The curtain fell, the music stopped. Was it all over? Mirabel blinked, still in a daze. Surely there was another scene where they got married and lived happily ever after?
The crowd gave a standing ovation, clapping and cheering as the curtain rose again. The dancers had lined up to take their bows.
‘That was so wonderful,’ Mirabel said as they walked down the stairs and out onto the street. ‘But why did the lovers have to die?’
‘Love and tragedy are two sides of the same coin, Mirabel,’ Max said.
‘Do not listen to Max.’ Rachel linked her arm through Mirabel’s. ‘Love and tragedy make a great story. It would not be so memorable if it had a happy ending.’
‘I suppose you are right. I could see that ballet over and over again.’
As they were leaving the theatre and getting into a taxi, Mirabel caught sight of a boy standing at the corner of a laneway. He looked strangely familiar. She stared at him a moment, before he turned and disappeared into the night.
Where had she seen that face before?
Then she remembered. It was the same boy who had opened the door for her and Stefan in Hongkew, when they had been looking for Jin Yu several months before. But surely that would be too much of a coincidence. Shanghai was a huge city.
She shook the vision away.
Cafe de Paris
SHANGHAI
MARCH 1947
As Mirabel put on her warm winter coat, Rachel came into the apartment carrying a string bag of shopping in each hand.
Lottie ran up to her in excitement.
‘No, no, no,’ Rachel said and the little girl ran off giggling.
‘I’m taking Bao Bao and the girls to the park for their English lesson,’ Mirabel said.
Rachel waited until Lottie was out of earshot. ‘Perfect,’ she whispered. ‘That will give me time to set up a surprise afternoon tea for her birthday.’
The day was grey and misty, the last chill of winter colouring the girls’ cheeks a rosy pink. Frieda and Lottie skipped on ahead. Lottie’s plaits, tied with red ribbons, bobbed happily on her shoulders. Mirabel carried Bao Bao in her arms. He giggled as she pretended to chase the girls. He had grown so much in the two months they had been in Shanghai. How she wished she had brought her pram from Melbourne. They were so expensive here. Everyone carried their babies strapped to their backs or in their arms. Only the foreigners could afford to buy one of the plush-looking prams available in the big department stores.
A foreign lady tottered towards them, high heels clicking fiercely on the pavement. A Pomeranian on the end of a diamond-encrusted lead pranced along beside her.
Mirabel smiled and said hello as they passed each other, but the lady sniffed the air indignantly, pulling the little dog to her side as if Mirabel had a disease. Mirabel realised the lady must have thought she was a servant taking her employer’s children to the park. After all, Frieda and Lottie were white and Mirabel was Chinese.
How wrong, she thought, that she should be treated like an inferior in her own country.
As Mirabel walked into the park, she nodded at two elderly Chinese gentlemen sitting at a table. The men wore long robes lined with goat hair and hats with flaps over their ears. They returned a gracious nod and resumed their game of Chinese chess, placing their hands inside their wide sleeves after each move.
The camellia trees were in bloom and in the branches hung a pair of beautifully crafted bamboo cages, each one holding a single bird. The cages swung in the breeze and the birds’ feathers ruffled as they sang their distinctive melodies. Mirabel often saw men walking their birds around Shanghai and had written about them to Rose. They would stroll through the streets swinging their cages until they came to a teahouse or park. There the proud owners would display their birds for all to admire.
After the lesson the girls ran off to collect pinecones but soon came running back.
‘A boy, he wants to see you,’ said Frieda excitedly.
‘A boy? Where?’ Mirabel looked around the park, alarmed.
Lottie pointed to where a copse of trees grew. There was no one there.
Frieda shrugged. ‘He was there. He gone now.’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘He want you meet him in Cafe de Paris.’
Lottie mouthed her sister’s words and nodded.
‘How old was he, Frieda? As old as Stefan?’
‘No, not big like Stefan but big,’ Frieda replied.
Could this be the boy she had seen outside the theatre? If it was, he was her link with JJ. Mirabel’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Lottie, Frieda, we must go back home now. I must go and meet that boy.’
