“What?” She stopped and he came to her.
“Ada, I’m preparing a new dispatch of tea to send to Europe. The tea is called Princess. If you want, your portrait will be on every pack.”
“No, I don’t want that.”
She turned to go, but Daniel pleadingly took her by her hand—just above her wrist.
“Ada, I’ll pay you. How much do you want?”
Her calculations took a second. “Fifty…five dollars.” But having noticed his readiness, she added, “It’s the advance payment, and then the same amount afterwards.”
Daniel pulled his wallet out of a pocket and handed her six of his ten dollar banknotes. “Here, I don’t have a fiver.”
“I’ll bring you the change later,” Ada said hurriedly.
“I don’t need change. So, do you agree?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll send you to the company owned by my friend, Nina Kupina: she deals in advertising and is also Russian.”
“I know her. We arrived to Shanghai on the same ship.”
Ada hid the money in her purse, but then changed her mind and put it in her pocket. “Thieves can grab the purse,” she explained and waved to Daniel as she went to the gate.
He couldn’t help laughing: young girls hiding their shyness in impertinence were so charming. It would be interesting to see how long it would take to make her fall in love.
Daniel returned home and called Nina, “Do you have an artist who could draw a label for a pack of tea?”
“Of course. What exactly do you need in the picture?”
“One girl. I’ll send her to you, okay?”
“Sure.”
3.
Ada was triumphant. Everything was going beautifully: the war had ended and Shanghai was left intact. Mitya had finally gone after completely exhausting Ada with all his stupid questions, “What is a Victrola? What kind of a spirit sits inside it and sings?”
But the biggest success was a hundred and fifteen dollars for nothing. She giggled thinking that Mr. Bernard had fallen in love with her. But he was a married man and she couldn’t count on anything serious.
It would be great to swindle some more money out of him for a ticket to America, Ada dreamed. God, please don’t let Edna find out!
She had read in the newspaper that there was a new law on who was accepted into the States: they introduced special quotas for immigrants of each nationality, so you couldn’t just turn up and get registered anymore. If you wouldn’t go through this quota, they could send you back from where you came. And the Russians were definitely not the most welcome guests. Ada had no other choice but to battle with the US Consulate and demand them to issue a passport for her as the daughter of an American citizen.
How brilliant that Mr. Bernard sent me to Nina Kupina! she thought. I should ask her how much she charges for her passport services.
Ada primed her hair with a curler, carefully ironed her dress and sewed a neck band on her collar. Then ripped it off—not smart enough. She sewed a different one on, but it looked silly like a housemaid garment. The third one tore apart. As a result, she went with no neck band at all and simply put a scarf on her shoulders and stuck an aster flower in her hair. Daniel, bastard, could have at least arranged a new dress for her before sending her out modeling. Well, he’ll get the Pauper Princess for his tea.
Ms. Kupina’s studio was located in a one-story building. Ada told a doorkeeper that she had a meeting scheduled with the mistress and he took her inside. At the both sides of the narrow corridor, there were opened doors to rooms with Chinese artists sitting behind the easels, like in an art school. As Ada walked down the passageway her eyes met their intense gaze.
Ms. Kupina’s office smelled of printing paint. All the walls were covered with colorful posters with Asian ladies holding fans, cats and all kinds of vessels in their hands.
The mistress herself was examining a folder with paintings. Near Ms. Kupina sat a fashionably dressed Chinese woman.
“This guy worked for British American Tobacco,” she explained in English. “He was drawing the cover images for cigarette packs and inserts.”
“Why did he leave?” Ms. Kupina asked.
“They threw him out. His boss thought that he was selling their secrets to a Chinese tobacco plant or to one of the independent studios. Now, every other artist uses their technique: the paint is rubbed on the surface to create a color background and then it is complemented with contour and details.”
Ms. Kupina smiled, “I think we should take him on. But let him sit separately from all the others. Or maybe let him work at home and bring us finished posters.”
