White Shanghai

by Elvira Baryakina

  Daniel felt his heart swell in his chest. It was a kitsune. What Nina took for chrysanthemum petals were in fact nine tails, a sign of the highest wisdom and the magic power of the fox.

  “Do you know what it is?” asked Daniel.

  Nina shook her head. He took the figurine in his hands, “It’s a netsuke. There are no pockets in a Japanese kimono and they use the netsuke to attach to their belts special boxes for small personal belongings.”

  Daniel didn’t tell Nina that netsuke also could serve as amulets. And here everything came together: one couldn’t ask a kitsune for material riches—instead of coins they would palm off some rocks or wood bark. But in reply for a service, the kitsune could give a much more valuable gift, an amulet that grants love and the ability to read thoughts.

  He was driving home utterly confused in his feelings. He stroked the shiny figurine with the tips of his fingers. After all, Nina possessed his mind, slowly gnawing at his will. He needed an antidote and the sooner, the better.

  CHAPTER 40

  ABDUCTION

  1.

  Nazar lied. He did not live in an apartment but in a tiny wardrobe owned by a heavy drinking Russian woman from Odessa. She also kept there her washtubs and coats wrapped in cheesecloth.

  One wall in Nazar’s abode was blonde: above a lopsided couch, covered by a ragged blanket, hung portraits of actress Mary Pickford, cut out of magazines. On the brunette wall, there were only five photographs and Klim was surprised to see his own wife on all of them.

  “This Nina Kupina is a charm, not a woman,” shouted Nazar and, fast as a lizard, licked his thin lips.

  He was happy to accommodate Klim and immediately asked him to lend some money. “Cigarettes all finished and my landlady, the cursed witch, won’t lend me anymore.”

  He said that after Lissie had done a runner, the staff came to her editorial office for some time afterwards, but with no one going to pay them, they soon disappeared. Again Nazar was without work.

  He didn’t dare go to the Bund. The policemen on duty knew all about the cheating photographer and Nazar believed they had laid a trap for him there.

  “I would have returned the money to my customers,” he grumbled, “but let me earn first. Let me stand at the Public Gardens entrance! But no, they gave the cushy spots to all their buddies. One bastard has a parrot on a chain and the other—a wooden board for Chinese criminals. You know the one they hang on convicts’ necks? Tourists love taking pictures with them. Eh, I wish I had that board!”

  The landlady only allowed Nazar to stay because she sent him on errands to get more booze. Plus, he helped her reach pots from high shelves. She came to Shanghai during the Russo-Japanese war to see her wounded son, an officer, recovering in the hospital. Tragically, the son died and the poor woman succumbed to alcoholism.

  “Don’t think she’s so poor,” Nazar smirked. “Under her bed there’s a chest of money.”

  Later he confessed that he’d once broken open the chest and saw that most of the crone’s money was fake—like the money that the Chinese burn in temples and call joss paper. She was almost blind and everyone who knew it cheated her, including Nazar.

  “She’s one foot in the grave,” he would say. “What does she need those dollars for?”

  Nazar was sympathetic to Klim’s troubles and told him how he spent one night in a dog kennel after an unsuccessful raid on a garden.

  “The watchman was really evil, with a gun, but his dog was kind and let me in her dwelling. I’ll let you in my place, too.”

  Craving news, Klim sent Nazar to buy some newspapers, but he brought back toffees.

  “People wrap fish in newspapers or make pockets of them—for sunflower seeds and broiled shrimps. Why do you want to waste money for that damn thing?” Nazar protested. “At least toffees are tasty.”

  Nazar didn’t have a clue what was going on in the city. He was much more interested in where to find a ukulele. He knew an American seaman who rattled away on this small, toy-like instrument, and aspired to do the same.

  “I don’t need a huge guitar,” Nazar said. “I’m sure it’s tricky to learn. But a ukulele would be perfect.”

  With his one-track mind, he completely forgot about his camera and for days wandered around shops and flea markets, searching for guitars, asking prices, haggling desperately and leaving at a seller’s toughness.

  “Son of a bitch!” he cried, shaking his fists. “He poked his finger at me! Noble people never poke their finger at other people, right? He cannot even say a word in Russian, just pokes.”

