The Shanghai Moon (19 page)

That was the first entry. I took a breath.

“Boy,” said Bill.

“No kidding.”

“Girls just wanna have fun, huh?”

“Hey, give her a break! In the old days women could spend their whole lives locked up in the house. And Shanghai was a dangerous place. You’re the one who’s reading a book about it.”

“Doesn’t say much about girls locked behind walls.”

“What does it say?” I was realizing I didn’t know much about wartime Shanghai. “If it doesn’t make me sound like not a genius to ask.”

“Every word you speak makes you sound like the genius you are. Mostly it says the opposite: the place was a nonstop end-of-the-world party. Everyone who didn’t run when the Japanese came was frantically dancing and drinking, pretending nothing had changed.”

“Party like it’s 1936? All during the war, they did that?”

“What we mean by ‘the war’ was different in Shanghai. Until ’forty-two, the only way you could tell there was war in Europe was when Europeans snubbed each other in the streets.”

“But the Chinese civil war? And the Japanese invasion?”

“The civil war had been going on for years. When the Japanese came, Mao wanted to unite with Chiang Kai-shek to fight them, but Chiang wasn’t interested. That worked for the Japanese. Chiang went inland to push Mao north, and Japan set up puppet governments and occupied the coast. Everyone left Europeans alone and Europeans made money. Until ’forty-two, that was ‘the war’ in China.”

“And in ’forty-two?”

“December ’forty-one was Pearl Harbor. A few months later the Japanese locked Allied nationals—English, Belgians, Dutch, Americans—into internment camps.”

“That’s where Alice Fairchild was, one of those. So the party was over then?”

“No. Things got ugly, but the party went on.”

“Who was left to party?”

“To start with, lots of Japanese. And Germans. Vichy French. Neutrals—Swedes, Spanish, Portuguese. Filipinos, Indians. White Russians. Wealthy Chinese.”

“Indians? Weren’t they British citizens? And Filipinos—”

“They were Asian. The Japanese didn’t lock up other Asians, no matter whose citizens they were. They wanted to be loved when they took over that half of the world and Germany took over the other. They didn’t intern the Jewish refugees, either. Japan had no argument with them. To make Germany happy, they moved them to a ghetto—”

“In Hongkew. In 1943. Rosalie and Paul went there. What, you think you’re my only source of historical information?” I looked at the Xeroxed pages. “So here’s poor Mei-lin, in 1938, in the middle of a wild party, and she can’t go.”

We exited the bridge. Bill asked, “How many entries?”

I flipped through. “Hard to say, but the last one’s dated 1943. After that the pages are blank. Oh . . .”

“Oh, what?”

“Oh, I’m being stupid. You saw how it threw me when Anita told us Rosalie died so young. I just remembered C.D. Zhang saying Mei-lin had disappeared. I asked him what happened and he said, ‘It was wartime.’ ”

“So you’re worried about her, too?”

“How stupid is that? I hardly know her! I mean, obviously I don’t know her at
all
—”

“It’s not stupid. It’s one of the best things about you.”

“How I get carried away?”

“No,” he said. “How you care.”

I shot him a suspicious look, but he was concentrating on the road as though he were new in town.

After a moment I looked at the papers again.
What a day this has been!
She could say that again, I thought. To Bill I said, “I have an idea.”

“Good, I like ideas.”

“I’m really hungry.”

“That’s less an idea than a description of your existential situation.”

“It was the preface. I’m suggesting we find someplace for a snack and I read to you.”

Fifteen minutes later I was guarding two stools at the stain less steel counter of Tai-Pan Bakery. Bill was at the register paying for eight-treasure rice and vegetable dumplings. Tai-Pan had not been chosen lightly. It had two virtues: The food was great, and it was on Canal smack in the middle
of Jewelry Row. In fact, it was directly across from Mr. Chen’s shop.

“And the point would be?” Bill had asked when I’d suggested it.

“Mr. Chen said he hadn’t been approached by Wong Pan. That doesn’t mean he won’t be, or anyone else won’t be.”

“You think Wong Pan will show his face, if he killed that Chinese cop?”

“He still needs to sell the jewelry.”

By the time Bill brought the tray over, I’d swept the counter clear of crumbs and provided us with chopsticks. After an urgent dumpling, I took Mei-lin’s diary from my bag.

“Keep your eyes open,” I instructed Bill. “If you see Wong Pan, kick me or something.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think so. Are you ready?”