‘We come too,’ Frieda said eagerly, while Lottie nodded.
‘No, I have to go alone. And your mummy’s got a surprise waiting for you.’
‘A surprise?’ Frieda said.
‘For my birthday,’ whispered Lottie in a tiny voice.
‘Come on then, let’s race home. Bet you can’t beat Bao Bao and me.’
Back at the apartment, Mirabel quickly explained everything to Rachel. Then she ran towards the shops on Avenue Joffre hoping, praying, that the boy would still be waiting for her.
As she approached the cafe, she saw a boy walking towards her. She had guessed right. It was the same boy she had seen in Hongkew and that night at the ballet. She smiled but he only slowed slightly as he came near, saying in a low voice, ‘Jin qu zuo. Go in and sit down.’ Then he passed her and disappeared into the crowd.
Mirabel went in, confused. Why had he sent her in here? Where had he gone? The cafe was very European, with round marble tables. Each table had a pair of heart-shaped wire-backed chairs with wooden seats. She looked around and saw that the clientele was mixed European and Chinese, but predominantly young couples. She chose a table and a seat facing the door and sat down to wait.
A French waiter appeared, dressed in black pants and a white shirt with a napkin draped over his arm. ‘Bonjour Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘Une table seule? Que souhaitez-vous?’
Mirabel didn’t understand French but replied in English, ‘I’d like a black coffee, please.’
‘Of course,’ the waiter said in a surly manner and left.
As she sipped her coffee, she watched the door, but no more Chinese entered. A young European couple were seated at the next table. The girl’s hair was cut short and her boyfriend was watching her intently as she ate a piece of cake. She was completely engrossed. He reached over and rubbed her cheek gently with the back of his hand as if to say, ‘I’m still here, remember?’ The girl reminded Mirabel of Lola – totally self-absorbed.
Then a shadow fell across Mirabel’s table. She looked up. For a moment she thought it was JJ. He had the same intelligent face, but his cheeks were gaunt and pale and there were dark circles under his eyes.
‘Jin Yu?’ she said, her breath catching in her throat.
He smiled. ‘And you must be Mirabel.’
‘Dui buqi. I am sorry I couldn’t contact you sooner, but I’ve been in the countryside and only got back yesterday.’ Jin Yu sat down opposite Mirabel. ‘Xiao Zhu, the boy you saw at the printing office, told me there was someone looking for me – a girl with a strange accent, he said.’ Jin Yu smiled.
‘My Mandarin is pretty bad. It’s a mixture of Australian and Cantonese.’
‘No, not at all. Your accent makes you sound …’ he searched for the word, ‘… exotic.’
JJ had told her that his younger brother was seventeen. He must be nineteen now. They were uncannily alike, only Jin Yu was slighter of build and his eyes held an exuberant intensity. Mirabel felt at ease with him immediately.
She looked quizzically at him. ‘How did you know who I was?’
‘Shen Hai Ming wrote me a letter … about a month and a half ago, now.’
‘Captain Shen?’ Mirabel said. ‘Do you know him?’
‘He and Jin Jing studied communications together here in Shanghai. I was a high-school student and saw him on
and off through the years. He wrote that you might be coming to Shanghai, so I was expecting you. Unfortunately Jin Jing had already left for our village by then, so he doesn’t know you’re here yet.’
Mirabel leant forward, eager to hear more news. ‘How is he?’
‘I spoke with him two months ago. I have a letter that he wrote to you. I was supposed to give it to Shen Hai Ming to take to Melbourne, but when I tried to find him, he had already left.’
Mirabel felt her pulse quicken.
Jin Yu reached inside the canvas satchel he had hung on the back of the chair. ‘Go ahead and read it while I order a coffee. Would you like another one?’
Mirabel nodded distractedly. Trembling, she took the letter and opened it. Unlike his first letter, this one was written in JJ’s scrawling Chinese, which she had always found impossible to decipher. He must have been in a hurry. She waited for Jin Yu to return.
‘Would you read it to me?’ she asked as he sat down.
‘Of course.’ He took the letter. ‘My darling,’ he began, and cleared his throat. ‘I hope you are well. I cannot wait to be with you and our little one.’
