The Private Papers of Eastern Jewel (34 page)

I greeted her as 'Your Majesty', and she smiled and said, 'In Manchuria, I will call you Eastern Jewel. We will not forget that we are Chinese, or ignore those formalities that will make us feel at home when we return to the Dragon Throne in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.'

I had forgotten how WanJung could never speak normally when she spoke of the Dragon Throne. Her language became archaic, while her voice took on the gravity of an actress playing the part of an empress. Yet in all other conversations, she had a delightful sense of fun and a charming naturalness.

She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, even though the smile that lit her face did not fully reach her eyes. She said that I was as beautiful as ever, but that I must excuse her colour, which was, she sighed, due to the polluted air of Changchun.

'You are lucky, Eastern Jewel, to have such beautiful skin. I suspect that it comes from your mother. Her beauty was renowned among concubines.'

I thanked her and asked her what her life was like in her new palace in the capital of Hsingking, which I noted she still called Changchun. She said that she was sick with longing for her true palace in Peking. She lowered her voice and told me that she hated everything about Manchuria, which she said was a brutal place full of peasants and soldiers.

'We are infested with rats here,' she said scornfully, as though rats were unheard of in the Forbidden City. 'Only the Japanese would call such a humble building a palace. It is so small that it is impossible even to lose your way.'

It was true that compared to her Peking home, where you were likely to lose your way in the hundreds of alleys that opened onto vast courtyards, her Manchurian home was a poor thing. She said that in the Forbidden City, you could enter the palace through fifty gates, visit a different temple every week of the year, dally on the myriad little bridges over lilied ponds, or take green tea in the Imperial teahouse while watching archery.

No Chinese likes to lose status and 'She of the Beautiful Countenance' was no exception. It seemed to me that Wan Jung was more out of touch with reality than she had been in Tientsin. She would never accept the Salt Tax Palace as home and constantly spoke of a future when she would return to the life she had lived as wife to the great Qing Emperor of China. It was impossible not to be aware of the yearning that was eating away at her. Her longing for her imperial home was so strong that it overcame her natural pessimism. I understood the ache of homesickness, but Wan Jung's had become an obsession that diminished her usually fine powers of reason. Despite her hatred and distrust of the Japanese, she nurtured the belief that they would eventually return her and Pu Yi to Peking in triumph. She told me that this belief was the only thing that kept her from drinking hemlock, although on those days when it was hard to keep her hopes alive she sometimes considered it.

After I had listened sympathetically to her news we sat informally on the floor cushions in the small study and talked of the latest fashions, while she petted one or other of her little Pekinese. I showed her my jewellery and the silk nightdress trimmed with exquisite French lace that I had bought to console Jack only days before our parting. I had never worn it. She was like a child being given the run of their mother's possessions. It was touching to watch her going through my things with such admiration. That afternoon, we chain-smoked cigarettes and between us we drank a bottle-and-a-half of champagne. I made her a gift of the silk nightdress and she told me that, when she returned to Peking, I could take my pick of anything of hers that I liked from the Imperial Palace.

Did Wan Jung truly think that everything was as she had left it in her old home? Did she imagine that her clothes, still folded with tissue, were lying in the fifty chests of her dressing rooms? Perhaps they were, perhaps the rows of her shoes, her imported perfumes and the little drawers filled with incense were waiting for her touch in the undisturbed air of her apartments, but I did not think so.

We were intimates that afternoon, gossiping and laughing at little things. She asked me what path my life had taken since she had last seen me and I told her about Jack.

'Don't weep,' she said, handing me a linen handkerchief. 'You could still have him if you wanted.'

'Yes, of course,' I replied. 'I could still have him if I wanted.'

But did I want Jack more than I wanted Japan? If I chose him over my country would I spend my life in regret, suffering the humiliations of a refugee? If I released Jack and honoured Japan would it help to dilute the venom in my heart that I felt at the loss of him?

'You are luckier than you know, Princess,' she said. 'I sometimes think that I will never have a man inside me again.'