Ada was in a state of confusion at the door. Serious stuff was happening here, some artists were being employed. Again she felt embarrassed at her cheap dress.
Ms. Kupina raised her eyes. She stood up and beckoned Ada to follow her, “Come.”
She doesn’t like me. She didn’t even say hello, Ada thought nervously. Probably because her Klim lived so long in my room. Even though she doesn’t love him, she’s still hurt. Oh no, she won’t help me with my passport.
A tanned fidgety fellow with shiny curls was waiting for them in a big room stuffed with furniture and dresses on hangers.
“Sort her out, Boris,” Ms. Kupina told him and left.
He walked around Ada several times, tit-totting with his tongue, and dragged her to a big mirror like the ones they had in theater dressing rooms.
“Sit here and turn to me. We’re gonna make a swan out of you.”
He had an amazing number of pockets on his apron and would deftly snatch brushes or eyeliners from them.
“Look up…now, look here, at my ear. … That’s great!”
Ada was so frightened that she didn’t dare move. Her back grew numb, her nose was itchy. Boris stroked her face with a powder puff and turned her chair to the mirror. “A looker, aren’t you?”
Ada squinted her eyes to see better. In the mirror, she saw a reflection of some actress.
“It’s not me, is it?”
Boris roared with laughter. “We don’t need you, we need a princess. Now, let’s go take some pictures.”
It was already afternoon, when Ada returned to the office. Ms. Kupina was on the phone: “Calendars are already here.” She motioned for Ada to wait. “Yes, the whole run is here, in the storeroom.” She pressed the lever and connected to someone again. “How’s Kitty? Well? Tummy is okay? Good. I’ll be home for dinner.”
Ms. Kupina hung up and turned to Ada. “Are you done?”
Ada started telling her how Boris tortured her for the whole hour. He took at least thirty pictures. How much money would one need to develop and print this whole lot?
A noise was heard from the corridor. “You can’t go there!” someone screamed.
The door flew open and five ragged men charged into the room. They looked like they’d just run out of a wild forest. One was ugliness personified: there was something very wrong with his face.
Ms. Kupina frowned. “Gentlemen, whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
A young fellow in a rumpled boater hat came forward. “Madam, you’ve already received a formidable warning,” he said in Russian. He held a knife in his hands. “We want money from you.”
Racketeers, Ada thought, horrified.
Nina Kupina turned to her and whispered, “Get out.”
Ada rushed to the door, but a huge bearded fellow blocked her way. “She’ll stay here.”
“Your late cousin owed us five hundred dollars,” the fellow in a boater hat continued. “We ask you politely to return the debt. Or we’ll take measures.”
Ms. Kupina looked him straight in the eye. “So, you think you’re allowed to rob me?”
“Listen, you, madam…” The bearded man grabbed Nina by her hand, but she snatched a paperweight and hit him in the face. The guy with a knife rushed to her.
“A-a-ah!” squealed Ada.
A gunshot roared and somebody crie
d out in pain. Ada fell facedown covering her head with her hands—she thought the bandits had fired at her.
A Chinese woman with a revolver in her hands appeared from behind a safe.
“Out,” she said quietly in English.
The bandit wearing a boater hat was sitting on the floor, pressing his palm to a bloody stain on his trouser leg. “Bitch!” he wailed. “Look, what you’ve done!”
“Out,” the Chinese repeated, taking aim at the bearded man’s head.
He rushed to the door, but Ms. Kupina motioned to the wounded man, “Take…this…”
They dragged the fellow out from under his arms. He left a bloody trace on the floor.
Ms. Kupina slammed the door.
“We need to inform police!” exclaimed Ada.
“Be quiet.”
The Chinese woman looked outside through the blinds, “They’re leaving.”
Ada fell into a chair, completely exhausted. Tears ran down her cheeks; she wiped them with her sleeve, leaving black stains on her cuffs.
“Why don’t you call the police? They could come back!”
No one listened to her. Ms. Kupina shoved a dollar into her hand. “Go home.”