  Klim tried to send him to Nina with a note, but Nazar was shy. “I’m not going to a lady’s house dirty as a dog. My sandals are falling apart and I need to shave, but I have no money for a barber.”

  He was no use to Klim except for being a wealth of information about how to escape the authorities. In this field Nazar was an expert.

  “No one will be looking for you, don’t worry,” he said to Klim. “What do you think? You’re a detective’s best lover and he’ll do a great job looking for you? Hide here for some time and by then they’ll have so many others to search for, they won’t even remember you.”

  Nazar was totally convinced of the imbecility of people in uniform: it was proved by the fact that he was never summoned to court. A couple of times he found himself at the police office, but always managed to weasel out.

  “The most important thing is not to visit old friends—they’ll be interrogated,” Nazar instructed Klim. “And the police will be watching them anyway. I won’t tell on you, but others easily can. You know what? You need to shave your mane and wear a pince-nez on your nose.” And Nazar tried to sell Klim his landlady’s glasses.

  2.

  A typhoon roared behind the window, the tipsy crone sang behind the wall, and Klim lay on a patchwork blanket looking at Nina’s photographs. How was she? How was Katya?

  He was so tired of this forced idleness. The worst was a total absence of any news. Maybe no one was looking for him? Who would need him after all? But on the other hand, Lu’s snoops weren’t too shy about breaking into the Flying Dutchman. And they wouldn’t give a damn about the local police or even about Pockmarked. If Lu decided to get rid of all witnesses of his disgrace, he wouldn’t be stopped by anyone.

  A door slammed and Nazar flew into the room with a soaked boater hat in his hands. “They all went crazy over there!”

  “Who?”

  “War is coming! Governor Lu and this one…the Scholar…decided to throw bombs at each other from airplanes! Totally mad! They’ll take Shanghai by siege.”

  Nazar rushed around the room. “I need to run—it’s not too late. War is terrible, I’ve seen it before. No, I’m not staying here…”

  Klim put him on the couch. “Calm down. Explain what’s happened?”

  Nazar’s whole body was trembling. He hid his palms between his knees and kept saying, “I’ll run away…away...”

  Klim made a decision. If things were seriously close to war, then it was unlikely Lu would be looking for him. It was still too risky to go straight to Nina, but he could visit Father Seraphim. The priest usually knew what was going on.

  Two hours later, Klim was at Father’s apartment. The journey was uneventful—no one was on the streets; only windows shimmered through a wall of rain.

  “Where have you been?” shouted Father Seraphim, hugging Klim. “Ada said you’d left for good. I didn’t know what to think. Hey, you, wet chicken, look what’s going on with the weather!”

  He started the oil stove and put on the kettle. It was almost dark in the room and Klim hadn’t noticed at first a huge bruise on the Father’s face.

  “Have you been fighting?”

  Seraphim brushed it off, “Oh money, wretched thing! The other day I was chatting to a Chinese, the gardener at our club, and he talked me into going to the Big World. You know the multi-story entertainment center? There are cinemas, shops and restaurants. He told me, ‘You’re a huge man wit
h so much power. Try your luck against a Chinese fighter and you’ll earn plenty of money.’ Well, I decked that poor soul. They gave me a tenner and took me to a noodle bar. The audience in the Big World was so hot-tempered with their clapping and shouting that my own blood started to boil. Now I go every other day to earn money for my Matushka.”

  “And what about the bishop?” Klim asked, amazed. “Does he know?”

  Father Seraphim waved his hand. “He’s forbidden me to serve as a priest. I tried to explain to him: How can I feed my family without money? What they give me at the Club is only enough to pay for the room.”

  Klim sympathetically patted his shoulder. “So, you’re a boxer now— and winning?”

  “Eh, if I catch the Chinese, then well…he goes down. And if I can’t catch him, then it’s difficult. They’re so nimble, those little ones, they exhaust me. If I hold out for three rounds, then it’s okay: the manager will still pay me.”

  “Anyone asked about me?”

  “No. Why?”

  Klim sighed, relieved—the danger was over.

