White Shanghai

by Elvira Baryakina

  She read volumes about tea, so that little snippets of her conversations would reach Mr. Bernard’s ears, and he would realize there was no white woman in Shanghai who knew more about the Chinese tea ceremony. Nina told Edna a legend about the Heirloom Seal of the Realm, hoping she would tell her husband, strengthening the fact that Ms. Kupina and Mr. Bernard shared similar interests.

  “I met an old man once,” said Nina in a low voice. “He was drawing characters on the pavement with a chalk. His job was to write stories on the road. Passers-by could read it, and if they liked them, they would throw a coin to him. The old man could speak English, and I asked him to translate what he’d written. The tale was about a sacred white jade stone, which caused many ancient kingdoms to be born and be destroyed:

  A man called Bian He found in the hills a piece of jade and brought it to the king. But the king didn’t believe it was worth anything and ordered to cut the man’s leg off for bothering such a mighty ruler for no reason.

  When this king died, and the throne was taken over by his brother, Bian He went to the palace again to show the stone. As a result, his second leg was cut off.

  Only the third king recognized that there was a great treasure before him. Out of this stone, he ordered to make a special ritual disc bi, a symbol of sky. It was so beautiful that it became known all over China.

  Many years passed and the disc happened to be in the hands of Qin Shi Huang, a great emperor who united China. He made it into the Heirloom Seal of the Realm, and from now on, the one who possessed it was granted a mandate of power from the Heavens to rule the Empire.

  The Seal was passed from one dynasty to the next. To obtain it, cities and armies were not spared, and innumerable wars were waged for it.

  “What happened to it afterwards?” Edna asked Nina.

  “No one knows. The last two dynasties didn’t have the Seal and so do not have the divine right to rule the Celestial Empire.”

  In case Edna did retell this story to Daniel, he should have guessed what Nina was trying to say: that a great treasure could be hidden in an unsightly piece of rock. To discern it was the task for the very wisest.

  Nina left the shooting gallery. She wore a hat with a crimson feather—to make it easy for Mr. Bernard to notice her in a crowd.

  “Ms. Kupina, wait!”

  She turned. Strong electric currents went through her body. Here it is. It took all her will power to hide her winning smile. She would celebrate her victory at home, in the light of the night lamp, where no one could see her

  Daniel wore a creamy shirt with short sleeves, fawn-colored trousers and a wide-brimmed hat. His hands were tanned; one could notice near his cuff a stripe of light skin, untouched by the sun.

  He came closer. The crowd was flowing around them.

  “You’re very skillful with a gun,” he said. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  Nina looked straight into his eyes. “At war.”

  “Did you use your skill in real life?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Daniel didn’t know whether to believe her or not. “Don’t worry, I never shot at people,” Nina smiled. “When I was traveling across the taiga for many weeks with no dining car in the train, I had to survive somehow and hunt for anything and everything that flew by.”

  “And now you’re hunting for me, aren’t you? What for?”

  He decided to play all in. Well, well, well…

  “You whetted my appetite. Lured me with all those interesting conversations and then left me. My self-esteem was hurt that you think I don’t deserve your company.”

  He took her hand—just above her wrist. “It’s not because of you.”

  Nina was taking in all the minutest details: how Daniel looked at her, how he talked. So what was it? Yes or No? Would he surrender or slip away?

  Suddenly, Edna appeared near them. She was in a hurry, busy and speckled like a quail with her freckles and paisley silk dress.

  “Hello! I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, but— Daniel, Mr. Fessenden would like to talk to you. He is waiting in the Administration Booth.”

  “The Chairman of the Municipal Council?” Nina asked.

  “Yes.” Daniel lifted his hat. “Pardon me.”

  Annoyed and angry, Nina watched their backs.

  Daniel was off the hook, but she was sure he’d swallowed the bait. He’d held her hand—just above her wrist, the way he only did with his wife. He was embarrassed, but went to the heart of the matter and confessed he guessed her plot. In those cases, people either try to make you feel ashamed or succumb to temptation. That damn Edna! Why on earth did she come now?

