White Shanghai

by Elvira Baryakina

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ada, leave us, please,” Hobu uttered in a dry voice.

  “Why? So you can persuade Mrs. Wayer to keep you? You need the money more?”

  “Leave us,” the nanny repeated firmly.

  Lissie had never seen Hobu act like this before.

  “Missy, if you’re really struggling, I can help,” the nanny said once Ada had left. “But only if you have no other way out.”

  That evening, dressed in rain coats, with hoods covering their faces, Lissie and Hobu rode in a rickshaw towards Zhabei District in the Chinese City. Lissie cast glances at gray walls and wet roofs, nervously listening to the rattle of wheels on paving stones. Behind the red-framed windows lived alien, unknown and incomprehensible beings—the Chinese.

  They stopped suddenly and Hobu led Lissie down a narrow street hung with washing lines. She knocked a special knock on a scruffy door. A girl, about ten-years-old, with glasses on her flat nose, let them in. She didn’t say a word to Hobu, as if she’d seen her many times before.

  Lissie stepped over the high threshold and found herself in a cluttered, dimly lit place, smelling of Chinese food. The expensive furniture was a stark contrast to the unpainted walls.

  “Come, Missy,” Hobu invited her into a room with a window opening on a tiny inner courtyard. The light barely reached this place. At the bottom of the courtyard was a sickly tree—three leaves to each branch.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Wayer,” said a middle-aged man wearing silver-framed round glasses. He was sitting in a Chinese armchair, wearing a nice suit and bow-tie. He had a strong Russian accent, but spoke English with no mistakes.

  He looks like a beetle, Lissie thought anxiously.

  Hobu bowed and left.

  “Have a seat, please,” the man said. “My surname is Sokoloff.”

  He told Lissie the strike was only the beginning of inevitable class clashes in China. The foreigners, as usual, lied to the people. They played trade union leaders off against each other and installed a new tyrant in the Chinese City who hated communists.

  Lissie waited, impatiently tapping her shoe on the floor. She’d got her feet wet climbing out of the rickshaw.

  Finally Sokoloff got down to business. “We’re ready to pay for Robert

  Wayer’s words.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Today your husband was appointed as Fessenden’s assistant. We need to know what’s going on in the Municipal Council meetings and what the Chairman says in his private discussions.”

  “Robert has a job?” Lissie gasped. “Well…why would I want to spy on him?”

  She couldn’t see Sokoloff’s eyes: his glasses reflected the light from the window.

  “I understand Mr. Wayer’s new assignment means you won’t be chasing every dollar anymore,” Sokoloff said. “If my offer is not for you, please accept my apologies for wasting your time.”

  Hobu and Sokoloff had played the game perfectly: Lissie’s crisis was not a lack of money, but a lack of freedom, which she could only buy with money of her own.

  “I’ll be working for the communists?” she asked.

  “You’ll be working for me.”

  “Are you afraid that I might turn you in?”

  Sokoloff moved into darkness and the light reflected on his glasses went out.

  “Then you’ll have an accident.”

  “How much will you pay me?”

  Lissie and Hobu returned in silence. The rickshaw boy put a leather awning over his cart and covered Lissie and Hobu’s knees with a lap robe. Splashes from his ragged boots flew in all directions.

  Lissie put her hand on the roll of banknotes Sokoloff had given her in advance.

  “Hobu,” she called, “where do your people get so much money to pay me?”

  “From the North,” she replied, indifferently.

  From Russia. Lissie’s heart was gripped with fear. How had she allowed herself to get into this? Communists… police…what if they arrest me? But what do they have on me? I’ll say Sokoloff is my friend and we chat about politics. If they ask me where I got my money from, I’ll say it was a loan from somebody.

  Lissie managed to calm herself by thinking that if the communists wanted to know what was going on at the Municipal Council, they’ll find a way to do it anyway. They could bribe cleaners and chimneysweepers. If a revolution is about to start in China, like it did in Russia, then that’s just how it should be. Lissie wouldn’t be upset; by the time it happened she’d be far away, in Chicago, at Francine’s. Not long ago she had received a letter from her friend: “Leave your husband and bring your daughter here. We’ll work something out.”

