White Shanghai

by Elvira Baryakina

  Klim wrote an article on the train attack—with Roy Andersen’s commentaries and a sensational eyewitness account from Daniel Bernard. For a chocolate bar, the office receptionist corrected small mistakes in the text before Klim took the article to the editor-in-chief.

  Mr. Green looked through it, took off his glasses and asked, “Edna’s work?”

  Klim shook his head.

  The editor-in-chief twisted his lips and drummed his fingers on the table. “So, then it’s yours?”

  Klim nodded.

  “And you can write an article on rescuing an American cruiser, and it’ll be just as good?”

  “Most likely.”

  “You’re either a genius or a crook. I’ll see you in the morning meeting. I’m afraid Mrs. Bernard will have to look for a new courier.”

  For the first time, he shook Klim’s hand.

  2.

  Father Seraphim gave Ada a frayed pamphlet. “Here, I noticed you like reading.”

  Ada put on her pince-nez. On Humbling Maidens’ Temper and Christian Humility. She immediately told him what she thought of his idiotic literature.

  Father Seraphim didn’t give in and started reading aloud, “Where does a wife’s discontent with her lot come from? From the immoderate expectations and imprudent comparisons with the lot of others. Self-love and excessive self-respect grow when a wife pays too much attention to the flattering praises of others. Pride lies at its root, and our damaged nature is prone to it.”

  “You’ve gone mad!” shouted Ada and noticed Klim, who just appeared and stood quietly listening to Father Seraphim.

  “Under the mystic and deadly influence of the devil, everything in a woman is perverted: her activity turned into fussiness, her observances into curiosity, her intelligence into slyness, her discernment into impudence, the swiftness of her glance into flippancy, tenderness into coquetry. And here she is—not doubting any of her ideas, unable to tolerate any disagreement, led by her pride.”

  “To the point,” Klim agreed. “Dear Ada, memorize it and repeat it three times a day on an empty stomach.”

  Ada hurled her Carlos Gardel pillow at him. “Out! Both of you! I hate you!”

  Klim placed the pillow on his bed. “Father, I’ve had enough of those silly matrons. I got a promotion—let’s go celebrate.”

  “Cool your head, Ada, and then we can carry on,” said Father Seraphim, getting up.

  “Out!” She pulled the orange curtain and started to cry. What kind of life was this?

  Young half-breeds frequented the Havana now. Security used to chase them away, but recently Martha began allowing them in if they had money.

  “Our enterprise is going downhill,” Betty said and bluntly refused to dance with the mongrels.

  She was the prima donna and could get away with such high jinks. But Martha shouted at the rest of the girls to stop being little English duchesses. The half-breeds most often chose Ada. They would take her by the waist with their rough hands, not looking her in the eyes.

  Betty called them rooks for the black glossiness of their hair and meticulously tailored European-style suits. Those fellows hungrily watched the whites and copied every detail, but at the same time they kept to themselves.

  “No one allows them in,” Annette, the oldest dancer would say. “Half-breeds always take the worst from their parents: Chinese whores and drunk white sailors.”

  Annette could only work two nights a week; several months ago, a French sailor jokingly cut her leg with a knife and now she was often in pain.

  The half-breeds scared Ada; she felt some kind of eeriness about them, as it was impossible to tell what was on their minds. But most disgusting of all—they didn’t respect Ada. They would slap her on the bottom and call her chicken.

  In truth, no one respected her; even the rickshaw boys tried to bully her. The impudent, sweaty Chinese boys kept taking her by a longer route to get a couple of coins. Sometimes they would even stop half way and say, That’s it, we’re done. If Missy needs to go further, she needs to pay more. Ada could scream and yell as much as she wanted, but with no success; they would just laugh at her. She felt as if hurt me was written on her forehead.

  Once a coolie claimed that she gave him a fake coin. He gathered a crowd, shouting about it. Ada had to give him money; otherwise, he wouldn’t let her go—grabbing her skirt and putting his scary fists with broken knuckles to her face.

  Auntie Claire didn’t answer her letters. Maybe she’d changed address or didn’t want to deal with some foreign niece.

