White Shanghai

by Elvira Baryakina

  In all scenarios, Nina wouldn’t return to him: she was so unhappy about her marriage she hadn’t asked her husband for help, but Tony Aulman.

  Even if you save your wife, your marriage is over—don’t you get it?

  And the reason behind it was not only Nina’s inability to love him unconditionally. Klim grew apart from her because he couldn’t love the real her. If you step aside, then you see only what was worthy of admiration: the power of spirit, a shrewd mind, grace and elegance. And maybe no need to notice the other side of the coin; just make jokes about it as if it’s not important.

  But then—what was it all for? What was the reason for exposing himself to bullets, risking his daughter and his own life? During the siege in Nanking, looters were shooting at windows with machine-guns. What would happen to Kitty if Klim was killed? Valentina—diligent, but indifferent—she’d abandon her immediately.

  There would be no prize in any case. If you save Nina, you’ll not save her for yourself.

  The morning was damp and clammy. Klim was listening to the hum of the cruiser’s engine and watching silhouettes of cranes and quays in the distance. The electric streetlamps in the fog were scattered like stars.

  He had to create himself again. Answer the questions, Who am I?

  Am I a person who can adjust to Nina’s requirements for a “real man?” The one who can close his eyes to the fact that her thoughts revolve constantly over the two D’s: dollars and Daniel?

  Of course not.

  But I’m not a person, who can leave his wife in trouble—and that’s what I’ll hold to.

  And the reward?

  Well, I have already received it. Ten years of passionate love—that’s not too bad really.

  4.

  Don Fernando caught Klim in the elevator.

  “What the bloody hell’s going on? First, you disappear like a son of a bitch and then announce your resigning so the whole of Shanghai knows?”

  Klim shoved a long, dark object into his hands. “It’s for you—a Japanese war fan, tessen. Sorry, it’s not new. But, it’s an ancient relic and will come in handy one of these days.”

  Don Fernando opened the fan; its spokes were made of metal.

  “They say it’s good for fighting off arrows and stabbing people,” Klim explained. “During the siege of Nanking we armed ourselves with whatever was around. Mr. Hobart had a collection of Japanese weapons, so I took the fan. The owner won’t need it anymore.”

  Don Fernando stared at him from under his frown. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll finish up with the radio and go to Peking.”

  “Why the bloody hell…?”

  Klim told him about what had happened to Nina.

  “And you’re hoping to save her single-handedly?” the Don said in astonishment. “If it’s a political issue, they won’t even let you see her— as well as her lawyers.”

  “I need to contact the Soviet Embassy in Peking,” Klim said. “The ambassador’s probably doing everything to save Fanya Borodina: she’s the wife of the chief political advisor, after all. I think Nina’s with her.”

  “But how are you going to reach the ambassador? Do you have people among the Russian communists?”

  “I know one guy in Shanghai. Not a high-ranker, but still he’s one of their instigators.”

  “Hmm…Look for him in the Russian Consulate. They’re all hiding there—your White Army fellas are besieging them. Overall, the communists aren’t doing very well. Chiang Kai-shek has refused to have anything to do with them. There’s a famine in Hankou, all the factories and shops are closed—there’s nothing to eat. On the plus side for the commies, this means no exploitation of labor.” The Don laughed at his own joke. “Their only hope is the Shanghai proletariat led by the General Labor Union. There are four thousand armed workers in the Chinese City, but it’s not enough to battle the Revolutionary Army. They’ve gone to ground at strong points—in the Eastern Library Building, in the Commercial Press. … The communists need at least twelve thousand fighters—they’ve got the men, but not enough arms. It’s become impossible to buy a bullet for any amount of money, even on the black market.”

  “Somebody’s bought it all up?” Klim guessed.

  Don Fernando moved his eyebrows emphatically.

  An elevator arrived. A boy in a braided hat opened the door. Klim hugged Don Fernando. “Take care.”

  “Try to stay alive!” the Don shouted and waved his war fan to the closing elevator door.

  5.

