According to Betty, the best and most glamorous dragons were the Italians.
“They’ve just had Mussolini come into power,” she said to Ada. “He spends through the nose on his army; they’ve got nice uniforms and look much better than the others, especially the officers, with their cocked caps.”
Mario, who knew all the secrets, told Ada that Betty used to work as a waitress on a Mexican steamboat, but she was fired for harassing passengers. Finding herself ashore, Betty immediately went to the best brothel in the city, slammed her suitcase on the floor and announced to Martha, “I’ll be your number one girl. Where’s my bathroom?”
Martha laughed and advised her to go to the Chinese sing-song girls to learn the trade. “Unless you can sell yourself well, I have no interest in investing in you.”
Betty took offence and on the very first evening, literally bankrupted two businessmen from Holland. Supple, beautiful, cheerful and cocky, able to swing her legs over her head, Betty was the Queen of Kiangse Road. “My mom was a laundry-lady in a monastery; my father was a horse cart driver,” she would say, “and look at me, drinking cognac from china-bone teacups. I’m sure I was swapped at birth.”
Betty liked when Ada told her stories about great courtesans in history.
“You see?” Betty would exclaim. “I’ll also find an Italian dragon soon!”
The Italians would come late, and on Fridays, the atmosphere in the Havana became dangerously volatile. The Americans would shoot macho stares at the Italian sailors and swear under their breath. Thankfully, the Italians couldn’t answer, as none knew English.
A pale young fellow with a stutter picked up Ada. He kneaded her hands in his, and looked into her eyes. She thanked God that he couldn’t dance properly and spent most of his time behind the table with his buddies, talking to them in Danish or maybe Swedish.
In the center of the hall, Betty was dancing with an Italian officer. He circled her; beaded threads from her dress spun around her like splashes of shimmering water. Betty’s skin was very dark: she’d spent two hours before work in a bath with iodine. Her eyes were made up in Egyptian style.
Ada was slowly sipping whiskey with soda to drink as little as possible. She couldn’t help notice an American corporal leaning on the next table. He’d chosen Betty at the beginning of the night, but when the Italians arrived, she flitted over to them. The corporal was drunk, smoked one cigarette after another, and when someone addressed him, he would grumble like an old bulldog. The Marines were roaring with laughter, probably teasing him about Betty.
I’d better tell the manager to call the security and get this guy out of here, thought Ada.
Her sleepiness disappeared; she sat anxiously on the edge of her chair and wished dearly this corporal would be gone. A bad premonition kept growing inside her.
Trying to squeeze between tables, a waiter accidently touched the corporal with his elbow. The corporal flew to his feet, grabbed the poor guy by the chest and pushed him with all his force into the dancing Italian officer. The girls squealed; the music stopped.
The Italian left Betty and punched the corporal in the face. The American Marines rushed in to break up the fight. Several Italians ran in from the street to join the fray. Somebody fired a gun.
Ada fled to the back rooms. The dressing room was already full with a dozen girls.
“We need to barricade the doors,” said Betty, breathing heavily.
All together they heaved a large chest-of-drawers across the doorway.
“Stupid you! It’s all your fault!” Annette shouted.
Betty brushed it off, “It’s okay! They won’t be able to get in here. There are no windows.”
Sounds of the battle could be heard from outside. Somebody slammed on the door and shouted in English, “Open it!”
Betty shouted back, “Go away, idiots!”
Swearing and kicking followed. The flimsy door trembled. Ada sat in the corner with her hands over her head.
“Open! You bitch!”
“Just try to get in and I’ll shoot you! I have a gun!”
The voices behind the door subsided. Then there was a sound of something heavy dragged across the floor. “Then you’ll stay there, got it?”
The girls exchanged scared glances. “What have they done? Barricaded us?”
Suddenly someone screamed, “Fire!”
Through the slits around the door smoke rushed in. The girls started to scream and run around in panic. Ada’s head grew heavy and her mind started to darken. The last thing she saw was Annette giving Betty’s face a brutal slap.