  When Ada tried to get into the American Consulate, Marines on guard duty would deny her entrance. She knew most of them by name, as they often came to the Havana to dance with her.

  “Ms. Ada, why do you keep lying about being an American?” Lieutenant Mattson would ask. “Why do you need the USA? Stay here with us. I can’t believe you hate it here.”

  Ada did.

  3.

  Ada woke up late. Klim and the Father had already gone. She washed her face, ate breakfast and started to clean up. There was a knock on the hatch.

  “Missy Ada, a message for you!” It was Martha’s Chinese maid. “My Madam says you must run to the brothel immediately. She is waiting for you.”

  On the reverse side of the card advertising The Cleanest Girls in Shanghai was Martha’s handwritten note: Come now.

  Martha enjoyed Ada’s company. When she was in a certain mood, she would pay her for the whole night and take Ada upstairs to her little office with decorated plates on the walls. On these nights, Ada would sit in the gold-clothed armchair till dawn, drinking cold coffee and listening to Martha’s endless agonizing about old croakers from the Moral Welfare League. These snooty old dames’ husbands were members of the International Settlement legislature and had been constantly lobbied by their wives to ban brothels.

  From time to time, Martha would lapse into her old ways and try to persuade Ada to move upstairs.

  “You think you’ll find a Prince Charming? Okay, let’s say it’s possible. But then every single day he’ll remind you where he found you, and you’ll owe him till the end of your life for that little prefix to your name—Mrs. And when you’re thirty, he’ll leave you without means and run after a seventeen-year-old hussy. It’s silly to get married, can’t you understand? I’m kind to my girls. I understand how important it is to save for when you’re old. I’ve been there. When you resign, you can open your own enterprise or a shop. But marriage is the way to suicide. Do you want to know how many times I’ve seen it happen?”

  Mario secretly told Ada that in the Madam’s youth she’d been married. “He was a gentleman of the highest blood you could dream of. He left her; then Madam read in the newspaper that he married a countess. Martha wanted to sue him for bigamy, but he paid his way out. That’s how she found enough money to open the Havana.”

  Just the thought of the upper floor made Ada nauseous.

  “I understand you,” Martha would nod. “Now is not the best time for our business. You know how I used to advertise my girls? I would hire a landau and drive them around town feeding them in the most expensive restaurants. Dames from the Moral Welfare League were always angry; they’d curse us and write notices in church booklets. But, at the same time, they’d copy our dresses ordering them sewn by their seamstresses. Now it’s all changed: prices are dropping, too many competitors. Now we have to provide a doctor’s report. Can you believe that? I have to pay a quack to give the girls weekly examinations!”

  Ada couldn’t understand why Martha was so cynical: she had no hope at all. “Have you ever wanted something better, something bigger?” Ada once asked, unable to resist herself.

  “Of course I did!” replied Martha. “Have you heard of Ms. Quai? She’d made a career to dream of! She used to have a brothel in Suzhou, and now she lives in a palace. Her lover is Pockmarked Huang, a leader of Chinese detectives in the French Concession. But she’s not stupid enough to marry him. She has him hooked, and he seeks her a
dvice on everything.”

  “But she found her man after all,” objected Ada.

  “It’s not about the man! She has her own unsinkable business. Have you seen those night-men with their stinky barrels on red wheels? They’re all her people. They mix shit with water and sell it to the peasants as fertilizer. Shanghai shit is the best in China because the grub is good here. Ms. Quai takes money from both peasants and citizens—that’s what I call a business! I was a late starter: I dreamed about love for too long…as you do. I won’t be able to get that high, but you can. You still have a lot of time ahead of you. Leave Klim and move upstairs.”

  For the hundredth time Ada explained that there was nothing between her and Klim, but Martha refused to listen. “You shouldn’t stick with him. He’s an actor, the most unreliable type. When he dances with you, he loves you. And then, the next second, he’s already gone somewhere else. He has many masks, but no real face.”

  4.

  A fat blonde man sat in the brocade armchair. He wore a light tailored suit, a fedora hat and held a cane with a silver head. The smoke from his pipe filled the air with the smell of sweet, expensive tobacco.