Pu Yi never came near her, nor did she want him to, but there were times, she said, when she longed to be touched. I joked with her that she was living surrounded by men; surely there must be one amongst them whom she desired.

'The thing is, Eastern Jewel, you have never allowed your class to determine your journey in life, whereas mine holds me in a prison from which there is no escape. An empress can only lie with an emperor; anyone less would put the throne and her life at risk.'

'Wan Jung,' I whispered. 'If you let go the desire to be Empress, you could escape this place. There are other ways for a young and beautiful woman to live; a moment of courage and you would be free.'

'Being Empress is the last and only thing left to me, Eastern Jewel,' she said. 'Whereas you make your own fate, I have no choice but to follow mine.'

It was the only time that I was to speak of desertion to WanJung. I had no wish to betray Japan by encouraging her to go against their plans, yet something in me longed to release her from the awful life she was living. The thought of her dying in the hated Salt Tax Palace was unbearable, but she had a run of fatalism in her nature which made her incapable of action and there was nothing I could do about it. After our time together in the Quiet Garden, I don't think that Wan Jung ever truly trusted me again, but without her tutor whispering in her ear, I think that she was able to forgive me. I came to love those late afternoons in her company and still treasure the memory of them. She liked me to talk of Shanghai and of my past adventures, and enjoyed speculating on how Tamura might be living in America, and whether Mari was dead or alive. For those few hours, when she was not feeding the tyrant of her addiction, we shared what felt like the sweet companionship of sisters.

I didn't see Pu Yi for three weeks; he had an illness that gave him splitting headaches and made him vomit. Wan Jung said that he had lost his voice and suffered a constantly high temperature. His doctor said he had seen the illness before and that Pu Yi would recover within the month. The Empress was fearful that he had been given poison, but I'm sure she was wrong in that. Her Emperor was as unlucky with his health as he was with everything else in his life.

Thirteen days after I had left Shanghai, I received a letter from Tanaka saying that he was pleased that I was with Wan Jung in Manchuria as he thought it brought us and our plan to return to Japan closer. Amongst his other news he wrote, 'I hear that your friend, Jack Stone, has returned to America.'

The words were such a shock to me that I had to read them over and over again, trying to convince myself through tear-blurred eyes that they could not be true. I could hardly believe it, but I knew Tanaka and he would not have said it if it wasn't true. So Jack hadn't even waited out the month, he had broken the bond between us and cut himself free. If a heart can break twice, I think that for the second time in my life, mine broke on that day. With no letter from Jack, explaining his reasons or giving any promise of his return to China, the old feelings of abandonment overtook me. The pain of it was caustic and sent me running for opium.

Yet, in fairness, despite my promise to him, I'm not sure that I would have returned to Jack within the month anyway. But love is not fair nor logical, and his not waiting inflicted a wound too deep for me to take lightly. The betrayal set me to seeking old ways of salving my pain, and I knew, with grey disappointment, that it would not be long before I sought out the bed of General Hayao Tada. Tanaka had been blind to my true addiction; it had never been opium.

Even so, that evening, after reading Tanaka's letter, I shared a long pipe with Wan Jung and sharing her heartache, too, I dreamt of the Forbidden City. It was covered in a layer of cold white frost. The twenty palaces of the city sparkled as though covered in diamonds, while its gates and ornamental bridges were hung with icicles. The moat surrounding the Imperial Palace was encrusted with silvery ice that reflected the tiles of the palace's roof in a thousand little yellow flags. In my dream, the city was so silent that you could hear the gods breathing. When I told Wan Jung of it, she said it was a sign that the Forbidden City was waiting for its Imperial Family to bring it back to life. My dream put her in a good mood for days.

On his recovery, Pu Yi invited me to dine with him and I was pleased to accept, as I had often found the dinner hour lonely in the Salt Tax Palace. Wan Jung no longer bothered with meals; she just picked at the food brought to her apartment on a tray. Apart from her huge consumption of opium, she drank a lot of champagne and smoked so many Turkish cigarettes that her fingers were stained sulphur yellow. Given her lifestyle, it was not surprising that her waking hours were just a fraction of those in which she slept.