  CHAPTER 58

  THE WARRIOR’S WAY

  1.

  Felix begged for mercy many times. Ada had forgiven him long ago—after all, she didn’t have anyone else except this lanky fellow. In truth, she enjoyed his sweet words full of remorse.

  Finally, she accepted Felix’s apology, almost crying with self pity as she told him her story. Klim and her were never lovers. They were not even friends and just happened to be in the same room, it was easier to survive that way. She told him how she’d lost all her money and how Nina Kupina—the bitch!—refused to pay it back.

  “And now my mistress is about to fire me,” Ada added, glancing at Felix stealthily. If he proposed now, all her problems would be over. But he was thinking of different things.

  “So you’d saved Seraphim, the big one?”

  Ada nodded.

  “He served in the Corps church while our priest was sick,” Felix said. “Where is he now? In the hospital?”

  “At his place. Matushka left him and Klim brings him medicines. They’re old friends, but Seraphim doesn’t accept a thing.”

  “So Rogov is not a scoundrel?”

  “Of course he’s a scoundrel, he’s married to Nina Kupina! I think he’s ashamed of her; he just can’t order her to return my money. But he’s promised to gradually pay me back himself.”

  “Ada, take me to Seraphim. I need to talk to him.”

  Felix promised he would organize a prison guard position for Seraphim. It would be a cushy job, only incredibly boring. Though, for a big man with wounds, it would be perfect.

  As each day passed Ada fell more and more in love with Felix, despite his untidiness, lack of patience and blunt speech. He’s a warrior: the word said it all. Felix brought her jackknives and cross-bows, showing her how each weapon’s mechanism worked. Once he fetched a Chinese charm to ward off bad luck, the dried head of a monkey.

  “You’re genuine, real,” Felix said to Ada. “All around is human refuse: one person tries to pull a chair from under another. But you Ada…I don’t know how to say it…but give me a thousand dollars and you’ll be better still!”

  Now she thought of Daniel with resentment. He may be well-educated, but Felix was a clean soul while Mr. Bernard’s soul was full of dark nooks and secret traps.

  At the cadet ball, Felix didn’t dance with Ada, scornfully watching how she waltzed with the others. She felt sorry for him and after some time asked him to take her home.

  “Why don’t you dance with me?” she asked.

  Felix blushed, looking embarrassed. “I don’t know how to dance. The teacher at the Corps died from cholera and there was no money to pay for a new one.”

  “But the other graduates can dance.”

  “They have a knack for it. I bought the tickets for you. You, women, like this stuff.”

  Ada looked at his hawk-nosed profile and the crooked scar on his chin. Yes, a warrior. With him she wasn’t even scared of having children.

  2.

  The Wayers left to see friends and all the servants were given leave. The house was empty, except Shao sleeping in the extension.

  Ada quietly unlocked the back door; the key was kept under a rainwater barrel. She turned to Felix. “I’ll show you where I work. But be very quiet, we shouldn’t be here.”

  It was frigh
tening and fun taking Felix around the dark house as she explained in a whisper, “Here’s Mr. Wayer’s office. Do you see all the rifles on the walls? He’s a hunter; he used to have stables, but has sold everything.”

  The floorboards squeaked. There was a loud rattle as an ashtray fell from a vanity when it caught on Felix’s map-case.

  Ada’s heart fluttered. Did we wake Shao up?

  “Is it working?” Felix pressed a button on Lissie’s electrical massaging device.

  “Don’t touch it! The mistress will kill me if she notices!”

  Felix smiled, “C’mon, we won’t be scared of these people.”

  Ada almost laughed herself, but said, “We’re like burglars. If you want, I’ll show you the safe: it has a lock with music. Lissie said when they had money, two or three thousand dollars were kept there. I wish I could have a look at such a heap of cash!”

  Suddenly Felix turned on a table lamp.

