by Mingmei Yip
After I commended the recipe with smacking lips and abandoned slurping, she asked, ‘Why this surprise visit? Are you okay, Camilla? You look worried.’
Damn. I was not supposed to let people see my emotions. ‘Everything’s fine, Madame Lewinsky. I’m just having some difficulty singing Carmen right.’ I hoped my lie sounded convincing.
Lewinsky took another big helping of her soup, then said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just be patient, and you’ll get there, talented as you are.’
My main repertory was Chinese and Western pop songs, for these were what the nightclub-goers liked. However, once in a while I’d also sing an opera aria or art song in Italian or French to entertain the foreigners and impress the Chinese.
My teacher cast me an affectionate look. ‘Let’s finish our soup; then we’ll go through Carmen’s “Habanera” – how’s that?’
So after I helped her put away the dishes, we walked to the piano. She sat down, her thick, round-tipped fingers immediately plunging into the keyboard. I closed my eyes to savour her powerful voice as it massaged my ears.
Love is a gypsy’s child,
It has never, ever, recognised the law.
If I love you, you’d best beware!
The bird you hope to catch
Will beat its wings and fly away …
Love stays away, making you wait and wait.
Then, when least expected, there it is!
I might have burst out clapping and exclaiming how beautiful her singing was, but I never forgot my training to conceal any emotion.
Madame Lewinsky spoke. ‘Camilla, don’t you find this music wonderful?’
I nodded, feeling a little confused.
Silence.
She smiled mischievously, her crimson-painted lips like two leaves curling in the spring breeze. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you, but I want to know: are you in love?’
‘No.’ I always kept my answers short and simple. I feared if we engaged in a long conversation, I might tell this motherly woman more about myself than was safe.
She cast me a curious look. ‘Have you ever been?’
I shook my head.
‘But that’s not possible, a beautiful, talented girl like you! So many men admire you. What about all the rich customers at the nightclub and their rich sons? Or those successful young businessmen? The erudite young professors? Don’t tell me none of them ever chases after you.’
‘I want to concentrate on my singing.’
She took my hand and rubbed it lovingly. ‘Oh, my little Camilla, don’t work too hard. It’s time for you to fall in love. Trust me, it’s a wonderful feeling.’
Wonderful or not, I was not going to fall in love and ruin my mission – and possibly my life. Look at how Carmen had ended up! I wanted this beautiful Gypsy’s freedom, her nonchalance, her power over men, but definitely not her pointless, tragic end. But as long as I was careful, I hoped I wouldn’t end up like her. If I failed in my mission, it would not be carelessness but fate, like my bad karma of being an orphan. But not the foolishness of love, not for a trained spy like me!
My teacher’s soothing voice awakened me from my pondering. ‘Maybe the next time I go to Bright Moon to hear you sing, I can pick out a suitable young man for you.’
I didn’t respond, silently discouraging her suggestion.
She was smart enough to stop insisting and change the conversation. ‘Hai, since my Sergi’s death twenty years ago, I thought someday I might fall in love again, but the chances, as if they had wings, have flown away. And now I’m too old—’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘That’s very kind of you to say, Camilla, but I know the ways of the world.’
Then all of a sudden she began to sing the famous Xinjiang melody, ‘The Waltz of Youth.’
After the sun goes down, tomorrow it will climb back up in the sky.
Flowers wither, then bloom again next year.
But the beautiful bird of youth flies away and disappears,
The bird of my youth will never return …
I closed my eyes to feel her voice’s penetrating sadness. I thought about the two birds – the rebellious one of love that knows no law and the one of youth that flies away and never returns. I sighed silently as Lewinsky’s last note, like the disappearing bird of youth, faded into the unforgiving air.
Her eyes looked as if they were dipped in sweet wine. ‘My Sergi, we were so young, so much in love and so filled with hope and dreams for our future. Just as we thought that the world existed only for us, in a minute, he was gone.’ She wiped away a tear with her lacy white handkerchief. ‘All of a sudden the world decided to turn against me full force. Had I not learned to sing and won awards back in Russia, I’d be starving on the street and wouldn’t be here talking to you, my dear.’
