The Nine Fold Heaven

by Mingmei Yip

This poem reminded me of the divination picked by the bird:

  Walking through clutters of beautiful flowers,

  Not even one would cling to his clothes.

  If only on that day you had the courage to say you love me.

  I sighed, muttering, “Gao, If only on that day I had the courage to say I love you….”

  But what most affected me was Gao’s most recent entry:

  I’ll never forget the evening we risked our lives making love right next to my boss’s cabin on the ocean liner en route to Paris. We both knew we were right next to the tiger’s lair.

  I’d had to strip-search Camilla as usual, but this time was driven by a demon so powerful that I’d perish if I couldn’t control it.

  I was prepared for a slap from her hand, a bite from her teeth, or a kick from her feet. But the same demon seemed to have infested her. So she did not protest when I pulled up her dress and lifted her onto the sink. It lasted only a few minutes, minutes I can never forget. Even though it was not in a warm bed but on a cold sink.

  There had never been anything remotely like this with my poor wife.

  I remember one night when I came home very late, hoping that she would already be asleep. But when I let myself in the house, there she was waiting for me under a solitary lamp. The light cast shadows on her face, accentuating her deep wrinkles. She had aged so much since our marriage. I was surprised to feel a tug at my heart—for the first time.

  She took my coat, then went into the kitchen to fix me a late-night snack. Feeling sorry for her, I decided to wash the dishes afterward for her.

  Even with the splashing water inside the kitchen, I could overhear her sobbing in the bedroom. That this little act of kindness touched her so much made me feel very ashamed. When I finished washing, I tried to delay joining her in bed. Finally, I turned off the light, tiptoed inside the bedroom so as not to wake her. Then I took off my clothes and slipped into bed next to her unwanted body.

  As I was finally dozing off, I sensed her moving next to me. This went on for a while until I felt a warm surge. Then I realized it was my wife’s hand playing with my sex!

  I lay still as a corpse. But this time she was not going to give up. She kept doing this until I got so aroused that I climbed on top of her and did my husbandly duty. Finally, she screamed softly and I was released.

  I woke very early the next morning and quickly left for work. After feeling her need for me, I was even more ashamed of myself for the way I had treated her all these past years. And also for our foolish parents who forced us together.

  If only Camilla and I had met before…

  When she was pregnant, I had hoped that the baby was mine, but she never mentioned this, so it must not be.

  As I set the book down, I noticed a scrap of paper protruding from between the pages. I pulled it out and saw that it was a newspaper clipping with my picture. I realized that I had never given Gao a picture of me.

  I murmured to myself in the dingy restaurant, “Gao, please don’t be a revolutionary and get yourself killed. I can’t be your wife, but I still care for you….”

  Then I thought of a poem from a thousand years ago:

  Last year by this gate,

  Plum blossoms reflect the pink on your face.

  Today, your face is nowhere to be seen,

  Leaving only the plum blossoms nodding in the Spring wind.

  I felt tears fill my eyes. Embarrassed, I left a few bills on the table and quickly exited the restaurant. I looked up at the sky and silently asked, “Gao, are you still alive?”

  But heaven rarely deigns to answer us mortals’ questions.

  It would be futile to look for Gao, especially if he’d really joined the revolution. But there were many other ways he might have been killed. Though he would always have a place in my heart, I had to face that the time had come for me to let go and move on. My future was with Jinying, Jinjin, and Peiling. But before departing, I needed to go to the Huangpu River one last time.

  The legend goes that there is an ancient tortoise living on the river’s bottom. Once in a while, he’ll rise up to the surface to greet the passersby on the riverbank. Those who are fortunate enough to meet this fabulous animal will attain the same longevity for which it is famous. One can also pray to him for the longevity of loved ones. But only a few are so lucky—the tortoise only appears every thirty or forty years.

  I planned to use my “heavenly” voice to lure the tortoise up to the surface to bestow longevity and good luck upon the people I loved. I doubted I would be able to return to Shanghai again, certainly not on the chance of seeing a reclusive turtle.

  Once at the riverbank, I went to my favorite spot under the colossal goddess statue. As I was scanning the waves for the tortoise, I began to sing my best tunes from my Heavenly Songbird days: “How Can I Stop Thinking of You”; “Looking for You”; “It’s Rare We Can Be Together”… Today, my songs were tributes to Gao, our hopeless love—briefly rubbing shoulders in this Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust….

  The river, as it had in Confucius’s time, flowed endlessly. But as much as I strained my eyes, no longevity tortoise appeared. So I simply sent my good wishes for my loved ones to the waves as they flowed gently by.

  Sadness welled up in me as I thought of all our lives flowing on, like the river. Madame Lewinsky, Shadow, Gao, even Lung and Wang. I felt as if the people I had lost were holes in my heart.

  When I finished my solitary singing, feeling drained, I made my way to the main street, planning to take a rickshaw to take me back to my waiting family. When I was waving at the passing vehicles, I saw a street urchin shouting, “Haowai! Haowai!” (“special news,” or “extra edition”).

  In my present discouraged mood, I assumed that it must be some bad news about someone I knew. I waved urgently to the urchin, paid him a few cents, took the newspaper, and leaned on a tree to read.

