Peach Blossom Pavilion (63 page)

As I entered the imposing Western-style stone building and passed through corridors lined with frescoes and marble pillars, heads turned and eyes riveted on me. I was pleased that, although I'd stopped being a mingii, my prestigious air still seemed to linger around me like expensive perfume. Despite my time among nuns and my resolve never again to be a sister, male attention-something I'd almost forgotten about-still delighted me.

The tuxedoed waiter seated us at a table beside a tall plant in an ornate cachepot. He set down the tea service and a plate of cold appetizers.

After the ritual of making small talk had been fulfilled, Anderson cast me a meaningful look. "Xiang Xiang, you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

I smiled. "Please, Mr. Anderson."

"Are you happy with your new life as a teacher?"

The question caught me off guard. Since I'd fled to Peking, I didn't think much about happiness or unhappiness. I didn't even think much about the future. I just lived or, to be more accurate, worked.

I arranged my fingers to resemble an orchid, then picked up the porcelain cup and took a delicate sip of my tea. "Mr. Anderson, nowadays I don't think much about transient things, such as happiness."

"Xiang Xiang, then please start thinking about it."

I quietly put down my cup and threw him a curious glance. "Why?"

"Ever since I used to visit you before, I've thought about you often."

"Is that so?" I cast him a chiding glance. "Then why did you stop going to see me at Peach Blossom?"

"I'd wanted to," he said, looking awkward. "But then my partner Mr. Ho got sick and stopped visiting sisters. Anyway, shortly after that, my business switched mainly to Peking. But Xiang Xiang, I never stopped. . . thinking about you."

I put on a skeptical look. He went on, struggling for words. "Xiang Xiang, you're a very talented, artistic woman."

"Mr. Anderson, overpraise. I'm sure a man like yourself must be around sophisticated women all the time."

"Maybe, but none like you."

I raised a questioning brow.

He fidgeted with his teaspoon, then put it down and said softly, "Xiang Xiang, forgive my bluntness. I ... hate to see you living a lonely life."

"But Mr. Anderson," I felt pressed to hide the truth of his remark, "every day I'm surrounded by students and nuns. So I don't think my life-"

"Xiang Xiang, I know what it is like to face an empty room each night after work."

Anderson's words stirred something inside me, but I didn't respond. I was beginning to suspect the purpose of his visit.

He went on, "Xiang Xiang, I'm a man of few words, so let me be honest with you. After all these years of doing business, I've acquired enough money to make me feel safe. And," he paused for several moments, blushing, "I want you to be safe, too-with me."

Over the years, men had told me all sorts of things that they wanted to do with me, but never this. I was taken completely by surprise. I didn't think I loved this man in front of me, but I didn't dislike him either. In fact, I felt some true affection for him, for his kindness toward me since I'd been thirteen. He did not make me feel as Qing Zhen or Jiang Mou had, but I felt good being with him.

Now Anderson seemed to mean marrying him and most likely going to live in a strange country. Although I'd dreamed of leaving China to see the world, now confronted with the chance, the idea suddenly seemed far-fetched and confusing. Besides, I had my new life as a teacher. Although, of course, I didn't really care about teaching but did it mainly to please Mother-and also because there was nothing else for me to do.

Seeing that I was not able to answer, Anderson went on, carefully choosing his words, "My years in China have taught me what Karma is. Xiang Xiang, our paths have crossed, more than once, and this must not be purely accidental. Things happen for a purpose."

I took a delicate bite of a miniature ham sandwich and chewed meditatively without savoring the taste. Finally I said, "Mr. Anderson, I'm very flattered by your offer, but I ... have just started my career. And the New Model School needs me-"

"Forgive my bluntness again, the school is a wonderful idea, but do you really believe that it'll last?"

This question took me by surprise, for the idea that the school might close had never entered my mind. "Mr. Anderson-"

"Xiang Xiang, from now on please call me Richard, that's my first name."

Rich-ard, I silently repeated the two enigmatic syllables, as if savoring a secret suddenly revealed. ". . . Richard," I cast him a mock chiding look, "it's bad luck for you to say something like this about our newly opened school!"

"I didn't mean to offend you. But I'm a businessman, and a businessman must be practical and realistic. We can have dreams and ambitions in life, but we can't afford illusions. They're too expensive."

I remained silent; he looked down at his tea and stirred it nervously. Moments passed before he looked up at me. "Xiang Xiang, you probably don't follow politics but things are very dangerous with the Japanese. I fear they may invade any time."

His statement startled me. I'd heard talk before about the Japanese, but living a secluded life inside the nunnery and occupied by my teaching, I'd never given much thought to the issue. "Is the situation that bad?"

"Xiang Xiang, the Chinese are not facing up to the threat. And when the Japanese come, they won't be very nice to pretty women."

My heart began to pound. Yet another event now threatened to send my life off on a different course, one that might be far worse than what I'd already been through.

He took a sip of his tea, then put down the cup and looked at me deeply. "Xiang Xiang, I want to give you a good life; can you fulfill this wish of mine?" He plunged on, "I know I'm much older than you, and you might not even love me. But that doesn't really matter, does it? As a Chinese, I'm sure you know well that most couples cultivate their love after marriage. Xiang Xiang, I do think an older man is much more suitable for you. Because we know how to love and take good care of a woman. Xiang Xiang, I love you and IT give you a very good life."

I giggled a little to dissipate the tension in the air. "Mr. Anderson-

"Please call me Richard."