  Kitty flew out to meet Klim.

  “Daddy!” she squealed happily and tucked into his knees. Black eyes exultant, one cheek smeared in a slobbered pencil. So many times he’d told her not to put it in her mouth!

  Valentina was asking something. Klim answered without hearing her: yes…no…

  Kitty showed him a toy duckling. “A boy gave it to me.”

  Oh dear…boys already!

  “What boy?”

  “I’m telling you—a white one. He always waits when I go outside. He sits in the window and watches me. I was showing him my tongue, but yesterday I didn’t, and he gave me this duckling.”

  Klim took Kitty in his hands. A little white boy fell in love with her. … Not a fool—how could you not fall in love with such a beauty! Oh my sweetheart, how can I make it so everything in your life is just perfect?

  “You have a visitor,” said amah appearing at the doors.

  Klim frowned. “Who?”

  “Hua Binbin.”

  Klim walked to the sitting room with amah stammering behind him, “Miss Hua is so wonderful. I saw her last movie—my heart was torn apart!”

  Binbin wore a blue silk dress with short sleeves. What’s going on in the world? Klim thought. Chinese women have started to show up with their arms uncovered!

  She stretched out her petite hand to Klim. “You probably remember me. Two years ago I worked for your wife.”

  “I remember.”

  Binbin looked Klim up and down. The shade from her hat divided her face horizontally into two parts—her bright red lips and tender chin lit up, but her eyes hidden in shadow.

  “I’ve just returned from Peking, we went there for our film. All the newspapers write about Fanya Borodina’s court trial, her cousin and three diplomatic couriers.”

  “The hearing didn’t happen?” Klim asked, after a pause.

  “Zhang Zuolin kept delaying the matter, hoping to trade more from Mikhail Borodin. But Borodin refused to negotiate even to save his own wife. He said if he announces a cease-fire, then his wife is more important to him than world revolution.”

  Klim rubbed his face with his hands. “What penalties are the prisoners facing?”

  “Either death or a life sentence. I heard it on the radio today that you’re leaving to Peking. Are you going for Nina?”

  Klim nodded.

  “Can I do something for you?” Binbin asked. “Your wife and I had a falling out, but I am still grateful to her. She helped me earn money for my new film.”

  “Do you know any of the officials in Peking?”

  “No, but I have a lot of friends in the Kuomintang Party here.”

  “Who do you know?”

  “Do you remember Guo, the artist who made portraits for Miss Nina? All negotiations between the General Labor Union and the Kuomintang headquarters go through him. Also there’s—”

  “Wait,” Klim interrupted. “Does Guo know what the stamp of the General Labor Union leader looks like?”

  “Wang Shouhua’s? Most probably.”

  Klim squeezed her hand. “Please introduce me to Guo.”

  6.

  The telephones in the Soviet Consulate were dead: the Whites had cut the cable. All connection with the General Labor Union had to be carried out by couriers.

  Theodor Sokoloff peeped out the window. His enemy, Colonel Lazarev was flogging some guy in civvies.

  A happy audience of White Army officers crowded around them. Short-sighted Sok
oloff squinted, trying to see which unlucky man had fallen into their hands this time.

  The Whites didn’t ban anyone from coming into the Consulate; they simply made it impossible for it to function. Clever, very clever. … If they catch a Soviet courier they search the poor fellow, put him against a wall like they were going to shoot him, but just take his photograph. Or they would provoke a punch-up. No point trying to complain to the city authorities. They only had one answer: the White Army platoons patrol territories entrusted to them and act under their own directives to search all suspicious people. If you’re unhappy with this, we’ll deal with it later.

  Sokoloff was sure the traitors from Kuomintang were up to something. His informants who managed to get through the cordon reported that the new commandant ordered all workers to disarm. Without armed workers’ units, the revolution would die.

  So far, it was impossible to get most of the Chinese soldiers over to the communist side. Men who were enlisted from villages did not understand what socialism was; first, they would have to stay in the city for a while and figure out the basics of the workers movement. But this took time—oh damn time!