  Gangster Killed in Bus Shooting

  Early this morning, what passersby took to be a simple punctured tire turned out to be a gangster’s revenge shooting.

  When the driver got off his bus to check the tires, a black car pulled up and several men emerged holding guns. The driver was ordered to stay where he was. Meanwhile, all the passengers were ordered off the bus—except one.

  As the stunned driver and his passengers were waiting nervously on the road by the bus, men began to shoot through the windows. The victim screamed, but the shooting continued until the screams stopped. Then, total silence. The shooters got back in their car and drove away, leaving all the other passengers terrified but unhurt.

  The murdered man has yet to be identified. The police suspect the deceased played some role in the recent wars between the Red Demons and Flying Dragons. But no one on the bus will admit to recognizing any of the shooters.

  The victim had to be Gao. I couldn’t talk myself out of this dismal conclusion. As I kept reading the brief story over and over, the print began to blur and the newspaper slipped from my grasp and fell to the ground amidst the leftover breakfasts and other litter. I tried to steady myself and stumbled along.

  A well-dressed gentleman stopped and asked, “You feeling all right ?”

  I feigned a smile. “I’m fine, sir, just some indigestion.”

  The last thing I wanted now was to have to make conversation with a stranger.

  Not wanting even to deal with a rickshaw puller, I decided to walk for a while. As I passed people and a row of expensive antique shops, I saw something that extinguished my last remaining bit of hope.

  To distract myself, I had let my eyes range over the goods displayed in the windows: massive gold bracelets, Ming vases, luminous green jade, carved rhinoceros horns, and many other pricy objects. As I gazed, something sparkling caught my attention. Lying at the bottom of one store’s display window was an object I recognized.

  It was the knife I’d given Gao as a token of our love.

  A wave of vertigo hit me. With great effort, I steadied myself and went
in to inquire. A lanky, fortyish man with a narrow face stood up slowly to greet me.

  “Mister, do you like something in our shop window?”

  I pointed to the knife.

  His bushy brows knitted. “Hmm, sorry, mister, but someone already bought it.”

  I asked, unable to hide the anxiety in my tone, “Can I take a look anyway?”

  He nodded, took out the knife, and set it on a felt square on the counter for me to inspect. There was no doubt. It was the one I’d given to Gao. The one he’d sworn he’d never part with it, so long as he was alive.

  I felt as if my heart was being ripped in two. It took all my willpower not to simply collapse on the floor.

  “I’ll buy this.” I hoped my voice was not shaking.

  “But sorry, mister, it’s already sold. Why don’t you look at other things here, we have more than five hundred pieces of—”

  “If it’s sold, then why is it still in the shop window?”

  “Because the customer wasn’t carrying enough money, so he paid me half. He’s coming back soon to pay the rest.”

  “All right”—I opened my wallet and took out a thick wad of cash and held it up—“what if I pay you double what he paid and it’s mine?”

  He stared at the cash lewdly, his jaw dropping. After a moment, he nodded. “All right. Done.”

  I kept the money in my hand, so as not to make it too easy for him. What I really wanted for it was information.

  So I asked, “How did you get this?”

  And how so quickly, I thought. Gao had been killed just this morning and his bones were still warm. Someone had been in a hurry to cash in on Gao’s tragedy.

  The man frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t—”

  I cut him off. “Of course you can…” I slapped down two more bills.

  He smiled cunningly. “Did you read in the newspaper haowai about the bus shooting?”

  I nodded.

  “This knife was taken from the dead person.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “When the person came here to sell the knife he boasted about it to me.”

  “Wasn’t he afraid you’ll tell the police?”

  He chuckled. “Mister, you think I’m so stupid? I have a wife and eight children at home!”

  “But this is fast!”

  “It’s smart to get rid of evidence as quickly as possible. Besides, those people always need money.”

  He studied me curiously. “Why do you want this knife so much?” This time I chuckled. “Ha, you think I’m paying you so much to ask questions? Remember your wife and children at home.”

  Now looking scared, he silently wrapped the knife for me and handed it over.

  Without saying more, I walked out of the store, feeling the knife safe inside my jacket pocket. Though I had lost Gao forever from this life, I felt some comfort that I now had a token to remember our love. Walking, the fortune-teller’s lot appeared in my mind:

  Just to pass and rub shoulders is not enough.

  Together, hold tightly so you don’t lose each other.

  To dwell in Paradise, where immortals dwell,

  Not to suffer in the Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust.

  When I arrived back in the hotel room, all jumped up to greet me—Jinjin in his father’s arms and Peiling, looking happy and relieved.

  Peiling exclaimed, “Big Sister, glad you’re back! Bao… Jinjin is glad you are back also.”

  Jinying asked, his voice still worried, “What took you so long?”

  “The cemetery is a long way out from the city and the driver got lost coming back. Then I had to argue with him about the fare. But I am here and soon we will be on our way to our new life together in Hong Kong.”

  I leaned over to kiss Jinjin’s cheek, then Peiling’s, then Jinying’s lips, feeling happy and sad at the same time.

  Epilogue

  Since then, twenty years have slipped through my fingers like water rushing down a gorge.