Jin Yu paused while the waiter placed two cups of coffee on the table. Mirabel’s eyes were already wet with tears.
‘Since my father died, my mother’s health has not been the best,’ Jin Yu continued, ‘so I am staying on for a while. Also, the village was left in such disrepair after the war – many of the dykes were bombed, which left the villagers no way of irrigating their crops. This, along with the famine, has devastated the area. Some people are eating bark off trees because they have no food. I am not sure how much longer I will be here, but, my dearest, as soon as I can, I will be on a boat making my way to you. Please wait for me, JJ.’
Tears swam in Mirabel’s eyes. She pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and blew her nose. ‘Sorry, but I’m too happy for words.’
Jin Yu glanced around the cafe, smiling. ‘Everyone thinks I’m the cad who is making you cry,’ he joked. He placed a spoonful of sugar in her coffee, stirred it and urged her to drink. ‘It will make you feel better,’ he said, then grinned. ‘I didn’t know my big brother could be such a romantic. He is also being extremely modest. He’s actually organising a major reconstruction of several villages in the area and working twelve-hour days digging and rebuilding. Without him, many of the people would have starved to death. He’s a good man, Mirabel. China needs more men like him.’
Mirabel felt a surge of pride and she sat back, sipping the sweet coffee, feeling it warm her stomach. The cafe had grown busier now and below the laughter and chit-chat of the customers, a romantic French song was playing on a gramophone in another room.
‘What’s the name of your village, Jin Yu?’ she asked.
‘San Chang. It’s about four hours by boat from here.’
‘Only four hours?’ She sat up. ‘I could go and visit him!’
Jin Yu shook his head. ‘It is far too dangerous, especially for a woman. We will get word to him somehow. Be patient.’ He looked at her intently.
Mirabel nodded. ‘Can we keep in touch, Jin Yu?’
‘I’m afraid my work necessitates that I move around a lot. I have no fixed address at the moment.’
Mirabel hesitated then whispered, ‘JJ told me what you do, who you work for.’ She didn’t dare use the word ‘Communist’ in case there were people around who might overhear her.
Jin Yu frowned. ‘The less you know about me, the safer it will be for you and your baby. Do you understand?’ His tone had suddenly grown harsh.
Mirabel, taken aback by Jin Yu’s directness, nodded fearfully.
‘I must go. I have a meeting.’ He stood up and slung his satchel over his shoulder. Then his face softened. ‘It was really nice to meet you … sister-in-law.’ He smiled, once again relaxed.
‘Goodbye, Jin Yu. Thank you for everything.’
Mirabel walked back to the apartment, filled with happiness. JJ was safe and only four hours away up the river. She was so proud of him. If Father knew how he was helping the villagers rebuild their lives, surely he would be proud of him, too. She couldn’t wait to write home and tell them.
But there were other thoughts crowding her mind, troubling thoughts about Jin Yu. She knew that the civil war between the Kuomintang government forces and the Communists was raging more fiercely than ever. She didn’t take sides like Father did; she didn’t know enough about the political situation. All she knew was that JJ had fought for the Kuomintang during the war, and Jin Yu worked with the Communists. Who was right? Jin Yu spoke of JJ with great admiration and affection. And yet there was a civil war between these two groups. But then she remembered JJ telling her that after he graduated from radio school both the Communists and the government wanted to enlist him, but he went with the government because they paid a wage and he needed the money to repay his father.
What troubled her, too, was the thought of the growing number of government executions that Max had told her about. In certain areas of Shanghai there were very public executions to warn people off siding with the Communists. She understood why Jin Yu had wanted to distance himself from her – it was to protect her and Bao Bao.
She held JJ’s precious letter in her hand. When he finds out that I am this close then surely he will come to me. Not much longer to wait now. How her heart sang at the thought.
But Jin Yu still had to find a way to get word to him. How long would that take? She felt impatience niggling at her insides. She had come halfway around the world to see him and now he was only four hours away. It’s not impossible. She could leave Bao Bao with Rachel, just for a couple of days, and tell them she was staying with Edward and Chrissy so they wouldn’t worry about her. But how was she going to get to San Chang? Edward travelled from city to city; perhaps he might be going that way on business?