  Nina couldn’t get into the Administration Booth where the party organizers were gathered—all the high-fliers. Mr. Fessenden and the consuls of the Great Powers were getting ready for their celebratory speeches. Yet again, Nina had a painful reminder that she didn’t belong to that circle. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard were well received there, and Nina was left to entertain the small fry at her balls, which bored her to death.

  2.

  She was still asleep when the phone rang. The day before, there had been a Spanish masquerade: Nina had danced flamenco till three in the morning, sang romance songs and drank Jerez sherry.

  “It’s Mr. Bernard,” whispered Qin, knocking on the door.

  Nina sat bolt upright in bed and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Nina. Can I invite you for breakfast?”

  Her head was still buzzing heavily from yesterday’s festivities.

  “Yes…of course…”

  “I’ll pick you up. Be ready in an hour.”

  Nina put down the receiver and looked at the mirror on the opposite wall. Goodness gracious! Remnants of make-up under her eyes, a horrid complexion; her hair, especially arranged in the Spanish style, was a total mess. Plus a horrible, horrible hangover. Well done, Nina.

  “Qin, please prepare a bath and bring a glass of seltzer water with ice,” she asked amah in a weak voice.

  Daniel drove his car himself. Wind tousled the corner of his collar, and sun highlighted golden hair on his tanned forearm.

  Nina would have been perfectly happy if only her temples weren’t splitting apart from a dull pain. She looked out of the window: street barbers were busy cleaning their clients’ ears with cotton buds; porters were dragging vases, bed covers and geese following a wedding palanquin.

  Daniel stopped the car in front of a Chinese restaurant. “Do you like local cuisine?” he asked Nina.

  The mere thought of food was dreadfully sickening now. “I don’t know.”

  “I assumed you might like it if you used to eat anything that flew by.”

  They went through dark corridors and up narrow stairways to a hall on the second floor. From time to time, a flapping flag outside covered a window in the room—golden characters glittered on crimson fabric. The sun was shining through, filling the room with red light.

  They sat at a table and Daniel said something in Shanghainese to the waiter, who returned with a little teapot and several tea bowls on a tray.

  “The Chinese philosopher Laozi declared tea was among the main components in the elixir of life,” said Daniel and passed Nina a little ceramic vial as thick as a finger. “It’s a snifter. Cover it with your tea bowl and turn it upside down: the tea will pour out. Now, breathe in the aroma from the snifter. How do you like it?”

  The tea smelled of a strange burned grass. Nina felt angry. Can’t he see I’m sick? Can’t he understand that, in such a state, any new smell makes me ready to vomit?

  “Shanghai cuisine borrowed a lot from its neighbors,” Daniel continued. “But the main peculiarity of the local chefs is the generous use of soy sauce, sugar and alcohol. Shrimp, fish or chicken—everything here could be sweet and full of wine.”

  “I see,” said Nina, struggling to think.

  “I wouldn’t risk offering you such specialties, like thousand-year-old eggs or stinky tofu, but there is o
ne thing you have to try.”

  A waiter entered and placed a plate in front of Nina. Six huge crabs with hairy legs were sitting on it, their eyes glistening, full of reproach. Nina felt a dark and heavy sickness filling her head; the light went off, and she fainted.

  3.

  Qin’s voice was frightened: “I don’t know where she keeps medicines—she was never sick.”

  A man’s voice: “But there must be something in this house!”

  “Try the wardrobe, but it’s locked. The key’s in Missy’s bag.”

  The lock clicked; the rustling of wrapping paper followed.

  “Qin, go and…go to the pharmacy and ask for some powders for low blood pressure. Let them write it on my bill.”

  “Sure, Master.”

  Nina turned her head. “Daniel?”

  He came close to her and sat on the bed, “I should have brought you to the hospital. I’m sorry, I would never have thought that—”

  The door to the wardrobe was open. Daniel saw what was in the boxes! Terrified, Nina raised up. “You shouldn’t have—”

  To keep her balance, she grabbed a backrest. Out of engulfing shame and dull pain in her temples, she started crying.