"Richard, I am flattered! But . . ." Since I didn't have the heart to say that I didn't love him, I had to think of something else. Finally I came up with, "Due to my work in the past, I don't think I'm ... suitable to be your wife."

His face flushed and his voice tensed. "Xiang Xiang, this is pure nonsense! I'm very proud of you. You're a distinguished artist and an outstanding qin player. Besides, we'll be going to a new country where no one will know you."

Like a cat chasing its own tail, it seemed Anderson would not give up, and the conversation led to no conclusion.

Finally he said, looking distressed, "Xiang Xiang, I know I can't force you or even talk you into doing anything you don't want to do. But please think about my offer. I'll be going back to the United States soon and I don't know when I'll come back, maybe never, or at least not for a very long time. Since I've made a lot of money, I am thinking of retirement." He reached to take my hand and put it to his lips.

And I kept my hand there.

That evening when I went home, Anderson's image and proposal kept spinning in my mind like a merry-go-round. Yes, I was sure he'd be a good husband. And I was also sure with the money he had, he'd provide security to me for the rest of my life.

But I didn't love him.

I chuckled at this thought. When did my former profession afford me to think about love? In my decadent years, I'd served many older men. So, what difference did it make to serve one more? But there would be a difference-I'd be Anderson's proper, lawful, first-and only-wife.

Then I remembered Pearl's saying years ago:

If this Anderson ever comes back and offers to pay your debt or even proposes marriage, accept right away even if you feel no love for him. This kind of chance only happens here once in a lifetime.

I flipped and tossed in my solitary bed, agonizing over whether I should take the plunge and say yes. But if I did, then there would no longer be a chance for true love. There would be no man like Qing Zhen with magic over my heart, body, and soul.

Then I imagined Anderson's compassionate face looming above me and his lips muttering, "Xiang Xiang, give both yourself and me a chance. I love you."

This was followed by images of Japanese soldiers marching inside the nunnery ...

Anderson continued to visit. The more I saw what the passage of time had done to his kind face-and what it would inevitably do to mine-the more I thought I should accept his proposal. Three weeks later, I went to Mother's office to break the news. Before bringing up the subject, I asked her what was she going to do with the temple if the Japanese came.

To my surprise, she said, "I'm not going anywhere."

"But Ma-"

"I'm a nun. Everywhere is the same-both nirvana and samsara."

At that moment I honestly thought Mother was out of her mind. What if the Japanese soldiers knocked down the temple, smashed all the Buddhist statues, then raped and killed her? Maybe she'd become so detached that she didn't even care about that? But doesn't Buddhism, besides teaching us to detach, also teach us to protect our bodies?

"Ma, then do you also want me to stay?"

She looked surprised. "No. My daughter, you're not a nun."

It had been a long time since she'd called me daughter. Tears brimmed over my eyes. "Ma . . . "

"Yes?"

"I think I'm ... getting married."

To my surprise, Mother's pale face glowed. Moments passed before she said, her voice slightly raised in excitement, "May I know who's the groom?"

"Richard Anderson, an American merchant."

Her eyes widened, and she asked eagerly, "Does that mean you're going to America?"

I nodded.

Her answer surprised me. "Good." She went on, "There's too much misery and suffering here in our country. My daughter, marry this Richard Anderson and leave China as quickly as possible."

"Ma, don't you want me to become a nun?"

She cast me a meaningful look. "But things are different now. They have changed; they always do."

"But Ma, I want you to come with us. I want-"

Before I could say more, she dismissed me with a frantic wave of her bony hand.

A month later the New Model School, after all the fuss and publicity, closed, less than two years after its opening. Then another month later, on September 18, a small bomb exploded on the tracks of the Japanese-owned South Manchurian Railway. The Japanese army used this as a pretext to occupy the Chinese province-although we Chinese were certain that the bomb was, in fact, planted by the Japanese soldiers.

After the takeover of Manchuria, the whole capital was thrown into panic overnight. Some newspapers predicted that the Japanese would soon be pushed out. Others warned that the wokou Japanese bandits-were unstoppable and would soon be invading all the major cities in China-Nanking, Chungking, Peking, Shanghai. Alarm spread quickly. The black societies-the famous green gang and the bong gang-took advantage of the situation to seize control of prostitution in the International Concession, abusing the poor girls and extorting nearly all of their income as protection fees.

China was heading into chaos.

I thought that before I decided whether to marry Anderson and leave China, I should visit Shanghai one last time. I wanted to say goodbye to Aunty Ah Ping, as well as pay my last respects to the ghosts of my two sworn blood sisters, Pearl and Ruby.

I only planned to stay a day. So right after I arrived at the North Station, I hired a rickshaw and asked the coolie to go directly to the International Concession. When the rickshaw neared the elegant pink building from across the wide boulevard, I asked the puller to stop. There was Peach Blossom Pavilion. I was eager to run into Auntie Ah Ping, and maybe some other old acquaintances, and also glimpse-for the last time-my former home, or prison. One or two pedestrians scurried on the street, faces tensed and heads lowered. I saw a few expensive cars parked outside the pavilion. It made me think of an old prostitute whose once glorified fame and beauty were as remote as the setting sun. However, despite the forlorn appearance, light and faint sound poured from the windows. Peach Blossom was still in business! Were Fang Rong and Wu Qiang now entertaining Japanese soldiers? I felt a mixture of emo tions. In a way, I wished this gold-powdered hell would vanish forever, but it had been, after all, a roof over my head for many years.