At this point Chrissy intervened and said brightly, ‘Come through into the dining room. Lunch is ready.’
‘I just came to talk with Edward,’ Mirabel said. ‘Then I’d better get back to Bao Bao.’
Chrissy looked disappointed. ‘Are you sure? Why don’t you have a little something before you go? I need some pointers on bringing a baby into this world.’
‘Not today, Chrissy. But I promise to come and visit again soon.’
‘You’d better keep that promise, Mirabel,’ said Edward, placing his arm affectionately around his wife and rubbing her belly. ‘Say goodbye to Eddie junior.’
Chrissy playfully reproached him. ‘Edwina, if you don’t mind.’
She linked her arm through Mirabel’s and she and Edward walked her out to the entrance hall.
‘I’ll arrange for Ming to drive you home. Then I’d better get back to our guests.’ Chrissy rolled her eyes towards the living room, smiled and hugged Mirabel.
On the porch, Edward apologised for the Dobsons’ behaviour. ‘We met them at the Shanghai Club, which work expected me to join. They are all like that there, especially the English, and the longer they have lived in Shanghai the worse they are, most of them. They are ignorant racist snobs …’
‘That’s okay,’ she lied. She would never get used to their superior attitude, even though she knew that back in England they were probably nobodies.
‘You wanted to ask me something. What can I do for you, Mirabel?’ Edward asked.
‘I want to visit JJ in his village. It’s to the north of Shanghai, close to Haimen. I was just wondering if your business trips ever take you in that direction. I thought I might hitch a ride.’
Edward shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, old girl. I don’t know that area at all. The only travelling I do is to Hangchow and Soochow, and that’s the other direction. I’m sorry I can’t help.’
‘That’s all right. It was lovely to see you both,’ she said, hiding her disappointment behind a smile.
‘Well, be sure to come again soon. We have a wonderful new cook from Szechuan. The food is delicious if you like hot and spicy.’
‘That’s an invitation I can’t refuse,’ Mirabel said.
The limousine pulled up outside the house – a glistening black car with wide running boards that reminded Mirabel of the gangster movies she had seen. She climbed in and smelt the leather, the perfume and the cigarettes. Edward closed the door and Mirabel waved as the car moved slowly down the circular driveway and out through the gates. She settled back in her seat.
The boat. Did she dare make this journey alone? The thought terrified her, and yet what other choice was there?
Dynamite and Ducklings
Ah Yin’s pudgy finger ran over the departure timetable tacked up outside the small ticket office. Dirty sacks were piled up around the walls and sunlight streamed through the dusty windows. A white cat sunned itself on top of one of the sacks, then stretched and looked at Mirabel, its eyes glinting jade.
Ah Yin nudged her, and Mirabel turned away. ‘A boat leaves in twenty minutes,’ she said.
Mirabel opened her purse and handed Ah Yin money for the ticket. It was Stefan’s idea to ask her to help Mirabel get to Haimen. But the servant had had to be bribed not to tell Rachel and Max.
The boat had four rows of seats covered by a canopy of woven cane, and was powered by an outboard motor. Twelve people crowded onto the narrow craft, jostling for the best places. Not used to fighting for a seat, Mirabel was left squeezed in the middle where the air was stale. She tucked her new blue coat around her – she had made it especially for the journey. Some of the passengers stared at her. She suddenly realised that it was a mistake to be wearing such good clothes, but when she had dressed that morning she had only been thinking of looking beautiful for JJ. Nursing the small black overnight bag she had borrowed from Rachel, she sat back, listening to the excited chatter of the passengers. Everyone joined in each other’s conversations and commented when appropriate as if they were all old friends. They spoke in the local dialect and Mirabel couldn’t understand what they were saying, but there was something about these country folk that was comforting.