I dressed carefully for that first dinner with Pu Yi, guessing that General Tada would be joining us. Choosing a midnight-blue crepe de chine cheongsam, I pinned a diamond brooch in the shape of a dragonfly above my breasts. I had bought the brooch for myself in Shanghai to celebrate my promotion and had never worn it in Jack's company. I smoothed chrysanthemum oil on the pulses at my wrist and between my breasts and, despite it not being musk, I thought of Jack. Because I sensed Tada would like it and knew that Jack would not, I smudged the outer corner of my eyes with kohl.

If it were true that Tada was seduced by everything Chinese, then I would do my best to live up to that fantasy. I had done it well enough for Sesyu in Tokyo. In any case, I would choose to playa concubine over a geisha any day. Geishas, hidden under their face paint, courtly manners and endless undergarments, make the sexual dance too complex. A concubine is there for the taking the moment she is desired.

Pu Yi greeted me with his usual courtesy, but I couldn't tell if there was warmth in his eyes, because he was wearing dark glasses. He apologised for them, saying that he had an eye infection left over from his illness and that the light made his eyes water. I knew that he suffered from progressive myopia and that he was practically blind without his spectacles. Dressed in the uniform of commander-in-chief of the Manchukuo Army, one that had no doubt been made up for him, he was covered in medals and looked uncomfortable. At his feet two huge English mastiff dogs slobbered strings of saliva onto the carpet.

'Welcome to the Salt Tax Palace and to Manchukuo, Princess,' he said, taking my hand briefly into his own limp one.

I noticed that whereas Wan Jung always used the Chinese name Manchuria for her new country, Pu Yi was happy to please his masters and use the Japanese, Manchukuo. I despised him for being such a watered-down Manchu.

Tada was standing near the Emperor attired in his Japanese dress uniform looking very smart. He greeted me like an old friend and poured me champagne. The meal was good enough, better than anything I had eaten at the Quiet Garden and I enjoyed watching Tada satisfy his healthy appetite. He took Chinese pickled ginger with his duck and refused the raw fish that most Japanese would have preferred. After dinner the three of us played poker with the senior officer of the Japanese gendarmes, a serious man devoid of humour. The gendarmes were housed in the palace and were so placed that no one could come or go without their knowledge. Pu Yi could not receive letters without them first being read by our poker companion and every household item was delivered to and thoroughly inspected by his men. They had the Chinese Emperor so under control that he could not urinate without them first lifting his robes. I was impressed, but not surprised by such attention to detail. It was part of the Japanese ethos to be thorough and one of the reasons for its success in the world arena.

It didn't surprise me that Pu Yi never questioned what in reality was his confinement. In Tientsin, I had noticed how well defended he was against the knowledge of the obvious. I think he was as deluded as Wan Jung in his belief that he would be returned to Peking in triumph and was prepared to put up with anything until that glorious day came.

During the game, we drank tall glasses of jasmine tea and ate candied orange peel. Pu Yi declined the tea, explaining that he could no longer drink it as the inferior quality of the rice in Manchuria had given him piles, which reacted badly to tea. At ten o'clock he stood up, gave his apologies for leaving us so early and said that he had much to do and that he would be working into the early hours of the morning. In a voice shaking with emotion, he said that he had made a resolution never to be lazy again. He owed it to his people to strive tirelessly for his reinstatement to the Qing throne, which would not only give them back their pride, but would also satisfy his aggrieved ancestors. As he left us, the two giant mastiffs rose and followed him out of the room. Despite his grand uniform and the impressive size of his dogs, he looked a pathetic figure.

I asked Tada what the Emperor would be working on and he said that most likely he would be reading the
Book of Changes,
which he believed would help him to think intellectually. I had dallied with the book myself but had found it too male-orientated to appeal to a woman. It was full of sentences that began with, 'The superior male' or 'The great man'. I understood, though, why it would appeal to Pu Yi.