2.
Ada came round. She was being carried by a man in a tailcoat.
The sky was one big blaze of fire; police whistles filled the night; firemen rushed by with tarpaulin hoses. The person in the tailcoat brought Ada down.
“Alive?” he asked in English. His face was unnaturally red.
She nodded. The man put a kerchief into her hand, “Here.”
He went away to the crowd of people wearing smoking-suits covered in ash. Apparently, they also took part in extinguishing the fire.
Girls in nothing but underwear ran past. On-lookers started to laugh, and someone shouted, “Prostitutes were jumping out of all the windows—straight from their beds.”
Mario approached Ada. “This is the end of the Havana,” he said. “Martha obviously won’t pay us for tonight.”
She looked at him through the haze in her eyes. “Where is everyone?”
“Run away. You were the last they brought out of the fire. Not far from here the gentlemen had their ball: they were celebrating the return of Mr. Bernard. Have you read in the newspapers: Chinese bandits took him hostage and then released him? When the fire started, the guests rushed here to help. You were saved by Mr. Bernard himself.”
Ada looked at the man: middle-aged, red-faced; he had already forgotten about her and was talking to a fireman.
“Could you walk me home?” she asked Mario.
“Sorry, I don’t feel like it.” Mario turned and left.
Who would take care of a little girl called Ada anyway?
3.
No one expected Klim to write an article worthy of the front page. But his fame lasted only two days, as Edna’s interview with Dr. Sun Yat-sen soon stole the headlines. Something unheard of: a young woman went by herself to Canton, into the revolutionaries’ den, and interviewed their leader!
Edna was happy with the good fortune she was having on all fronts: her husband had escaped the bandits, her article caused a great stir in Shanghai, and her protégé, Klim Rogov, proved that she was right about his talent.
“And you didn’t want to believe me!” she teased Mr. Green. “People need to be given a chance.”
The editor-in-chief didn’t argue: this month his sales soared by seven percent.
4.
“Now, that you’re earning more money, you’ll move out of the House of Hope?” Ada asked Klim. She was afraid she would have to pay the whole rent again.
“I’m too lazy to look for another place,” he shrugged.
But in reality, Klim couldn’t imagine living on his own. He needed to fill his evenings dealing with somebody else’s troubles to distract himself from his own. Even fighting with Ada and listening to Father Seraphim were better than lonely nights.
Nina still didn’t believe Klim could achieve anything worthwhile. Should he run after her? Try to convince her of his merits? He knew that she read the North China Daily News. Would she recognize his hand under the pseudonym? In all his articles, he would put some hints for Nina: their special words, little allusions and metaphors. But again, what was he hoping for? That she’d realize how wrong she was?
After the disaster in the Havana, Klim brought Martha to his little room. The next day, he went with her to the site of the fire and managed to find two plates there: one depicting Paris and the other depicting Venice, both with broken edges.
Ada didn’t dare refuse Martha into thei
r tiny loft. After all, the Madam had found her a job at the Wayers’ household.
“Martha is a good girl—she’s just totally lost hope,” said Klim, speaking to Ada over the orange curtain.
“I don’t need you to tell me that,” she snapped.
Martha was drinking tea, threatening to sue the American and Italian governments.
“Insurance won’t cover even half the damage,” she sighed bitterly. “My grand piano alone would cost as much as they would give me. And the furniture? My clientele? All finished.”
Father Seraphim didn’t understand a word, but tried to comfort her, “It’s okay, my dear. It’ll be fine. God gives; God takes. Your belongings are just a matter of time.”
Klim had told him that Martha’s restaurant had burned down. Father Seraphim didn’t need to know all the details. He already had a rough enough ride: he wanted to live with his wife, but it was impossible; he wanted to serve God, but he wasn’t allowed to; he wanted to buy soap, but he had no money. In the Chinese bathhouse, he washed himself with the water left from richer clients like a damn lowlife. His only joy was talking to the other unfortunates. After a liturgy, the unemployed Russian priests would gather on a bench near the church fence to discuss issues of faith, the nastiness of the Bolsheviks and the betrayal of the Allies. They would argue to their heart’s content, feeling relieved afterwards.