The old man sitting beside her took off his straw hat to reveal a dark weather-beaten face. At his feet sat two fluffy ducklings in a bamboo basket. A boy of about three stared unselfconsciously at her, sucking on candied crab-apples impaled on a wooden skewer. They looked like tiny toffee apples and Mirabel wondered if the Chinese had invented them, too. Opposite her sat a girl of about nineteen in a faded yellow top, her hair in plaits. She was sitting next to two young men who looked like university students. All the passengers had brought snacks for the journey, and before they were fifteen minutes out of Shanghai the floor was littered with watermelon seeds, peanut shells and lolly wrappers.
The boat travelled through the yellow waters of the Yangtze River then took one of the smaller tributaries heading upstream. Brown-skinned children played along the riverbank, a man herded a flock of ducks, and a young girl led a water buffalo down to drink. It looked like something out of a Chinese painting.
Mirabel’s thoughts settled into a gentle calm as they chugged away from the overcrowded bustle of Shanghai. The gentle putt putt of the engine lulled her into a daydream and she imagined how it was going to be. JJ would look surprised, then a big smile would cross his face and he would open his arms to her. She sighed in anticipation.
A sudden shout brought her out of her fantasy. The other passengers’ heads turned and Mirabel leant forward to peer around the canopy. A boat was drawing up alongside them. Four soldiers had their rifles raised while a man wearing dark glasses and dressed in plain clothes stood at the front. He yelled something to the boatman, who steered their vessel to the shore.
There was no dock here – so it was not a scheduled stop. Mirabel looked at the alarmed faces of the passengers and began to feel scared.
They were ordered off the boat. The passengers scrambled into the ankle-deep water and waded to the bank. Mirabel took out her passport. If she could talk to the man in plain clothes, tell him that she was a foreigner, then he might let her stay on board. But the next minute a soldier waved his rifle at her and she could do nothing else but climb over the side too.
The water was icy cold and the mud so thick it almost sucked off her shoes. She felt like crying as she clumsily waded onto the bank.
‘Line up!’ a soldier shouted in Mandarin. She noticed that they were wearing the Kuomintang government soldiers’ uniforms. They must be looking for Communists, she realised.
The official with the dark glasses asked everyone to produce identity papers. He looked at a list of names then walked up and down the line of people. He pointed at the young girl who had been sitting opposite Mirabel and pulled her roughly out of the line. The girl’s face remained impassive. She stared straight ahead.
When he stopped in front of Mirabel, her mouth went dry. She held out her passport and he flicked through the pages, then thrust it back at her. She tried to swallow as he inspected her closely, fingering her coat. Mirabel glanced down at her feet to avoid eye contact but she was trembling all over. She was the wife of a lieutenant in the Kuomintang army. That’s what she would tell him. She opened her mouth to speak just as the peasant she had been sitting next to on the boat dropped his basket of ducklings, broke from the line, and began running up the bank.
The official turned away from Mirabel and shouted, but the peasant kept running. The official drew his pistol and fired but missed. He cursed. The peasant was up on top of the embankment and about to disappear into the trees when the official screamed a command at the soldier standing next to him. Raising his rifle, the soldier took aim and fired. The sound ricocheted across the water.
Mirabel watched, horrified, as the peasant pitched forward and fell to the ground.
There was a cry of triumph behind her. She turned and saw the official searching through the peasant’s basket. He pushed the ducklings as
ide and lifted out a parcel bound in hessian. He unwrapped it and held up three sticks of dynamite, thrusting them in the faces of the two young men whom Mirabel had assumed were university students. The soldiers used their rifle butts to separate them from the rest of the group and made them stand with the girl.
All the while the official shouted in Shanghainese. Then he gestured to the soldiers to get everyone back on the boat and pushed the two men and the girl onto their knees.
Mirabel followed the other passengers, walking quickly, trying to stay calm. Her whole body trembled, her legs felt like lumps of wood. Any second now that man might call one of them back.
It wasn’t until the boat was pulling away from shore that two shots rang out. Mirabel twisted in her seat.
The university students were face-down in the mud. The young girl remained kneeling. Mirabel tried to turn away but couldn’t. Her eyes were transfixed on the scene.
The official held the pistol to the back of the girl’s head and fired. She fell to the ground, twitching. He fired another shot. The girl lay still.