  “They’ll catch us!” Ada whispered and choked on her words as she watched Felix shaking fat wads of dollars out of his map-case, all in large denominations. “What is it? Where’s it from?” she managed to mumble.

  Felix scooped the money into a heap and put it back in his map-case. “Don’t think that your Wayers are the only rich people in this world.”

  Ada sat on the sofa, completely lost. “Are you not afraid of carrying such a large sum with you? What if robbers attack you?”

  Felix slapped the side of his jacket where his revolver was hidden.

  “As soon as they get rid of the Bolsheviks, I’m going back to Russia to start a business,” he said.

  “What?” Ada uttered in a weak voice.

  “Maybe breeding fighting dogs…”

  Felix didn’t understand the value of the treasure he possessed. He walked around in his wrinkled long coat, wearing his frayed cap. He bought Ada an eau-de-cologne for fifty cents, not because he didn’t want to spend more money on Coty perfume, but because he had no idea what to buy a girl.

  He was born into a poor family and no one taught him to appreciate beauty and comfort. For Felix, money was a war trophy that could be shoved into his map-case.

  Ada wondered how he’d earned his money? On bribes? But in truth, did she really care?

  “It’s too late,” Ada said tenderly. “Let’s go home.”

  On the way, she thought everything through. As soon as they get married, she should persuade Felix to go with her to America and there she would be able to invest his money properly. He wouldn’t need much, just good food, a clean bed and the usual boy’s toys: guns, motorcycles and the like. And she would make sure they lived a secure life, renting out rooms or keeping a nice little hotel at a popular vacation spot.

  But she had to arrange everything as quickly as possible, before Daniel came back. As for my airplane…I’ll sell it, Ada decided. I could probably get a heap of money for it.

  Felix returned her to the House of Hope and shook her hand. “Good night.” “Good night.”

  Ada turned to go to her little unheated room with an orange curtain.

  “Wait,” Felix pleaded.

  Ada looked at him with a curious expression. “What?”

  He took off his cap. “Ada, dearest…” He suddenly grasped her shoulders and kissed her—greedily and clumsily. The map-case stuck into her side. “Please, don’t be angry with me...” Felix’s eyes were drunk either from joy or confusion. “I don’t know what come over me. I’m probably a fool, but—”

  Ada stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “It’s okay, I’m not angry.” She turned and ran into the House of Hope.

  The inner courtyard was empty. Ada threw back her head—stars shone between the drying pants and robes. She stretched her hands upwards, as if embracing someone, and danced all the way to the door.

  “He loves me,” she whispered and giggled happily.

  CHAPTER 59

  EASTER HOLIDAY

  1.

  Nina enjoyed Sterling Fessenden’s company. He was crafty and good-humored, like a fairytale tomcat. He passionately loved Shanghai, but only within the borders of the International Settlement. He revered racist Congressman Albert Jonson and from time to time read The Passing of the Great Race; or, The Racial Basis of European History by Madison Grant. Fessenden was a fatty, a foodie, a bachelor and a snob.

  Nina now knew how to pander to his sense of humor. She would mock Senator Borah with his anti-imperialistic views and take off the head of the French police: “We pilfered the budget so that’s why we can’t buy long socks and arm patches, and without those essentials we can’t keep order,” she would say with a terrible French accent. “But should the Green Gang share its opium profits with us, we’ll start fighting crime again—in no time at all.” Fessenden laughed.

  “I’m like his milking maid,” Nina told Klim. “Today I’ve drawn more milk, a contract to guard the municipal rickshaw parking lots. Fessenden explained to me how it works: a cart costs a hundred dollars and serves for five years. A Chinese rickshaw boy pays a dollar a day to rent a cart. If it breaks down, he fixes it out of his own pocket. So it’s a clean profit of more than one thousand and seven hundred percent, and even better for the fact that there are no taxes.”

  But Klim didn’t appreciate the beauty of the scheme. “A rickshaw boy is running in all weather twelve hours a day for twenty cents. Almost none of them reach forty years of age before dying from overexertion.”

  “Those who can’t use their heads have to use their legs,” Nina said, scornfully. “I also arrived in China with not a cent in my pocket.”