  Jinjin has grown to be a handsome young man. My once-forbidden lover turned legitimate husband still looks as handsome as ever—at least to me.

  Jinying and I had experienced many ups and downs before we married and some after that. But we are happy together.

  Looking back, I am glad I never let go of my determination to have a family and a peaceful life. I must admit, however, that without my skeleton woman’s cunning, it would never have happened.

  The fortune I had been given in the temple in Diamond Hill turned out to be right:

  She leaves like a cicada shedding its shell.

  Golden lights shine at the end of her journey.

  And:

  Move forward.

  Have no fear.

  I believe it is my spy’s fearlessness which has enabled me to finally, despite all the difficulties, get my family back together.

  After we moved to Hong Kong, we found a specialist who performed surgery on Peiling’s left eye. Now she can go around by herself without a stick, and even read large print. She is a social worker at the Bright Vision Center for blind people.

  However, she never married and still lives with us. Men have been interested in her, but she never gives them any encouragement. I’ve tried to find someone for her, but she usually turned down any sheungtai, matchmaking “double ‘look” meetings, that I might arrange. To humor her big sister, she went a few times, but just sat there without smiling, or even answering the man’s, or his parents’, questions. No man can court a living statue like this. I ask her why she is not interested in men, but she just shrugs, saying, “Big Sister, I want to help others like you helped me.”

  With an excuse like this, what more could a sister say?

  Jinjin, instead of becoming a concert pianist or an opera singer as his father wished, is now studying law at Hong Kong University—to Jinying’s ostensible disappointment but secret pride.

  As for myself, I’m retired from the stage and now teach singing here in Hong Kong.

  Jinjin, when he was growing up, often asked us, “Ma, tell me about when you and Father were gangsters together in Shanghai.”

  I told him that we were never gangsters ourselves, but he seemed to like to think we were.

  Then, one day when he was older, he asked me how Jinying and I met. I suspected what was on his mind.

  “Why would you want to know that?”

  “Because I think I’m…”

  I couldn’t believe my son actually looked embarrassed.

  “What, son? Are you in love?”

  I studied Jinjin’s guileless eyes, reawakening my memories of my husband as a young man. I felt nostalgia for our risky encounters and stolen moments of love, though over the years, these have been replaced by quieter affection that I value even more.

  I felt myself smile.

  “Ma, please don’t laugh at me….”

  “Son, why would I do that? And why do you keep stammering today?”

  I admit it pleases me that Jinjin has grown up to be as naive as his father was at the same age. Of course, it’s not that I want my son to be stupid or vulnerable. It’s because as his mother, I hope he will never experience all the evil and cruelty that I was forced to witness as a pawn on a gangster’s chessboard. I hope I’ve already settled our family’s karmic accounts with all the sufferings I endured so that he will never go through what I did.

  “Ma, I have a girl who I really like, so…”

  Of course I had guessed this was the reason for his embarrassment. So my little Jinjin had a girl in his heart? My baby had finally grown up!

  I asked calmly, “Tell me about her.”

  His face flushed an embarrassing pink.

  I couldn’t help but burst out giggling like a teenager. It took me a few seconds of sheer willpower to calm myself.

  “Your father’s and my story is very long and complicated. I really don’t know where to start.”

  “Then I’ll ask him when he comes home.”

  “Jinjin, we did things
no one must know. I told your father not to tell you until we’re so old it doesn’t matter.”

  Now I hear Jinying’s key in the door. He comes in, kisses me, hugs Jinjin, and sets down his briefcase filled with legal documents. Jinying finally ended up practicing law—and very successfully—because he knew he couldn’t make a real living by singing. Besides, he was not going to waste his expensive Harvard lawyer’s education. Of course I want to know more about Jinjin’s girlfriend, but I know he won’t talk more about her in front of his father. Then Jinying tells us that he has a new, very important client, and suggests that we all go out to dinner to celebrate. Peiling joins us at the restaurant and we all enjoy a lively meal of Peking duck, concubine chicken, and steamed fish in ginger and scallion.

  Happy as I am, my thoughts return to the bad old days in Shanghai. Wang and Lung are long gone, and I shed no tears over either. Gao is gone, too, and although I no longer grieve for him, he is often present in my thoughts. I never had a picture of Gao, so instead set out a small Buddha statute to remember him by. Sometimes, I put fruit and a cup of tea as offerings to his departed soul. But I am the only one who knows whom these are for…

  I never forget the fortune teller’s advice: When you can longer be with the person you cherish, you can keep him forever alive in your memory.

  And there are the two whose fates remain a mystery—Edward Miller and Shadow. I’d heard Miller returned to America and then was posted to Egypt, but I’d also heard he’d been killed in Shanghai. I’ve never been able to find out which.

  Shadow had told me not to try to find her, but for a long time I still hoped. I attended every magic show I heard about, but she was never one of the performers. Though I fear that she came to a sad end, I hope she found a man to love her and now has the two daughters and two sons she’d dreamed about.

  Looking around at my little family, I remembered something else the fortune-teller told me, that beauty always fades, but:

  The greatest fortune is not beauty, but family.