I blurted out before I could stop myself, ‘Why do people fall in love?’
She laughed, her eyes glistening. ‘You’re so naive, Camilla. Love only is – there’s no reason. Of course I could tell you that Sergi was handsome and kind, ambitious and talented and very nice to me. But I didn’t analyse all those qualities before I fell in love with him. I just did.’
Now her eyes drifted like two dreams. ‘You know, when I used to perform, just before I started, I’d look for someone in the audience, pretending he or she was the only person in the hall, and then I’d just sing for that special one.
‘So on that evening – I will always remember, it was on September twelve, nineteen twenty-five – even though the hall was packed, my eyes, with a will of their own, landed on this young man in the back row. I couldn’t move them away. So for the entire hour I was singing, heart, body and soul, just for him. From then on, like the telepathy between identical twins, we were deeply connected. Even now, sometimes I can still feel his presence.’
I’d heard these sorts of sentiments before.
‘But he died …’ she breathed.
‘How?’ I had heard the story many times, but I would not stop my teacher from reliving her tragic love once again.
‘Sergi was a very talented, aspiring composer. However, unable to make a living by composing, he had to take up odd jobs to bring in money. The only work he could find was at a construction site. Then one day, a beam fell on his head. He literally dropped dead on the spot.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, as a courtesy. Why should I feel anything for this man I didn’t even know?
Some silence passed, then Lewinsky dabbed her eyes as she changed the topic. ‘Camilla, why don’t you sing Carmen, and let me hear your beautiful voice?’
I nodded, and she struck a key on the piano. Before I began, I tasted that starting note as if I were sucking on my favourite chocolate truffle. To help me sing better, I sensed each note with its own colour and personality. Middle C is yellow and virtuous, because it takes the imperial position – in the middle of the keyboard. The D next to middle C is orange and honest, for it has royalty as a neighbour. E is Chinese red and expansive. And the rest: F is blue, G is green, A is gold and B is purple. I gave the sharps and flats variations, so F-sharp is turquoise, A-flat becomes a brownish gold, B-flat bluish purple.
I straightened my back, inhaled deeply, then blurted out the first note, singing in French at first, but then reincarnating Carmen as Chinese. I used all my skill to imitate my teacher’s style and emotional nuances. But I especially liked, ‘Love is a Gypsy’s child; it has never, ever, recognised the law.’ Because I had lived my whole life controlled by others, even when outside the law.
When I finished, Madame Lewinsky nodded appreciatively. ‘Very good. But, Camilla, sooner or later, you’ve got to develop your own style.’
Lewinsky stood up and went to put a record on her gramophone. Besides her piano, this was her most treasured possession. Even in affluent Shanghai, few could afford this amazing machine from the West. She set the needle down on the record, and a beautiful voice singing ‘La Habanera’ perfumed the room like fine old wine being poured.
We half closed our eyes and let the music kidnap our minds for a few moments.
‘It’s Maria Gay. You feel her subtlety and sensitivity?’
I nodded.
‘That’s what I want you to focus on, my dear. Camilla, you’re gifted with an innocent, sweet voice that is like a pacifier in this ruthless, chaotic world. Those people at Bright Moon, they’re wicked and scheming, but deep down they crave purity.’
I chuckled inside. Did she really believe I was innocent? If I ever had been, my training as a spy had long since ended it.
My teacher spoke again. ‘Maybe those politicians and businessmen at your nightclub can’t tell, but I can.’
‘Sorry. What can you tell?’
‘Let me be blunt with you, Camilla. Your singing doesn’t have real feelings, only the imitation of feelings.’
I didn’t respond.
‘Don’t worry, once you fall in love …’
‘But I won’t.’
My teacher cast me a curious glance. ‘What makes you so sure?’
Of course I knew why, but the ‘why’ was not something to be shared.