  “Have you heard that the Soviet government renamed St. Petersburg after Lenin?” Seraphim said mournfully. “Can you understand it? How can the people of Russia bear that the city of our Tsar Peter the Great had its name changed to Leningrad? And what about Moscow? Call it Trotskograd then—after Leon Trotsky? It doesn’t matter anyway: the Russia we knew is lost.”

  Klim interrupted him, “What’s this about a war here?”

  “They’re preparing for it. In the Chinese City, policemen roam night and day. But it’s quiet in the foreign concessions. In an emergency, they would let the navy seamen off the ships—to protect us…or so they say.”

  Klim stood. “Sorry, I won’t stay for tea.”

  “Where are you going? Wait! You haven’t said anything about yourself. How’s your little girl?”

  Klim didn’t answer and went outside.

  3.

  Red-tiled roofs, washed clean trees and steam from puddles—the rain had stopped and sunset rays shone through grayish clouds. The pavement to the gates of the House of Hope was flooded and Klim looked around to find a piece of wood or a couple of bricks to make his way across.

  Someone opened the gate from the inside and three white men appeared, walking right through water. They saw Klim and exchanged glances.

  “Come with us,” one of them said in poor English.

  Klim tensed and bolted down the street. Damn it! I should have stayed with Nazar and kept quiet!

  A shot roared above his head. “Stop or I’ll shoot you!”

  Klim stopped and slowly raised his hands. The men searched him and tied his wrist with wire. A car appeared from around the corner.

  “Get in and don’t move.”

  They threw Klim into the back and roared away, splashing through puddles. Klim silently watched his kidnappers. Who were they? Lu’s people? Pockmarked’s bandits? They didn’t look like any of these.

  “Are you sure you arrested the right guy?” Klim asked.

  “Shut up.”

  A fellow with a shaved head, sitting near the chauffeur, made a sign and Klim had a cloth bag put over his eyes. The kidnappers were silent and only from time to time talked in a strange language.

  The car stopped.

  “Get out.”

  Two men took Klim by the shoulders and lead him down a ramp. The air smelled of a river; a steamer hooted somewhere nearby. Do they want to drown me?

  “Listen, I’m not the one you wanted. I don’t know you.”

  The blow to his solar plexus was so hard that Klim lost consciousness for a moment. He started to cough and fell to the ground. They dragged him along and heaved him into the bottom of a boat.

  The cloth on Klim’s face slipped up a little and he saw heavy army boots and a thick wet rope. They pushed off and he heard a rudder squeak and sails flapping in the wind. Klim slowly turned and hid his tied hands under his body. He stretched his fingers as far as he could, trying to undo the knotted wire. If I free my hands, I’ll jump into the water. It’s already dark—they’d miss me if they started shooting. But it was all in vain.

  The boat slid its nose into a sandy shore. Klim was lifted up and shoved along. Tall wet grass whipped his legs. Sound of footsteps—as if stepping on wood…smell of a Chinese dwelling…light.

  “Wow! Who do I see?” shouted Don Fernando, taking the bag off Klim’s eyes. “You idiots!” he roared at the kidnappers. “Why did you tie him?”

  “He wanted to run away,” the shaven-head said. “And you told us to bring him in dead or alive.”

  Klim looked around. He was in a Chinese shed with ramshackle furniture and a smoked god stood over an oven.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “On an island in the Yangtze River,” Don Fernando replied. “Wet your pants, hey? Thought they’d cut your throat? Well…well…You see, I’m bored here, all by myself. These religious guys cannot even play cards. Basques—what can you expect? But on the plus side, they’re devoted. Where did they get you?”

  The shaven-head explained.

  “Scared of bandits—that’s why you live in a shanty?” laughed Don Fernando. “It’s clever…clever. … Martha pays good dividends; bandits can kick your butt for such money. But I’d rather spend it on bodyguards than lie low like you.”

  It was a miracle Fernando escaped arrest; Governor Lu had sent a telegram from Hangzhou ordering his soldiers to find the beaters of his son and all witnesses.

  “Pockmarked was kidnapped from his own theater,” the Don said. “They beat him up and put him in jail as a political criminal. The Green Gang sent a negotiator and the governor said he’d only sell Pockmarked for a pretty sum. Sell him, you see? Like a slave.”