Blood stained the river sand.
The two ducklings, confused and frightened, waddled to the water and paddled away. But they were grabbed by one of the soldiers, who held them up by the neck, laughing with his mates.
Mirabel stared at the empty space in the boat where the young girl had sat. The high-pitched squawking of the ducklings was drowned out by the putt putt of the sampan. Now the sound reminded her of gunfire.
She covered her ears, buried her head in her lap, and wept.
Silhouette in Sunlight
Mirabel was still shivering when she stepped off the boat. She stood on the small wharf clutching her overnight bag to her chest, her limbs not wanting to move.
‘Where are you going?’ said a man in Mandarin. He was wheeling a bicycle. A friendly face, but Mirabel found herself reluctant to trust anybody after what she had just seen.
‘San Chang,’ she whispered.
‘Where?’ The man leaned towards her, cupping his hand around his ear.
‘San Chang.’
‘Ah, San Chang. I am going that way too. Do you want a lift?’ He patted the rack on the back of his bike.
Mirabel stopped, hesitated, wiped her tears. She wanted to go to JJ’s village and this man was offering her a ride. Did she dare go with a stranger?
‘How much will it cost?’ she asked, tentatively.
‘Nothing. It’s where I live.’ He smiled. ‘I’d be happy to take you.’
Mirabel suddenly brightened. ‘Do you know a man called Lin Jin Jing? He’s from San Chang.’
The man rocked back on his heels. ‘Of course I do. He’s my favourite cousin. Are you a friend of his?’
She could see him looking at her clothes with a curious expression on his face.
‘I’m his … friend from Australia.’
‘Wah! Australia. No wonder your accent is strange.’
‘My name is Lei An.’
‘And I’m Wang Bin.’ He patted the back of his bike. ‘Jump on then. There won’t be a bus until late afternoon.’
The terror Mirabel had felt on the boat, the horrific images that had burnt deep into her memory, were pushed aside for the moment as she bounced along, sitting side-saddle on the back of the bicycle, her bag perched uncomfortably on her lap.
After twenty minutes along a rutted and dusty road, they entered the village of San Chang. The brakes squealed and they came to a stop. Wang Bin pointed to a small mudbrick house next to a pond. A few ducks waddled around the yard.
‘That’s where Jin Jing lives,’ he said. ‘Will you be all right? Do you want me to take you in?’
Mirabel stood staring at the house and shook her head slowly. ‘No … thank you. I’ll be fine now.’
‘Okay then. I’ll see you later, Lei An.’ He pedalled the rickety bike away down the muddy road.
Mirabel stood in her sodden shoes and mud-splattered coat, her eyes fixed on the door of the mudbrick house. She was an altogether different person to the shy Melbourne schoolgirl she once had been, the girl that JJ had fallen in love with. Gone, too, was the Mirabel who had left Shanghai just a few hours earlier. She felt as if a lifetime had passed since then. Had she been crazy to come here to this village? Love had led her to this door, had driven her over oceans, over half the earth, to stand here in this place. What would she find? And … what would he find?
A yellow dog wagged its tail, barked half-heartedly, then sauntered to the doorstep and flopped down in the sun. At the side of the house Mirabel saw a woman with greying hair tied into a bun. She was hoeing a small patch of garden.
The woman brushed a strand of hair away from her face with the back of her hand and glanced up. She stared at Mirabel as if she was seeing a vision. Mirabel realised how outlandish she must look in her city clothes.
She walked up to her, hoping she would understand Mandarin.
‘Nin hao,’ Mirabel said politely. ‘Nin shi Lin Jin Jing de mama, ma? Are you Lin Jin Jing’s mother?’
The woman nodded, looking slightly afraid.
Mirabel wasn’t sure what to say next. Had JJ told his mother about her? And if so, did he say they were married? But she didn’t have to think much longer for the woman’s eyes brightened. ‘Aiya! Ni shi wo erzi de tai tai. Of course, you are my son’s wife, Lei An.’
Mirabel couldn’t hide her delight. JJ had told his mother about her. She beamed at this simple peasant woman who was going to be her mother-in-law.
