell to Japan's Kwantung Army. With Manchuria securely in its control, the army could do with it whatever it pleased. It was the springboard to total domination of Asia.

  Although the Japanese were firmly in possession of the region, they still lacked one thing—a pretty package to wrap it all up in, some way to dress up their naked aggression. So they sent Colonel Kenji Tohibara to Tientsin to meet with the deposed Ching emperor, Pu-yi.

  The last emperor was living as an ordinary citizen at a villa he had named the Garden of Tranquillity, where he was still attended by a retinue of old Ching loyalists who saw to his every need and refused to leave his side. His hopes of restoration rose and fell with the political tides; although the Ching dynasty was long since dead and buried, Pu-yi's Japanese associates continually assured him that restoration was not a lost cause. They insisted that he look after his health, so that he would be prepared when the time came for him to rule once more.

  Although Pu-yi's advisers constantly gave him optimistic reports, China was in total political chaos, with faction pitted against faction in a confusing array of shifting alliances. Today's friend became tomorrow's enemy. No one could be trusted. With the nation growing more fragmented and unstable day by day, the ve
ry idea of "unifying" China seemed an absurd fantasy, but Pu-yi lived in a fool's paradise.

  He was a self-indulgent and profligate man, every month spending vast sums of money on presents for himself and the empress. He bought her everything from pianos, clocks, and radios to imported clothing, leather shoes, eyeglasses, diamonds, and even cars. Pu-yi also had a weakness for fortune-tellers and mediums, and he especially liked to consult the I-ching. They always told him what he wanted to hear, promising vast power and riches.

  Now, at last, his wishes were coming true! The Japanese had sent an emissary—they were going to help him.

  Colonel Tohibara was a fiftyish man with a goatee who gave a polite and pleasant impression in spite of his rather droopy eyelids. He presented himself to Pu-yi. After a few polite formalities, he stated his business.

  "Your Manchurian homeland was in dire straits. That warlord Chang Hsueh-liang misgoverned it terribly, leaving the region impoverished and politically unstable. This situation was a threat to the interests and property of my Japanese countrymen there, so my nation was left with no alternative but to send in troops to protect our citizens and property. Of course, in the long term, the Kwantung Army is sincerely committed to helping the people of Manchuria establish their independence. But the new Manchurian nation will need a leader."