Her hands were ice-cold.
4.
Ada sat traumatized in a rickshaw cart.
“Faster! Faster!” she shouted, poking the rickshaw boy’s back with her shoe. She imagined the bandits jumping up from behind and cutting her throat with a knife.
Finally the cart arrived at the Bernards’ house. Ada jumped to the ground and threw a coin to the rickshaw boy.
Hobu opened the door. “We have guests,” she said in whisper.
“Who?”
Hobu didn’t have time to explain as Nina Kupina appeared on the stairs. Her face was pale and sad. Daniel followed her.
“Let me know if I can help with anything,” he said.
“It’s not necessary.”
She rushed outside and Daniel turned to Ada. “Come to my office, please.”
Ada’s heart quivered. How did Ms. Kupina turn up here? Did she come by car? What does she need from Mr. Bernard?
Daniel offered Ada a seat on his sofa and poured some cognac into the glass. “Drink, you’ll feel better.”
Ada obeyed, but couldn’t finish it and started to cough.
Daniel squeezed her hand. “Did you have a big fright?”
Ada nodded. “I don’t know who those people are and why they attacked helpless women.”
“They’re fascists,” Daniel said. “Herodotus told the story of a father who summoned his sons and told them that, individually, each of them was a thin stick that anyone can break. But together they were invincible. A bundle of such sticks in Latin is called fasces. In past days, these were a sign of power for a Roman magistrate, and now…a sign of unity for ultra-right nationalists.”
Ada didn’t understand. She wanted sympathy, but Mr. Bernard was telling her about sticks.
“People like you and me, Ada, recognize our people by shared morals. Do they share our belief system? Are they ready to fight for the same ideals? We’re indifferent to nationality or race; what is important to us is spiritual closeness. But fascists only consider worthy those who belong to their nation.”
“So they’re bandits? What did they want from Ms. Kupina?” Ada asked.
“They’re trying to consolidate their nation and believe everyone has to help this holy deed with money or actions, whatever possible.”
“So, they can come after me?”
Mr. Bernard shook his head. “They won’t dare come to you. I’ll protect you.”
5.
Daniel smiled: Ada didn’t let him hug her. She slid out from under his elbow and gave him a theatrical glance as a farewell. Keep your hands leashed!
She said she needed to go to the children’s room to check on her pupil. In the wall mirror, Ada noticed that her face was smeared with the remnants of her make-up. She gasped in embarrassment and ran out.
Daniel noticed a little gray button on the floor—it was a button from Nina’s glove. He picked it up. Nina had left in fury. She had most likely guessed something about Ada.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you’d sent me a governess,” Nina exclaimed, outraged. “Do you consider her beautiful?”
Daniel hurriedly changed the subject to the details of the fascists’ attack.
Nina said she had received several letters from them demanding money. Once, some scoundrel phoned, most probably from a café, because she heard other voices and the clink of dishes in the background. The rogue told her that they need to talk about her patriotism.
“It’s all because of Jiří,” Nina growled, letting off some steam. “By the way, I know one of the attackers—he’s a photographer from Flappers magazine who did my portrait. Binbin wounded his leg when she shot him.”
“Where did she get the weapon from?” Daniel asked.
“She carries a revolver in her bag because she’s afraid of her relatives’ vengeance.”
“You should probably also get a revolver. Or hire bodyguards. Go to the labor market in the Chinese City—there are tons of unemployed Russians. Many of them have battle experience.”
“I don’t need security, I need justice!” Nina exclaimed. “I don’t want to have bodyguards with me when I need to buy some ribbons. I need these fascists out of my life. And I can’t even call the police: Hugh Wayer will be only too happy if they kill me. Why are you staring at me like that?”
Daniel was thinking about Ada, who could have accidently been shot or stabbed thanks to him. Nina looked at him for a while then stood up and silently went out.
Daniel picked up the phone. Lemoine was at home. Nina never realized what a remarkable person she had introduced Daniel to a year and a half ago.