  “My wife will have a heart attack if she finds out that our governess is from a brothel,” he roared with laughter, showing a row of golden teeth.

  Martha giggled in reply, “Don’t exaggerate; she’s a decent girl.”

  Then she noticed Ada in the door and waved her in, “Come here, my dear. We’ve found you some work. This is Mr. Wayer, and he needs a nice, educated lady to look after his five-year old daughter.”

  Ada looked at her, not knowing what to say. “How much will they pay?” she managed finally.

  Mr. Wayer started to laugh again. “Don’t worry, we’ll pay handsomely. Two dollars a day plus board, but you won’t stay overnight—my wife can’t stand strangers sleeping in the house.” He stood up, tall and huge, taking up half the room. “Let’s go. I’ll introduce you to my wife. If she likes you, we’ll take you.”

  As Mr. Wayer departed down the stairs, Ada whispered to Martha, “Is he mad?”

  Martha pushed her towards the door. “Go, go. Don’t miss your chance. And remember—you owe me.”

  There was a big red Buick with silver headlights. Agile as a monkey, a little chauffeur jumped out of the car to open the door.

  Mr. Wayer descended heavily into his seat. “Get in,” he waved to Ada, slapping the seat next to him.

  He could just snap me, thought Ada. Drive me somewhere and rape me?

  Trembling with fear, she sat next to him. The motor roared.

  “Home,” Mr. Wayer said to the chauffeur.

  He doesn’t have a daughter. Normal people don’t hire teachers from brothels. Martha just sold me—and called herself my friend! Should I jump out of the car now? Discreetly Ada checked the door handle: it was locked. But what if they’re really going to pay me two dollars a day plus food? If I add the money from the Havana, I could save for a ticket to America.

  Mr. Wayer sat with his hat over his eyes. He could have been taking a nap or just pretending—Ada wasn’t sure. She seemed to notice an evil look from the chauffeur in the rear-view mirror. Damn this shortsightedness! Nothing is clear.

  She felt for her mother’s scissors in her purse. Betty told her that once she was raped by five men. They caught her in the street and dragged her into a shed nearby. Since then, Ada always kept her weapon close.

  5.

  The house was huge and pink, like a creamy torte from Ada’s childhood. Manicured cypresses in the shape of horses and deer clustered around it. The doors were as tall as a fortress gate; inside was sheer opulence. Statues adorned every corner; all the walls were hung with expensive paintings, and the floors tiled in intricate mosaics.

  Biting her lip, Ada followed Mr. Wayer, walking over the soft carpets. How did these people get so rich?

  From a far room she could hear a mandolin being strummed.

  “My darling, I’m home,” bellowed Mr. Wayer.

  The melody stopped. “Why are you not in the office?” a female voice asked.

  “I’ve got you a present.”

  Mr. Wayer grabbed Ada’s elbow and pushed her into a sunlit room. The walls were literally covered with watercolors. They were obviously amateur, but pretty good. On a sofa lay a woman of incredible beauty. Ada’s mother called those faces apple bloom—amazingly tender with pale pinkish skin shades.

  Mrs. Wayer put down her mandolin and asked, “Who is it?”

  “A governess for Brittany.”

  The beauty raised her eyebrows. “Really? Okay, then, as you chose her without me, you’ll have to decide whether she’s right. Brittany, sweetheart, come here! This is a new lady for you. What’s your name?”

  “Ada.”

  “Come play with Ms. Ada.”

  A little chubby face appeared from below the sofa. The girl had black hair like her mother, but her face was every inch her dad’s.

  “Will she fight with me?”

  “If she does, we’ll fire her straight away,” Mrs. Wayer said, picking up her mandolin. “Robert, have you heard Daniel returned from captivity— not a scratch, except for the sunburn. All the rest of the prisoners are still in danger. My sister rushed back from Canton and decided to throw a banquet in his honor.”

  “So, did Edna get the interview with Dr. Sun Yat-sen?” interrupted Mr. Wayer.

  His wife didn’t answer his question. “I visited the Bernards today. Poor Daniel looks like he was rubbed with sandpaper.”

  This family didn’t listen to each other.

  Brittany pulled Ada’s sleeve. “Let’s go, I’ll show you something.”