Lewinsky winked, smiling. ‘Hmm … you’re sure you’re not in love already?’
‘No way.’
‘I can tell your mind has been wandering.’
I meant to ask how could she tell, but she was already speaking. ‘With my experiences of focussing on one person during my concerts, I can spot any musician’s wandering mind.’
‘Hmm … Madame Lewinsky, unfortunately I don’t have your kind of sensitivity.’
‘Next time when you sing at Bright Moon, find someone to focus on.’
‘I will.’
Just then the bell rang, and Lewinsky went to open the door to let in a student. It was time for me to leave. This was the first time I’d visited except to have a lesson.
Was there a genuine bond developing between us? I both hoped and feared that.
At the door, my teacher winked at me and hummed the tune from Carmen, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘The bird you hope to catch will beat its wings and fly away … Love stays away, making you wait and wait. Then, when least expected, there it is!’
When finished, she reached to pat my cheek. ‘Beware, my little sweetie. Karma happens. So be prepared.’ She winked again, then closed the door with a very tender click, like the sigh on a lover’s lips.
4
The Red Shoes
Visiting Lewinsky was an all-too-brief intermission from my tension-filled, murder-oriented existence. But I couldn’t do it often, because being relaxed was dangerous. Tension is like spice on food; without some, the dish would be tasteless, if not inedible.
After having had the right dose of tranquility, now I needed to plan for my next move: to discover Shadow’s intentions and prevent her from stealing Lung from me. And, if there was any chance that she was smarter and more talented than I, plot how to get rid of her.
After some hard thought, I decided to cancel my Thursday night performance and take the risk of inviting Master Lung to see Shadow’s debut magic show with me. In the subtle Chinese art of calligraphy, this is called pianfeng, an unorthodox brush movement for the sake of a startling aesthetic effect. In military strategy it is called bingxing xianzhe – send the soldiers to advance into danger. An illogical move is applied to win an impossible battle.
So now I was using a bingxing xianzhe in asking Lung to Shadow’s show. My real purpose was to prevent them from having any contact with each other without my knowing. In old China, this strategy had been adopted by many first wives. They would rather hand-pick the woman to be their husband’s concubine than let him pick for himself. That way they would have some control over the interloper who was to share their house and their husband’s bed. The shrewd first wife would pick a concubine who, though younger and prettier, was respectful and submissive and, most important, a little stupid.
Know yourself as well as your enemy; then out of one hundred battles you will win one hundred. Sunzi’s advice was as useful now as when he’d written it twenty-five hundred years ago.
Having Lung escort me to Shadow’s show would let her know that the gangster head was my not-to-be-trespassed-upon property. Of course that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to cross the line. But at least she’d get my message. Best would be if Lung had no interest in her big, muscular physique.
But I had learned never to rely on hope. Anyway, the first step is like a house’s foundation; if it’s not cemented right, the whole house will sooner or later collapse. Actually, each step is critical; as the sage Laozi said, ‘Things are more likely be spoiled at the end than at the beginning.’
But as I contemplated this more, I felt as if I were hanging on a cliff above sharp rocks surrounded by starving tigers. Then I asked myself, if it was easy, where was the thrill?
Shadow’s debut show was held at the Ciro Nightclub, a competing establishment with Bright Moon. The manager greeted Master Lung and his entourage with a smile as gleeful as if his wife had just given birth to his first son, then led us to the table in the middle of the front row.
Lung, his right-hand man, Mr Zhu, and I all sat down at a table already set with bottles of expensive wine and plates of snacks – watermelon seeds, dried plums, olives, sugared lotus root. As usual, Master Lung’s head bodyguard, Gao, and his team took the neighbouring table. Nightclub-goers threw us curious, envious stares. Among them I noticed a flamboyantly dressed, striking young man four tables from ours. Five or six tall, beautiful girls in matching pink dresses surrounded him like stars about a bright moon. The only strange thing about this figure, at least from the distance, was that he had make-up on.