  The guy who was under attack deftly hit Lazarev between the eyes, jumped away and ran towards the Consulate.

  It was Klim Rogov.

  At first, the guards at the entrance didn’t let him in, but he kicked up such a fuss, demanding to see Theodor Sokoloff, that they relented.

  He breathed heavily through his teeth. “The noble officers turned out to be weak,” he growled, blood oozing from his split eyebrow. “Didn’t expect me to fight back.”

  Sokoloff was astonished to learn a radio anchorman as famous as Rogov was secretly helping communists by translating documents for the General Labor Union.

  When they met at his lecture, Sokoloff thought Klim was a seedy individual, not capable of any serious deeds. But maybe the revolution had swept him up, too?

  “There’s something building against us,” Klim said, wiping blood off his cheek. “Our Chinese comrades are getting ready to defend—they are creating a stock of bandages and food for the defense posts.”

  “Why did you call for me?” Sokoloff asked. “Do you have instructions from the Union?”

  Klim glanced at the guard standing near them.

  “I told Wang Shouhua that I know you personally and you can be trusted. He’s a bit concerned about the archives. If the enemy takes over our financial reporting, then it’ll become known who paid for the revolution in China. We don’t have the right to destroy papers either— the Kuomintang is spreading rumors that funds are being squandered. We have to have evidence proving that everything to the last coin was spent on the right things. We made a decision to move the archive to a safe place, to the Soviet Embassy in Peking.”

  Sokoloff nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Here’s a letter of authorization from Wang Shouhua.” Klim pulled a letter from his chest pocket. “He wanted me to deliver the archive to the embassy. Just tell me who to give it to.”

  Sokoloff glanced through the letter: it was written in Chinese, with the stamp of the General Labor Union.

  “Stay here, I need to show it to our translator.”

  Sokoloff returned fifteen minutes later. “Here’s the address and a note. In Peking, don’t go to the embassy, but to our girls Pasha and Glasha Zaborova. They work in the capital now. Give them the papers. … How are you going to get out? The White thugs won’t let you.”

  Klim glanced out the window. “It’s okay. When it’s dark I’ll find a way.”

  CHAPTER 77

  BIG EARS DU, CHIANG KAI-SHEK AND FOREIGN DEVILS

  1.

  It was strange to see Big-Eared Du in Sterling Fessenden’s modern office. There was Du, a creature from a different world, a different century—tall, stooped, with two-inch-long finger-nails and a long silk robe—next to a radio receiver, electrical lamps and fountain pens. Only his shoes were European.

  Tony Aulman translated Du’s quiet speech, “The communists need time. They’re waiting for ships from Vladivostok to bring new weapons.”

  “We have an agreement with the commandant of the Chinese City,” Fessenden said. “He won’t let another revolt happen.”

  Du lowered his drooping eyelids. “If I were you, I wouldn’t count on him. Everyone has their own interests in this game. The Kuomintang started the Northern Expedition with the slogan, We’ll kick the foreign devils out of China! And if the communists try to take over the foreign concessions, the Revolutionary Army’s leadership will only be too happy.”

  Aulman looked Fessenden straight in the eye. Everyone who could had fled Shanghai. Those who stayed sent their families abroad to wait out the war in Japan or Korea. Yesterday, Tamara had another fit. Moving her out of the country would kill her. His sons refused to leave without her—We’ll defend our Mommy!

  “So, what’s your offer?” Fessenden asked Big-Eared.

  For a second Du’s eyes flashed. “We don’t offer—we act. If you send your people on the road towards Longhua, they will find a corpse near an abandoned peasant’s hut. They may recognize the head of the General Labor Union.”

  “You killed him?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He wanted a big war in Shanghai. We prefer a small one.”

  Big-Eared Du was calm, but they could see he wanted quick action. If the communists won, his opium trade would be over. Workers would not restrain themselves from looting the concessions, and the subsequent massacre would result in a full-scale intervention. The city then would fall into the hands of the foreign generals who would never allow the Green Gang inside Shanghai territory.