  6.

  For the whole day, none of the parents came to see their daughter. From time to time a mandolin or gramophone could be heard from the far reaches of the house. At those times, Brittany would place her finger to her lips, “Quiet. Mommy is inspired!” And the next moment, she would forget all about it and continue jumping on the sofas, slamming cabinet doors and singing.

  At the end of the day, Ada was falling off her feet with exhaustion. Brittany didn’t stop for a second: even during dinner—chicken fillet with rosemary, roasted asparagus and cherry compote—she wanted Ada to draw a tiger from the Jungle Book and got grumpy when Ada’s Shere Khan looked like a street cat.

  “Now let’s play Snow White!” Brittany shouted jumping off the table. “You’re gonna be the evil step-mother. Tell me to spin wool!”

  Ada looked confused. “To spin what?”

  “You don’t understand! You have to understand. You have to! Have to!”

  She started to cry and shout. Ada’s heart sank. Now, her mother will definitely fire me.”

  “You have to spool threads from the bobbin to a pencil,” explained Brittany through the sobbing. “Don’t you know?”

  Ada went to search for a bobbin, but when she was back the little girl had already changed her mind.

  “Look what I have! My mom’s earring. Let’s hide it, and when Mommy goes searching for it, we’ll tell her it’ll cost five dollars.”

  Ada was ready to kill her.

  At that moment, a blessed nanny entered the room. She was an odd- looking Chinese woman in a European style dress, with her feet bound into little hooves.”

  “Missy Brittany. Bed time.”

  “No! No! No!”

  “I’ll spank your bottom,” threatened the nanny.

  Ada was dumbstruck: how dare this woman talk to the masters’ child like that? But Brittany was totally fine with it.

  “I love you very much,” she exclaimed, rushing to hug the nanny. “Have you seen my new Miss Ada? I’ve already exhausted her.”

  The nanny smiled softly. “My name is Hobu.”

  She smelled of tobacco, but otherwise looked very neat and petite, like a little china doll from a souvenir shop. It was impossible to tell her age: she could be either thirty or forty.

  “Don’t be shy, Missy Ada. If necessary, discipline her,�
�� said Hobu.

  “Otherwise, I’ll sit on your head!” Brittany happily confirmed.

  The nanny kissed the girl. “Go, Missy Ada, go to the mistress. She’s calling for you. I’ll take care of this little bird myself.”

  Mrs. Wayer, or Lissie as she told Ada to call her, asked random questions about her life and origins.

  “I have three main rules here,” she said. “First, disinfect everything. Shanghai is horribly unhygienic. The average lifespan of a Chinese is twenty-seven years, the same as in Europe during the Middle Ages. Secondly, every day you must take Brittany to the Public Garden. My daughter is not an easy child and needs to let off a lot of steam. Thirdly, you’ll be teaching her. She still doesn’t know her letters. Her father thinks that she has a poor memory, but it’s totally wrong. When he swears, she repeats the words perfectly. By the time she goes to school, she has to know how to read, write and calculate.”

  Lissie didn’t ask for letters of recommendation. She wasn’t even interested in knowing if Ada had previous teaching experience.

  “You’re free now,” said Lissie. “I’ll be paying your salary once a week.”

  Ada arrived home totally worn out. She hadn’t slept the previous night and now had to get ready for the Havana. Klim and Father Seraphim were not home and had left dirty dishes on the table.

  Pigs! thought Ada and decided not to wash the plates. Let the food scraps all dry up; let them scrape it off later.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE MARINES’ FIGHTING

  1.

  On Fridays, the American Marines were generosity personified—it was their payday. They would spread around port pubs, buy everyone rounds, give tips and purchase dancing tickets in bulk. All of them were sure that, for enough money, the girls were ready for anything. Dream on, fellas!

  American seamen and doughboy soldiers were quite different. These guys would never shout, “All drinks on me!” They would usually come on Thursdays, when all the Marines were busy on the ships.

  The Brits were stingy; half the French had venereal diseases brought from their colony base in Tonkin, where prostitutes were famous for their bouquets of syphilis, gonorrhea and other “love companions.”