Klim still felt touches of Nina’s palms on his skin as if they were inflamed grazes.
He thought about love. If only it were all backwards: first, you have a blind spot in your memory, then the grief and disorder of separation, but with each day your soul would grow more elated and joyful. Then there would be a discovery: That woman is amazing! In a week or so, you get struck in the heart: There she is! And the last stage is you’re left alone. Some nights, Klim would escape the hot furnace of their little room for a walk. Не had found Nina’s house and worked out where her bedroom window was.
How could he love this woman? To him, she was as heartless as foreign devils were to the Chinese. She didn’t give a damn about the gods he prayed to. She was even ready to shoot him with naval guns if she thought she had to. Klim was totally powerless before her, unable to resist this impudent colonialist destroying everything beyond her understanding.
Probably the true reason for his mad love lay in that special law of nature that made people commit the most stupid and nonsensical deeds. He was like a killer whale, throwing himself onto a beach only to die under his own weight. But maybe everything was much simpler then Klim’s agonizing: there was no eternal calling, infinite love or any sort of Count Dracula magic. The whole point was that he just refused to accept he wasn’t good enough for his wife. Nina weighed his heart on her palm and threw it in the trash, yet he still tried to convince her how very mistaken she was.
I wonder if Daniel Bernard cheats on his wife, Klim thought. If he does, then who with? He left Edna for a half year straight after the wedding…
Klim would have never left his wife of his own freewill.
CHAPTER 18
THE PECULIAR COLLECTION OF ASIAN ART
1.
Tamara Aulman had learned to live beyond time. Reflecting on tomorrow brought her thoughts of her inevitable end, and memories of yesterday threw her into a depressive cycle of why me? Only living in the present moment gave her peace.
Tamara entertained herself with algebraic equations, admiring the exquisite harmony of the solutions. She enjoyed poems by the great Persian, Hafez. She fed birds and listened to Ms. Kupina, the woman with aventurine eyes, who could so brilliantly do a take-off of Lemoine’s voice, “Oh my dear madam, I had it rough again with everyone and rode away on my Manchu to misuse rice vodka. Run after me and beg me to return! Tell me that I’m the greatest of all men and will soon achieve unbelievable heights… at least on the gallows.”
Nina lacked a bit in style and needed to have more colonial laziness and serene confidence in her own significance. Nevertheless, she was easily forgiven all her shortcomings due to her wide-eyed beauty and the fact that it was always jolly and fresh to be around her.
“You’re in love with Nina,” Aulman once said.
Tamara smiled, “Rather, I’ve adopted her.”
Nina was Tamara’s young and healthy little beasty. She didn’t demand anything from her foundling or have any concerns over its ability to be trained. She just wanted the creature to be near her. Even if it started spoiling her furniture, it’s okay—Tamara could buy a new sofa.
“You were away for some time?” Tamara asked Nina.
She gave Tamara her most sincere look. “I was at home. My voice disappeared, and I wasn’t answering the phone.”
In any other situation, Tamara would have let Nina’s lie slip, but in this case, there were too many cards on the table.
“This morning, an official from the American Embassy in Peking visited me,” Tamara said. “His name is Roy Andersen. You may know of him?”
Nina lowered her eyes and didn’t reply.
“Mr. Andersen said that you went to Lincheng for the sake of Daniel Bernard.”
“I thought we should take care of Czech nationals,” Nina blurted out.
Tamara frowned. “Really? You’re not the one to rush and save every Czech in Shanghai. You wanted something from Mr. Bernard. Can I ask what?”
“No.”
They both knew how much Nina owed to the Aulmans. Tamara always subconsciously wanted to claim the right to be thanked—let it be in the form of trust and honesty. But as always, Nina wasn’t going to be budged. Her stubbornness maddened Tamara, but on the other hand, if Nina were an obedient little dog, Mrs. Aulman would have thrown her out long ago.