  “Then why don’t you make friends with the Chinese governor and his butchers? They also have clever schemes in their torture chambers—a feast for a connoisseur.”

  Klim stopped writing his secret letters. He didn’t kiss Nina anymore; sometimes weeks passed without them even touching each other.

  She didn’t understand what had happened. Why was he suddenly rejecting her? All the obvious reasons—fights, half-words—seemed too small and ludicrous for this extreme behavior. His love had survived much more serious things in the past.

  Was he disappointed? But then why is he still here living with her? Had he achieved what he strived for and become content? Maybe that’s what it was: there was nothing for him to strive for anymore?

  Did he not remember how happy—really happy—they’d been together? Why did he not want to bring that feeling back?

  Nina knew Klim’s father was a dry person and he considered tender feelings shameful. Perhaps all the years of his daddy-attorney preaching had finally borne fruit in his son?

  She tried to talk to Klim, but every time it seemed he was mocking her.

  “What? You need more intimacy?” he would ask her in a very serious tone.

  She barely managed to contain her fury. “I need more love.”

  “My dear, how much more do you need? Don’t you think you’ve already totally over-loved yourself?”

  First, she exhausted herself trying to figure out what was wrong with her. Then she had an explosion of hatred towards Klim and a violent desire to destroy everything around her. Did he only want to see her as an evil, mercantile woman? Okay, he’d get what he wanted.

  Klim found a job on the radio and it was enough to make a horse laugh. What kind of occupation was that—to babble into a microphone all day?

  “Do you really think I have to work in a serious job that makes me sick?” Klim asked. “The only reason is to present me to Fessenden without being ashamed? I’m sorry, my dear, but I can’t make such a sacrifice for you.”

  It was useless to talk to Tamara about Nina’s problems.

  “I think I respect your husband even more now,” Tamara said. “Not many people in this world are ready to live how they like and not how they should. It takes a lot of courage.”

  Nina suddenly caught herself missing Daniel and their conversations. All the bad memories disappeared and only the feeling of affinity between their souls remained.
Daniel would definitely have appreciated how much she’d achieved. But did he love his Ada? Never mind, let him love whoever he wants. Nina would never let that impede on their friendship and mutual admiration.

  Fessenden’s secretary called Nina’s office. “There’s a letter from Washington for you.”

  Nina pushed her chauffeur to hurry up. Her lips were dry with worry. What had they decided? Yes or no? Would they give her citizenship?

  Fessenden had visitors, so Nina waited in his reception room. His secretary kept bugging her to bring the morning newspaper or a cup of tea, but Nina could not think about anything except her citizenship.

  What a joy is to be protected by law! Those who receive this right by birth can never understand what it means to have your name on a piece of official paper: it gives you permission to be human.

  Finally Fessenden was available and Nina walked into his office.

  “Well, let me congratulate you,” he said. “Your issue is resolved.”

  Nina’s heart trembled with joy.

  “But…” Fessenden frowned. “There’s one setback. You applied for yourself, your husband and your adopted daughter. According to the Immigration Act of 1924, Chinese people have no rights to receive citizenship. I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you there. If you want to move to America, you’ll have to leave your daughter behind.”

  Nina gripped the gray envelope with its precious papers all the way home. It’s okay. ... It wasn’t that bad: she had a flourishing business in Shanghai; she wasn’t planning to move to the USA anyway. She just wanted to have extraterritoriality rights.

  When Nina arrived home, Klim was away at his radio station. Nanny Valentina and Kitty were drawing rabbits in the children’s room.

  “Mommy!” Kitty ran to Nina and hugged her knees.

  Klim once said, “To love means to take care.” Despite all Nina’s best efforts to keep Kitty happy, her husband preferred not to notice a thing. One mistake cost her dearly: in a fit of temper she’d once blurted how ashamed she was of Kitty, and Klim took it as what Nina truly believed. He only wanted to see the vixen in his wife, then everything could be explained and he could consider himself higher and cleaner. He didn’t give her the right to even make a single slip-up.