JJ’s mother smiled back. ‘Huan ying! Welcome, welcome. Come in. Jin Jing is working in the fields. He will be back for lunch very soon.’
She wiped her hands on her apron, took Mirabel by the arm and bustled her towards the house. The dog rose lazily from the doorstep, shook the dust off his coat, stretched, then wandered into the yard.
A square wooden table with four stools sat in the middle of the room. JJ’s mother ushered her in to sit down then put a kettle on the wood-burning stove for tea and looked on the shelf for a snack to go with it. She finally found something, and with an ‘Ah!’ of satisfaction placed a small bowl of pumpkin seeds on the table. She poured the tea and said something Mirabel did not understand, then switched to Mandarin. ‘I am going to the neighbour’s. They owe us a whole chicken. We will have a feast tonight! Make yourself at home,’ she said and bustled out.
Mirabel was overwhelmed by JJ’s mother’s hospitality. She was everything she had hoped for in a mother-in-law.
The house was as basic as JJ had described to her, with dirt floors and a thatched roof and just two rooms – a small bedroom and a living area that also housed the kitchen. The stove gave off a lovely heat and Mirabel took off her wet coat. She was wearing JJ’s old favourite – the dusky blue dress she had worn the first time he came to dinner, the one with the hole under the elbow. She smiled to herself. This time she didn’t have any paint to colour her skin.
She had just folded her coat when a figure appeared, a silhouette in the sunlight, framed by the door. She half rose to her feet, and JJ stepped in.
‘Ni lai le. You’ve come,’ he said.
Blinded by the bright light, Mirabel could not see his face, and could not tell if the emotion in his voice was anger, or something else. She no longer cared.
She moved towards him.
He put down the tools he held in his hand and came to meet her. They stood, staring into each other’s eyes, then they kissed.
Her heartbeat quickened at his touch. She could taste the salt and sweat of him, feel the warmth of his flesh under his shirt.
There was no need for words.
Finally, Mirabel pulled away. He was wearing an open-neck shirt and khaki pants tied at the waist with rope. He was much thinner and his skin had been darkened by the sun. There were new lines above his brow. But when he looked at her, it was with the same eyes that she had come to love.
During dinner that night, JJ’s mother watched them eat, her face beaming.
‘
I’ve never seen Mama so happy before,’ said JJ. ‘After my father died, she seemed to lose interest in life.’
Mirabel reached out her hand to touch JJ under the table.
After the meal was over, Mirabel brought out photos of Bao Bao and she watched as JJ’s face glowed with pride.
JJ’s mother insisted on giving up her room for the young couple, sleeping out by the kitchen table on JJ’s makeshift bed.
At last, in the warm glow of candlelight, Mirabel slid into the narrow bed beside him. To feel the warmth of his body against hers filled her with tenderness and desire and she cried in his arms. His hands felt calloused as they caressed her body. She brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed each finger gently.
There was no electricity and no running water, but this space she and JJ shared, this moment in time, was all that mattered.
As the candlelight flickered, they lay in each other’s arms until sleep and dreams and the goodness of life enveloped them.
Squatters in Paradise
SHANGHAI
MAY 1948
The stiff-bristled brush halted its rasping passage back and forth across the wooden floorboards. Mirabel, still on her knees, panted while she listened to their servant, Ah Ning, grumble and complain in Shanghainese at the other end of the room.
She took one hand from the brush and wiped her forehead as she sat back on her heels. Ah Ning was complaining that using soap on the floor was a waste. Well, that was all right for her. Her home had a dirt floor and all you did to settle the dust was sprinkle water around.
In a house like this, though, it was different. This was a mansion, in one of the best parts of Shanghai, the International Settlement. It was grand, in the European style of many of the other mansions that lined the streets. Trust JJ to have her living in a mansion within a year of their marriage.
True, they were squatting, and true, there were six other families living here, but it was a mansion, even if the owners had run away from the Japanese and now feared to return because of the Communists.
Little Paradise Page 19