  “We’ll hit the communists tonight before dawn,” Du said. “Are you with us or not?”

  Fessenden’s prominent forehead shone in the lamplight. He pulled on his fingers, one by one cracking the joints in the silence.

  “What do you need?”

  “Five thousand rifles with ammunition, trucks and permits across the concessions. To make the attack sudden and unexpected we need our men to be transported through the International Settlement.”

  “You’ll get everything you need.” Fessenden said.

  Aulman let out a sigh of relief. If the communists were dealt with, Tamara would live for a few more days.

  2.

  At four in the morning, navy ships’ sirens wailed. Army trucks flew along the streets, full of people with white armbands on their sleeves. Citizens jumped from their beds, frightened, staring through the windows. Who were they? Who were they going to kill? But the trucks disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.

  Soon, shooting began on the northern outskirts. Du’s thugs broke into houses, cutting up the sleeping residents.

  In several hours, the Workers Guard was completely destroyed. Now, the army trucks transported the corpses away. Street cleaners busily washed blood off the asphalt.

  That morning, all the newspapers and information agencies published the message:

  It was necessary to banish the communists from the Labor Unions. Now they will be reorganized in accordance with Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s principles.

  To make the common people a little bit happier, on April 13, the International Settlement taxpayer assembly issued a resolution: The Chinese can now freely visit all city parks.

  Justice was done.

  3.

  The front door of the Wayers’ house was not opened by a servant, but by the little girl, Brittany. Her hair was a mess; dress crumpled, as if she’d slept in it. Under her arm, she held a toy penguin with one torn eye.

  “Where’s everybody?” Martha asked, surprised.

  “Run away,” Brittany said and went back to her room.

  The house smelled of opium. On the carpet lay sausage wraps and an apple core. A mandolin sound came from somewhere—sharp and unpleasant—an amateur was trying to play.

  Robert hadn’t come to Martha’s for several weeks now. She’d tried to convince herself he was doing fine, that he was t
oo busy with his work and military preparations. But yesterday, a police detective called Johnny Collor arrived at her place.

  “Did you know Mrs. Wayer was murdered?” he asked.

  “What happened?” Martha gasped, terrified.

  “She was shot. We’re looking for the culprits.”

  Collor asked Martha a few questions. He didn’t look straight in her eyes, but constantly around the room, like a thief deciding what to steal.

  “We know Robert Wayer was a regular client at your enterprise. His family life hadn’t worked out. Can you think of anyone who might be connected with his wife’s murder?”

  Martha denied any knowledge—perhaps too emphatically. Collor bent his lips—he was one of those people who would rather believe an indifferent phrase than passionate exclamations.

  He said goodbye and asked her not to tell anyone about their conversation.

  Martha dreaded what she would find in the Wayers’ house. Robert wasn’t the first one she’d seen burned to a husk by opium.

  A room with closed curtains, a tray on a bedside table, a small lamp with a glass cover piece, a heavy smell of cooled smoke—thick, so thick.

  Robert sat on the bed in threadbare underpants, his legs tucked under his body. On a pillow was the dark silhouette of a mandolin. It was wrapped in a blanket, the same way people wrap a sick child.

  Robert didn’t turn to the sound of Martha’s steps. In his hand was a thin needle with a small dark lump smoking on its end. Robert put it into his long pipe with a cup in a silver frame. He inhaled and lay next to the mandolin.

  Martha closed the door behind her. She couldn’t do anything. Robert had damned himself.

  4.

  Brittany jumped on the sofa; Mommy would have a heart attack if she saw her now. But like Hobu and Miss Ada, Mommy was scared of the war and had gone to her relatives. Only Brittany and Daddy were left.

  A wall-clock struck two in the afternoon. Last night, Brittany heard gunshots. She lay with her penguin under a blanket and told him a story to stop him being scared.

  A door opened and a dame in a hat with a flower entered the room. Her dress was the kind of outfit Mommy called tacky.