  Rings of smoke from Don Fernando’s cigar slowly swam up to the black ceiling.

  “But our God sees everything. …The Scholar will destroy Lu’s army, mark my words. And we’ll just sit quietly for now until our governor will take off to Japan. Chinese generals are funny like that: if they face a tiny trifle, they flee to Nagasaki.”

  Klim was listening to him, not saying a word. He didn’t know what to think or what to do. Should I run away? But if Don Fernando prefers to keep a low profile in the city then it’s probably better to sit tight on this island. Should I send a note to Nina? No, it could be too dangerous for her. No one should know about our connection.

  Klim’s solar plexus was still aching from the blow. God damn Basques!

  An elderly Chinese man wearing a shabby jacket emerged from the darkness. He brought rice, flat breads and some vegetables then moved back, bowing.

  Don Fernando poked the rice with his chopsticks, spat, swore and started to eat with his hands. “Not even spoons in this hole! Hey, who’s there?”

  The shaven-headed Basque stepped into a circle of lamplight.

  “Tomorrow get the dishware,” said Don, wiping his fingers on his pants. He turned to Klim pulling out a pack of cards from under his shirt. “Let’s play poker? I’m glad that my Basques caught you at home: I was just dying here on my own. You probably read the papers? What’s new out there in the world?”

  They played cards till morning. Klim told the Don about Dr. Beeman’s chewing gum to stave off insomnia and indigestion, about kitchen ovens that worked both on gas and coal, and about amazing funnel-like devices called hush-phones that attached to a phone receiver and allow you to say whatever you want without fear of being heard. Klim had read about all those inventions on the reverse side of Mary Pickford’s photographs from Nazar’s collection.

  CHAPTER 41

  CIVILIANS, REFUGEES AND WAR CRIMINALS

  1.

  Daniel was surprised to see, in his house, the girl he’d carried out of a burning brothel. Every time they met, Ada was terrified. Her childlike fear of punishment for something no one cared about amused him.

  He once whispered to her, “If I wanted to tarnish you, I would have done it long ago.”

 
Ada blushed and ran into the children’s room.

  How old was she? Sixteen? Seventeen? Girls of this age are totally convinced everyone thinks about them. Mankind takes stock of their sticking-out collarbones and pimples on their forehead. Young ladies consider that the word indifference exists solely to describe their own feelings towards their pestering admirers.

  From his window, Daniel watched Ada walk out of the house and head to the gates. She was as graceful as a baby giraffe. A purse rested on her sharp little elbow, cheap junk remade into a stylish bag by her own handiwork.

  Without knowing why, Daniel sat in his car and followed her.

  Ada walked on not noticing anything: she was very short-sighted, but too embarrassed to wear glasses. A line of cars behind Daniel were tooting as they overtook him, and Ada thought they were honking in her honor.

  Daniel thought back to his meeting with Nina. This morning, he visited her studio to see the first run of calendars. They talked about nothing and again he was heating up inside, but kept a flawless outer shell of politeness.

  He was savoring the details of their conversation and at the same time kept his persistent gaze on the thin little figure moving along the pavement.

  A Chinese street boy caught up with Ada, and Daniel heard him moan, “No mama, no papa, no whiskey-soda”—the battle cry of Shanghai beggars. His dirty hands were stretched out towards Ada’s skirt. She turned away, snapping, “Go away!”

  Daniel opened the window of his car. “I’ll give you a lift.”

  Ada stopped in fright; the beggar grasped her hand, “No mama, no papa…”

  “Let her go!” Daniel ordered in Shanghainese.

  Ada leapt swiftly into his car and slammed the door. “Uh, I thought he’d never back off.” “Where are you going?” Daniel asked.

  “To Ward Road and then I’ll go by myself.”

  Ada took off her hat and put it on her lap. She resembled a cute, but not too highbred kitten with her round big-eyed face, thin nose and little mouth.

  Two days ago Daniel had a dream: he was in a dark room of a massage parlor, warm sheets were on the couch, but instead of the white-curly Chantal, there was Ada.