“Can’t wait.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not laughing at Mei-lin, I hope?”

“Absolutely not. I’m looking forward to this. I’ve never read a girl’s diary. Even from sixty years ago, she still might give me some idea how you people think.”

“Us people, Chinese?”

He shook his head. “You people, women.”

“Not happening,” I informed him. “Okay. This second entry’s the same date. Once she started this journal thing, I guess she got into it.” I studied the characters and began to read. “ ‘
What a day this has been!’
That’s written big, with
emphasis, like before. She’s pretty excitable, I guess.
‘The moment I put my pen down this morning, the car rolled through the gate. By the time I’d rushed downstairs the houseboys were fighting over the honor of carrying Kai-rong’s luggage. Number One Boy had to shout at them—they almost came to blows!

“ ‘Kai-rong swung me around and told me I looked beautiful! He hasn’t changed, his eyes still twinkle! Of course
I’ve
changed. I was a child when he went away, I’m a lady now. Father and Kai-rong greeted each other formally, with bows and flowery words. (Father frowned at Kai-rong’s European suit.
I
thought it looked wonderful!) When Father asked about the voyage Kairong said it was pleasant. Only
pleasant?
A month on the ocean, where you can see for miles, no walls anywhere—only
pleasant???

“ ‘We had tea in the garden listening to Kai-rong’s stories. His life is so exciting! He brought gifts—a leather case for Father, Spanish hairpins for Amah (she said he was foolish to spend money on nonsense). For me—British shoes!! With high heels! Black satin for evening, red leather for day! I jumped up and hugged him in a not very ladylike way. Father disapproved of the shoes, but when he saw how happy I was he didn’t forbid me to have them.

“ ‘After Father went to lie down, Kai-rong asked
me
to tell
him
about what
I’ve
been doing. Nothing, I said, nothing nothing nothing! Embroidery, calligraphy, playing the pipa and feeling about to explode! Since the Japanese came Father says the streets are so dangerous I can’t go
anywhere
! Although I’m allowed to call on the Feng sisters, and Tsang Sui-ling, and how can the streets be dangerous except when I’m going to them?

“ ‘Kai-rong promised to speak to Father and Amah, though
he also agrees the streets are more dangerous than they used to be. I said he’d been home half a day, so how would he know? That made him laugh. Be careful what you wish for, he told me, it might come true. I said that was just more ridiculous old musty advice that doesn’t mean anything. If I wish for something it’s because I
want
it to come true! He laughed again and asked how the shoes fit. I said, Perfectly! But it’s a shame they’ll live out their lives inside these walls instead of being seen and admired. Then he asked if I thought they’d get enough admiration at the Cathay Hotel. And was Friday too soon for them to be admired? It took me a moment to understand—
He’s taking me to dinner at the Cathay Hotel!!!

“ ‘It’s late now. Everyone’s sleeping, except me. Today was so exciting, and the life I’m starting now that Kai-rong’s back is even more exciting!! The way I feel right now, I may never sleep again!’ ”

I paused for breath. “The way
I
feel right now, I need caffeine just to keep up with her.”

“Good.” Bill got up. “We need to pay rent on the counter.”

“Any action on the street?”

“Nothing but. No one who looked like your boy, though. It would be a hell of a stroke of luck if he just strolled past.”

“I know. But do you have anything better we could be doing?”

“Than eating and reading a girl’s diary? Nope. What can I get you?”

I took over the task of peering out the window until he got back. A typical Chinatown afternoon: wall-to-wall
people, mostly Chinese, but also bargain-hunting uptowners and map-wielding tourists, all shopping their little hearts out. Umbrellas, uglyfruit, toys, T-shirts, salmon, and sunglasses flew out of storefronts and street stalls into plastic bags, and good hard American cash flew the other way. Heavy traffic in and out of the jewelry shops, too, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Or almost nothing. The one interesting thing I spied was Clifford “Armpit” Kwan, a distant cousin of mine—not distant enough, according to my mother—peering into jewelers’ windows. I shared my mother’s opinion of Armpit: He and I had had some run-ins at family gatherings in the past, when he was a nasty brat picking on the littler kids and I was an adolescent Lady Galahad riding to the rescue. Now he’s a grubby stoner perpetually on the fringe of one or another Chinatown gang. None of them really wants his useless behind, but occasionally he’ll get a one-day contract when some huge display of muscle is called for, or some gang’s franchise player is unavailable on account of being, say, in jail.