  Daniel hugged her. “It’s okay. … It’s going to be fine.”

  “It’s not mine!” sobbed Nina. “Just one person asked me to hide it. He has children at his home. You don’t think…I’m not a fallen woman! Or rather…of course, I’m fallen. … I’ve deceived you: there is no Czechoslovakian Consulate. It’s all a scam.”

  “I know,” Daniel said softly.

  “You know nothing!”

  In a bout of self-humiliation, she told him everything: how Jiří and she were left without means, and how one of her acquaintances helped her to produce documents.

  Daniel was still hugging her. Nina cuddled him and pressed her cheek to his collar. My God, what am I doing? But she didn’t care any longer. She was too tired to pretend and fake. She wanted to be herself just for a few minutes: a weak and frightened woman in desperate need of protection.

  “Everything will be just fine,” Daniel kept saying.

  Her pain subsided, the tears dried out, and even her shame went away. Nina sat on the carpet opposite Daniel and showed him Aulman’s collection.

  He wasn’t embarrassed, didn’t show any disgust or disapproval— just the curiosity of an art expert. The objects that only yesterday seemed to Nina the height of indecency transformed in his hands into fine, but totally neutral antiques—neutral as the nudity of Adam and Eve on a church icon.

  Daniel talked about the technique used to create the artifacts, about the ingredients of the ink, and about jade polishing methods. He had lifted the curse, and now Nina could look at the images without pangs of shame.

  Daniel was turning in his hands a mammoth’s tooth, which had depicted something like Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights. “You have no idea how much it’s worth, do you?”

  Nina shook her head. “No idea.”

  “What are you going to do with all these things?”

  “I thought it would be nice to sell them.”

  Daniel took her hand above the wrist. “To sell, but not here—in Europe.”

  “But, it’s impossible to export them. It’s…eh…pornography.”

  “It could be done as diplomatic mail. If you want, I could help you set this up.”

  From Daniel’s mouth the offer sounded so strange that Nina couldn’t help laughing. “I knew there was a devil in the quiet pond.”

  “Is it a Russian proverb?” he guessed. “What does it mean?” “It means you are not what you seem.”

  Daniel smiled. “Rather, I’m not who I may seem to others. But it’s not my problem, is it?”

  I got you, thought Nina seeing him to the gates. Daniel asked her to list everything she had in the boxes and talk to the owner about the conditions on which he would like to be rid of his collection.

  Now Nina and Mr. Bernard had a common secret: porno-peddling. Things would be just perfect as long as Tony Aulman kept his mouth shut.

  Nina closed the gates and went back inside. Everything had happened much quicker and more easily than she could ever have expected.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE OLD CITY DISTRICT

  1.

  Brittany screamed, “I don’t want a bath! Leave the baby alone! A-a- ah! Water bites!”

  Hobu shook her head, “No, it doesn’t. It’s glycerin—makes all the bugs jump off you. I only added just a tiny bit.”

  “Then put more rose oil—it’s yummy.”

  Ada took a bottle. “Promise not to drink from the bath.”

  “I will! I will!”

  Across the vast house, a voice came from Mrs. Wayer’s room, “For God’s sake, calm her down!”

  Brittany, Hobu and Ada exchanged looks.

  “We will be very, very quiet,” whispered Brittany and started her descent into the water.

  Ada had already guessed that Mrs. Wayer didn’t love her daughter. Lissie was embarrassed by this fact and would grind out affectionate words. When her sister, Edna, visited, Lissie would drone on and on about how unnatural it was not to want or love children, as if attempting to cure herself from her lack of caring. But it just didn’t help.

  Ada thought of her own mother and granny: how they cherished her, talked to her about the future, and praised her intellect. Brittany only heard one phrase from her mother, “Be quiet, for God’s sake!” Every day before and after work, Mr. Wayer went to the stables. All his conversations were about horses, and Brittany thought her father worked as a polo player.