Mirabel’s step quickened as her excitement grew.
The Shanghailanders
Chrissy and Edward lived in an English-style mansion in the heart of the International Settlement. The walls were a pale pink with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a garden of neatly trimmed hedges, flowerbeds and lawns cut so fine they looked like green velvet. The mansion came with a tennis court, swimming pool, a cook, maid, gardener and driver, all supplied by Edward’s company.
Chrissy looked radiant when she opened the door. Mirabel hadn’t seen her since that night at the ballet. And now she was three months pregnant with a healthy pink flush to her porcelain white cheeks.
‘Come in, Mirabel, it’s been ages. I was so happy when you called,’ she said, grabbing her hand and pulling her in. She looked past her as if expecting someone else to follow. ‘You didn’t bring little Bao Bao with you? I’ve been dying to see him.’
‘It’s too hard travelling on the buses with a baby,’ Mirabel replied, ‘so I left him at home.’
‘I could have sent our driver to pick you up, you know,’ Chrissy chided.
‘Next time. You look lovely,’ Mirabel said.
‘Yes, pregnancy becomes me, doesn’t it?’ Chrissy smoothed her hand over her belly. ‘Do you think I’m starting to show?’ She turned sideways and smiled. ‘I won’t believe it’s real until I do. Let’s not stand around in the hallway talking – come in, Edward can’t wait to see you.’
Mirabel followed Chrissy into the spacious living room. In the corner sat a grand piano with an antique Chinese vase filled with pink and white roses that matched the white couches perfectly. Everything looked so fresh and pretty.
Edward stood up and came forward, smiling. ‘It’s good to see you, Mirabel.’
‘She looks well, doesn’t she, Eddie?’ Chrissy said.
An older couple sat side by side on a couch, drinks in hand. As Mirabel entered the room, they looked surprised, then, when Mirabel sat down in the armchair, somewhat shocked. But while the woman tried to hide it, and gave Mirabel a strained smile, the man’s face went a dark shade of red.
‘These are our neighbours,
Stuart and Priscilla Dobson,’ Edward said. ‘May I present Mirabel, a dear old friend.’
Mirabel smiled pleasantly. ‘Hello,’ she began.
‘I say, Edward,’ Stuart Dobson interrupted. ‘Didn’t know you hobnobbed with the natives. I thought she was hired help, old boy. There are such things as boundaries, you know.’
Mirabel’s smile faded.
His wife Priscilla looked embarrassed but clearly agreed with him that Mirabel’s place was in the kitchen or in the maid’s quarters. Mirabel knew this was the typical attitude of most Shanghailanders, particularly the older English.
Edward sprang to her defence. ‘Mirabel is from Australia. She’s one of us, aren’t you, Mirabel? Speaks English better than some of our fellow countrymen.’
Mirabel disliked this whole thing about ‘us and them’. She said defiantly, ‘My husband is from Shanghai. He was born in a village near here. That’s where he is now, helping with the reconstruction.’
‘Hmph, reconstruction,’ Stuart Dobson said. ‘China would fall apart if it wasn’t for we English organising things. I was just saying the very thing to Edward. It is a scientific fact that … wait, I have it right here.’ He pulled out a paper clipping from his top pocket, brushed away his wife’s hand, which was obviously trying to hold him back, cleared his throat and read out: ‘It has been calculated that the nervous energy of the educated Chinese is 0.24 that of the white man; and that of the labourer 0.18. In an office it thus takes four Chinese to do the work of one foreigner, and in manual work five men.’
Mirabel was outraged, but she was damned if she was going to show it. Instead, she smiled sweetly and said, ‘Well, if that is true it really doesn’t make sense to employ Chinese as servants and labourers to do all the work. Perhaps it should be the other way around.’
Edward snorted a laugh that he covered with a quick cough. Stuart Dobson’s eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head with rage. His wife Priscilla, while maintaining a front of righteous indignation on her husband’s behalf, looked at Mirabel with a hint of new respect.
Little Paradise Page 18