The gangs provide protection. This means they guard shops against theft and vandalism, caused, if you don’t pay, mostly by the gang you didn’t pay. I wasn’t sure whose real estate this block was, or which lucky gang had Armpit’s services these days. But I didn’t like it. Armpit, never devoted to beauty, was unlikely to be merely indulging his joy in sparkly things. It occurred to me some fed-up jeweler could have stopped paying, and his protectors might be planning to show him his mistake. I made a note to mention this to Mary. If, on her info, the cops were ready when a
gang did a smash-and-grab, it could do her career some good.

“Anything?” Bill distributed cups and pastries.

“Relatives.”

“Mr. Chen’s?”

“Mine. Are you seriously going to eat that?”

“Why, just because it’s blue?”

“There can’t be one real ingredient in it.”

“Sugar. Come on, what happens next? Does her brother take her to dinner?”

“You really want to hear more?”

“You bet I do.”

I sipped the milk tea he’d brought—my aversion to tea had faded, but a great deal of sweetened condensed milk seemed important—and bit into an almond cookie. “Okay. Just don’t laugh at her, and don’t take your eyes off the street.”

“You got it, boss.”

I read down the column on the next sheet and found myself smiling. “They went to dinner a few days later.”

“Was it great?”

“Her word is ‘grand.’
‘Oh, the Cathay is so grand!’
She talks about the marble, the carpets, the chandeliers. And the air-conditioning. It was so cold she shivered. But air-conditioning’s modern, and she likes modern.”

“Did she wear the shoes?”

“She did. ‘
I’d practiced for days, so I swept smoothly past the Sikhs at the door. (One winked at me! Of course I pretended not to notice.)
’ ”

“Of course.”

“You
are
laughing!”

“Never. If I’d have been there I’d have winked at her myself.”

“And she’d have ignored you, too.
‘I wanted to go into the bar, but Kai-rong refused. Women are permitted there—but he said
I
wasn’t. He can be so much like Father! When we were shown to our table he ordered champagne. It was delicious, though I’m not sure I care for a drink with bubbles. As we sipped we played a game: guess-the-nationality. I picked out Britons, Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Russians. Kai-rong wouldn’t give me credit for Americans because they’re too obvious.’
Hey, that was a definite snicker!”

“Only at the obvious Americans. Remember, I was a Yankee sailor in Asia myself.”

“Oh. Well, all right, but watch it. ‘
There were Japanese everywhere, perfectly well behaved. When a mustached man entered, I guessed he was Italian, which made Kai-rong laugh
.’ ”

“
He’s
laughing at her.”

“He’s her brother, he’s allowed.”

“I’ll remind you next time your brothers laugh at you.”

“You’d better not.
‘It was Sir Horace Kadoorie, a wealthy Jew from Bombay. How am I supposed to know what Jews look like? I don’t know what anyone looks like unless they call on Father. And the famous Sir Horace is small and dark. The only Indians I’ve ever seen are those gigantic Sikhs. Kai-rong kept laughing and said I’d seen other Jews and Indians on the streets, but I probably thought they were all Italians, too. I’d have thrown my champagne at him but my glass was empty. If I were
allowed
on the streets I could learn to tell people apart! He said the Bombay Jews are originally from Baghdad,
which accounts for their coloring and size, and that not all Jews look like them, either. When I asked how he became such an expert on the subject of Jews, he blushed! And then said out of nowhere how much he was enjoying the string quartet.
’ ”

I glanced up at Bill; he was grinning but silent. Well, I hadn’t said he couldn’t smile.

“ ‘I
thought the quartet was boring. I wanted to hear the Filipino jazz band in the nightclub. But I didn’t say that, so he wouldn’t think I’m ungrateful. One day soon I’ll play him my jazz records, and show him the American dances the Feng sisters taught me (while Amah was gossiping with their cook!).

“ ‘
So many people came over to welcome Kai-rong home! Some asked who his companion was. When he introduced me eyebrows flew up.
“This
is little Mei-lin?” they’d say—if they knew I even existed! One Frenchman said he suddenly regretted not calling on Father while Kai-rong was away. Each time someone complimented me, I gave them a distant smile, to show I was pleased to meet them but really, one meets so many people, doesn’t one?
’ ”