  But she still loves these parents, thought Ada in amazement. This humble unanswered child’s love moved her to tears.

  Brittany was loud and clingy and would lose herself in emotions.

  “A-a-ah! My head is falling apart!” she cried, after scratching her head and discovering dandruff under her nails.

  But despite her passionate performances, she was the most kindhearted little girl, always trying to please everyone. Once Brittany boasted she helped the chauffeur to watch the road in the car. “I love you so much—like ice-cream,” she kept saying to Ada, hugging her knees.

  Ada couldn’t decide what to feel for Brittany. It was easy enough playing and teaching her. But, to love her? What if they fire me? In this case, Ada would have to peel herself emotionally from Brittany. But how could she not love her? It’s unbearable that nobody cared for this little girl except a Chinese nanny.

  Ada watched Lissie sit at the table with her legs crossed. An embroidered silk shoe hung off her big toe; her cleavage hid a beautiful necklace; a rose adorned her hair; and her forehead glistened with light golden powder.

  Ada wanted to condemn her, but couldn’t, since she’d figured out what was wrong with Lissie. One day it dawned on her that her mistress didn’t have any passion or attachment to anything. At the same time, Lissie was constantly searching for something that would engross her: she would paint watercolors, read all the popular writers, then with this same obsession, lose herself studying horoscopes—but they didn’t help either.

  The only asset Lissie possessed was her own beauty, and she was terrified of losing it. Everything had to be disinfected—God save us from infection! Every day, she was massaging her waistline with a special, noisy electrical device bought in America.

  “Even if it’s terribly hot, don’t take a swim in the river,” Lissie lectured Ada. “If there is a typhoon and the streets are flooded, never walk barefoot, or you’ll catch scabies in no time. Buy meat only with the official stamp: first class is marked with purple ink, second—with blue. Scald fruits and vegetables with boiling water.”

  Ada was much happier than her mistress: she had a goal and knew what she was spending her days for. Lissie had already tried everything: a marriage, a child, a house, travels and wealth. Sometimes deep sadness would come over her. She would wrap her head in a scarf and for days lie on the sofa in the company of he
r cigarettes and mandolin.

  “My dear, it’s unseemly for a lady to smoke so much,” Mr. Wayer would shake his head.

  Lissie scratched a string with her nail. “So what? You think being a lady means pretending I don’t have feelings? No, my darling, I’ll do what I like, and if you’re not happy with it, you can go to hell.”

  Once a fortnight, Lissie would receive a letter from Francine, her friend from Illinois.

  “Look here, I’ll read it to you,” Lissie would call Ada.

  We’re now real flappers…

  “Do you know what flappers are?”

  Ada tried to guess: a flapper, in English, is a little chick that desperately flaps its wings learning to fly. “No, I don’t know.”

  “They are modern girls. They wear pleated skirts, sweaters and cloche hats. They cut their hair short—long manes are last century. They smoke and do sports. These are the ladies of the new era.”

  Francine’s letters were a poem for Lissie:

  They curse us in the newspapers and on church gatherings, but we don’t give a damn. We’re not going to repeat our Mommies’ fates. We’re young and bold. We drive cars and dance through the nights.

  “Hear that!” Lissie looked at Ada with dilated pupils. “Keep listening.”

  The whole of Chicago is crazy about jazz. The best band is playing in the Lincoln Gardens restaurant, and Louis Armstrong, the trumpeter, is just superb!

  Steve and I are into all kinds of crazy stuff: we drink till we drop—imagine me buying a bottle of smuggled whiskey! With this Prohibition Act, liquor can only be bought under the table.

  We climb on the flagpoles in front of the town hall to take photographs. We have a plan to fly over the city while tied to the wings of an airplane.

  “My hound has fleas!” yelled Mr. Wayer from his room. “What can I get rid of them with?”

  “And all my husband wants is to eliminate fleas,” Lissie bitterly whispered.

  She started to support Ada in spite of her spouse. Once during dinner, Mr. Wayer said one member of their Racing Club appeared in the restaurant with a Russian woman.