He explained to Lemoine what the problem was.
“I would get the police around,” Paul Marie said. “You know what, I have just the right fellow, he specializes in illegal political organizations. Don’t worry about Hugh Wayer, he won’t even know that the ladies are involved in the matter.”
CHAPTER 43
RUSSIAN FASCISTS
1.
The cadets were preparing the steamer Portos for Europe. They loaded the decks with suitcases, furniture and books—during their stay in Shanghai they had managed to accumulate a considerable amount of things. Five hundred boys—excited and hot-faced. New uniforms—the last present from their benefactors. A new journey to the other side of the world? What is awaiting them there?
Charitable dames, with their eyes in tears, shoved the cadets sweet rolls and waved goodbye with their kerchiefs.
“Unfortunately, we won’t be able to preserve the Corps as it is,” the Director said in his farewell speech. “In Belgrade, we’ll merge the existing military school and, after graduation, all cadets will be granted the opportunity to join the army of the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes.”
An orchestra played marches; wind whipped the flags around.
“Expulsion…” Egorych, an elderly attendant, sighed. “There’s nowhere where we’ll find home except the Motherland.”
Felix had come to say goodbye to his friends. He was silent, twiddling recently-bought motorcycle goggles in his hands. For so many years, the officers taught cadets that one man can’t win the war, but life had proved the opposite. By yourself, you could arrange your life—if you could forget the past and trample underfoot your Russianness. One Russian is a man, but together—they’re just a bunch of refugees.
It was three in the afternoon when Felix came back to his office. Lemoine, his old buddy, had asked him a favor, “Help my girlfriend. It’s no good when a lady is insulted by violence.”
Right after the collapse of the Czechoslovakian Consulate, Lemoine had learned whose fault it was. The next day, he and One-Eyed appeared in Felix’s room.
“So, you serve in the police?” Lemoine said, squinting menacingly. “We watched you.”
Felix
rushed to the door, but Lemoine banged his hand on the table, “Freeze!” And added calmly, “Think boy, think: where’re you gonna run from Paul Marie? We’d better talk.”
From that day on, they started to help each other. Felix sorted out issues with the police for Lemoine, and the Canadian shared rumors: which steamer brought illegal traffic from Russia, in what quantities, and who was the receiver of the goods, on paper and in reality.
To prove to Felix his good intentions, Lemoine told him to take under his wing a captain of a guard boat and his pal from customs. Felix went to them with a search warrant: there was supposed to be illegal literature on board. Instead of communist leaflets, he found opium in the cache. The captain and the customs officer pleaded with Felix not to report them and agreed to pay him three hundred dollars a month. It wasn’t long before Felix could afford the motorcycle.
Nina Kupina’s case was a piece of cake. An archive secretary brought Felix a thin folder labeled Russian Nationalists—it contained three agent’s reports, one anonymous letter and a list of surnames and addresses.
Felix picked up a receiver, “I need to find out if they have a Russian about seventeen to twenty years old in local hospitals, with a gunshot wound to his leg.”
A phone rang an hour later. The wounded fellow was found in the General Hospital on the North Suzhou Road.
2.
Black sky smeared the window. Patients snored; the air in the overcrowded hospital ward smelled of unwashed bodies and medicine. Nazar lay on his side feeling a throbbing pain in his ankle.
Chinese freaking skunk! he whined to himself. Why did you shoot me? What if I’ll be limping for the rest of my life? Thank God, they took me to hospital in time or who knows what could have happened—blood loss or infection. ... The doctor said the bone wasn’t touched. Or did he lie? He had a filthy face, he probably doesn’t want to treat my wound, but cut my leg off to make less work for him.
Oh people, dear people, how bloody painful it is! Can I ask for some morphine? But what if they put it on the bill? It’s already a huge sum there—a bed, linen and care. If they’ll find out I don’t have a cent, they’ll un-bandage me and throw me out to the street, to go croak with the Chinese beggars.
White Shanghai Page 33