“My husband went to a ball honoring the return of Mr. Bernard,” Tamara said, trying not to sound like a classroom teacher. “Why were you not invited? At least, out of respect?”
Nina hesitated a moment, then confusion on her face changed to a dark, hateful look. “I don’t know. Maybe Daniel didn’t want his wife to see us together.”
“My God, don’t scare me!”
“Nothing happened! We just liked each other.”
“Well, I guess Mr. Bernard did like you,” Tamara said slowly. “But you and Jiří weren’t invited because he realized who you were. He decided not to bring attention to the Czechoslovakian Consulate. All the elite attended the ball, from the Consul General of Great Britain to the Prince of Japan. The attack on the Blue Express is an international scandal which was highlighted in the world’s press…” As hard as Tamara tried to refrain, her frustration ripped through her calm demeanor. “Do you understand how risky it was meeting this man? He’s on friendly terms with diplomats and visits Europe twice a year. He’s most certainly aware there is no Czechoslovakian Consulate in Shanghai!”
“Daniel would never betray me! I’m absolutely sure he’s a decent person.”
“That’s right: any decent person would immediately call the police.”
Tamara was feverishly trying to think what could save her silly girl. Should she talk to Daniel? They were friends with Tony. … No, it was too dangerous to let anyone know that the Aulmans were involved in the matter.
“Oh Nina, I warned you to be quieter than the grave and not to go near politics!”
“I swear he won’t tell anyone! I’ve…I’ve charmed him too much.”
Tamara was dumbfounded. So, that’s what it was: Nina was putting her hands on somebody else’s husband.
2.
On the way back from Lincheng to Shanghai, Nina found refuge in Mr. Bernard’s compartment. She wanted to avoid Klim and keep away from Jiří, who kept pestering her with his “You’re crazy!”
Daniel was glad to have Nina as a visitor. She instinctively felt that, despite his nonchalant and ironic manner towards his imprisonment, in reality, it had taken a heavy toll on him. Daniel’s shoulder was sore: one of the bandits had hit him with his gun butt. He also felt embarrassed about his inflamed face and was desperately tired of
journalists, Roy Andersen and all the other questioners. But Daniel couldn’t be alone either. He needed to talk, to get a load off his mind. This didn’t mean describing what had happened to him in detail—he didn’t even want to think about bandits or long marches across the mountains. He just wanted to soak up the fact that everything had returned to normality, and now, he could recline back in his plush armchair, drink coffee and talk to people who listened.
Nina was the only one who really understood Daniel. It’s always more difficult for a man: he can’t be scared and seek comfort. He can’t be horrified that only yesterday, some savage with a gun could have ended his life and then calmly finish his rice and hit the sack—tousled head onto a horsecloth.
The train shadow flitted over the terrain; white fleecy clouds hung in the blue sky. Nina watched the curtains move in sync with the car.
How lovely, she thought, Daniel speaks Russian fluently.
“Where did you learn it?” Nina asked.
“In St. Petersburg. When I finished boarding school, my father gave me money and sent me traveling. I went to Russia.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was interesting. Probably, nowhere else in the world can one see such a combination of the Early Middle Ages and highest civilization.”
Nina signed. “Now, with the Bolsheviks in control, there will not be much left of civilization.”
“I beg to differ. The Soviet regime is a new step in the process of development. It could be viewed from many different angles, but it is by no means degradation. On my way back to China, I stopped in Moscow for several days, and you know what struck me as most curious? The main characteristic of the Bolsheviks is their urge to not attain money— their business is with sheer power. That’s why they’ll be stronger than those who want money and power: there’s one pressure less. Those people want to change society without fantasies of chests of diamonds; their best reward is a monument on the main city square. They are a different kind: they are leaders, ready to drag people to happiness on their own backs, and if necessary—by force. You would probably agree that this is something new, isn’t it?”
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