When our eyes met, he smiled, then raised his wine glass and made a toast. I smiled back, then quickly averted his scrutiny as an uneasy feeling rose inside me that Lung might notice. Or even Gao, because the quiet but physically intimidating man was watching me intently. I feared, not that he had any inkling of my secret mission, but that he had a crush on me, which could be dangerous for us both. He might not survive trying to seduce his boss’s woman.
Once in a while I admit I did flirt with him, though indirectly, by twirling my hair as if deep in thought, or wriggling slightly when he was watching. I sensed that he was the kind of man who’d risk death to protect a helpless, beautiful woman in danger.
Even though my present status was above his, I always treated the bodyguard with respect. It’s smart to accumulate good karma by acknowledging, and even doing small favours for, those beneath you. You never know when you might need their help or when they might decide to mess up your life, no matter how small a cog they were in the big machine.
Although tonight Lung was physically present, I could tell his mind was somewhere else.
My patron took a long sip of his whiskey, then asked, ‘Camilla, how come you’re so curious about this magician – what’s her name – Shadow?’ Then he turned to Zhu, scoffing. ‘Why would someone in their right mind name their girl Shadow? What did they call their other children, Ghost, Apparition, Phantom? And the parents, Specter and Silhouette? Eh?’
Lung laughed his full-toothed laugh with his thin lips stretching downwards. The Chinese call this the capsized-boat expression. In physiognomy it is deemed an unlucky trait. But so far Lung’s luck, like his bodyguards, was always there for him.
Except for Gao, who was always serious, everyone else burst into hilarious laughter. Not that the joke was that funny, but because it had come from the mouth of the most relentless man in Shanghai.
‘Maybe her other siblings are called Smoke and Mirror?’ I quipped, a risky move, in case Lung might think I was trying to outsmart him. However, judging from his past mistresses, he could be fascinated by a woman’s brain, not just her breasts.
Now it was Lung’s turn to laugh, followed by even more hilarious laughter from the group. Not because my joke was so funny, but because I was the number one gangster’s number one woman.
This was the satisfactio
n of being at the top. But as the great sage Laozi said, ‘When things reach their zenith, they have nowhere else to go but down.’ So there is always the dread of the possible downward journey or, especially considering the fate of many gangsters, assassination.
When the laughter subsided, Zhu leaned over to his boss. ‘This Shadow must be an illegitimate child or an orphan to have a name like that.’
Was Zhu subtly deriding my orphan status?
Lung scoffed. ‘Maybe you’re right. Ha-ha! But who cares about a shadow, right?’ Then he said to me, ‘Camilla, this had better be a good show. I don’t want to waste my time being bored. How come you wanted me here tonight?’
I smiled my heart-softening, man-hardening smile. ‘Master Lung, what a question. You want to embarrass me by having me declare my love for you in public?’
He squeezed my narrow waist with the same hand that had inexorably squeezed out many rivals’ last breaths. ‘Besides your singing, your speech is also getting more clever. Whom did you learn this from?’
‘You of course, Master Lung. Who else?’
‘Ha-ha! Ha-ha! I like smart, beautiful women, just like you.’ He pulled my head to him and planted a kiss on my cheek.
I caught a jealous glance from Gao, followed by an ambiguous one from that young person four tables away.
Just then the orchestra struck up an animated tune, a signal that the show was about to begin. I’d already guessed that the first act on the program wouldn’t be Shadow’s. As the star, her act would come last.
The opening act was a songstress, mediocre in looks, talent and dress. Following her was another mediocre singer, better dressed but with a screechy voice.
Master Lung, looking bored, raised his rough voice amid the loud music. ‘I really don’t understand why Ciro Nightclub hired two homeless cats to meow.’
I giggled. ‘Master Lung, you’re so funny! Because these two mediocrities are only here to make us appreciate the following show.’
He hit his fist on the table, causing a small earthquake. ‘You’re damn right, Camilla. What do you eat to get so smart?’