The Shanghai Wife

by Emma Harcourt

  Alec pulled Annie aside and took her hands.

  ‘I must go.’ Behind them the ship pulled at its lines as waves splashed against the uneven rocks that fortified the bank.

  ‘Make sure you have enough adventures for both of us.’ Annie whispered before reaching up and kissing him once, softly.

  ‘I’ll be focused on getting back to you.’

  ‘No you won’t be, but I understand; you’ve a job to do. Just don’t forget me.’

  ‘A little bit of water won’t make me forget my wife. We’re going to be just fine, Annie.’ He squeezed her hands tightly before letting go.

  ‘Be careful,’ she called.

  Ten minutes later he was standing on deck. She waved but her arm stopped in mid-air, like a question mark. Mrs Pitt waited patiently beside her. She couldn’t go just yet, not until Alec waved goodbye. But the distance between Annie and the world of the ship was already insurmountable.

  They sat in silence as the car rumbled through the sand and dirt streets. Annie ran her hands over the soft leather. It felt luxurious after the starkness of the ship’s interiors. She watched the flat sprawling expanse of land and houses flash past. There was little traffic but a line of bullocks ambled along the dusty path that doubled as a road and slowed their progress. Annie listened to the steady thud of their hooves in the dirt as they edged around the beasts, and continued onto the simple town centre. Then the car engine died. They’d stopped outside a dressmaker’s shop.

  ‘This will only be brief. I do hope you don’t mind. Back shortly.’ With that Mrs Pitt disappeared into the store. The car door clipped softly shut. Annie shifted on the leather seat for comfort. A few locals peered into the automobile and Annie smiled at them. There was none of the noise or chaos of Shanghai. She pulled at her gloves, stretching the material up her wrists.

  An entirely unexpected vision came into view. Mrs Pitt was wearing a long traditional red smock, with loose-fitting pants that brushed against the ground. Her European shoes had been replaced with soft embroidered slippers. The bun in her hair was unpinned, and now hung in a long white plait down her back. It was very Chinese and a complete surprise.

  She nodded to the driver who didn’t acknowledge the change in his mistress as he started the engine. Mrs Pitt looked relaxed.

  ‘You’re probably too shocked to speak, am I right? Not sure what to make of this old lady? I promised my husband I would wear something suitable to meet you off the ship, and I did. Job well done I’d say, Fred! But really, Mrs Brand, you have to agree this weather is not made for our style of dress. It’s just plain sense to take a lead from our hosts. And these lovely things were waiting to be collected. I feel so much fresher now.’

  With that she pulled out a delicate paper fan. The ivory and jade bangles on her arm clinked in applause. Annie had to admit she looked cool and comfortable. The style suited her tall, lean shape, and was kind to her age. She must have been at least sixty.

  ‘Don’t worry Mrs Brand; we still serve tiffin in Ichang.’ There was a cheeky glint in her eyes which Annie liked; it was so very far removed from what she’d anticipated.

  ‘I’m not worried, Mrs Pitt. A little surprised, I’ll admit.’

  ‘Well I hope that’s a good thing.’

  ‘Yes, it is, absolutely.’

  The car pulled up outside a plantation-style house, modest by Shanghai standards but Annie surmised this was grand for Ichang. As they made their way through the corridor of the Club house, a few ladies stopped to greet them. They all ignored the fact that Mrs Pitt was dressed like a local, despite their own elaborate display of high collars and stockings. Mrs Marsden, the officious wife of the president of Alec’s club back in Shanghai, would certainly not put up with such flagrant disregard for all things European. Yet Mrs Pitt strode ahead as though she were at home. Indeed, it turned out she lived upstairs in rooms provided for the president.

  Annie rested in her room through the lunch hour. Her shoes lay discarded on the floor, her gloves thrown across the commode. The soft mattress was a treat after her bunk on the ship. She closed her eyes with a deep sigh. The smell of Yardley’s Old English Lavender soap soothed her. Clearly some foreign goods were considered irreplaceable, even for the eccentric Mrs Pitt.

  Later that afternoon Annie joined Mrs Pitt in the garden for tea. A small table was set for the two women away from the social hub of the ladies’ lounge. Somehow she’d guessed that Annie would prefer not to be amongst company. Or perhaps it was Mrs Pitt who avoided the Club tiffin room.

  They sat side-by-side, chairs backed up against a thick tree trunk for shade. Its branches spanned out above their heads in a canopy of lush green. Annie looked up as she leant back in her comfortable chair. A bright spot of light played on her arm where the sun’s rays found a gap through the branches. She passed her hand through the sunlight, feeling the momentary warmth move from her arm to the skin of her hand and back again. The servants moved around them discreetly, placing tea things on the table.

  Mrs Pitt leant over and squeezed Annie’s arm.

  ‘It’s so nice to have a new face with us, if only for a few days.’

  The gesture was kindly and Annie warmed to the older woman.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Pitt. You’re very kind to take me in. I do hope it hasn’t put you out in any way?’

  ‘Not at all, I’m pleased to have a young thing to liven us up.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can do that, but I’m very happy to be here. Have you lived in Ichang for long?’

  ‘Yes indeed, a very long time. My husband retired here five years ago. Running this club keeps him busy and it’s our home.’

  The servants retreated inside. Annie still felt the occasional motion in her head as though she was rolling with the river’s swell. She leant back and closed her eyes.

  ‘By the way, please call me Ilma. You can see I don’t stand on the usual ceremony.’ She chuckled and poured them both another cup of tea. The sweet, warm liquid relaxed Annie’s muscles. It had been a long time since she felt the maternal care of anyone, but this old lady stirred a child’s need inside her. She rubbed her arm where Ilma had squeezed it and shifted in the oversized cane chair, feeling about ten years old as she held her teacup out for a refill.

  ‘You look a little pale my dear, are you feeling all right?’

  ‘It’s the river still in my limbs making me sway, such an odd sensation when you get back on solid ground. I’ll be fine, thank you. This tea is helping no end.

  ‘You have a beautiful home here Ilma. It feels like a secret oasis, hidden away from censure.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it splendid?’

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what does Ichang society think of your unorthodox dress?’

  ‘It’s simple, really. My husband is the most adored man in Ichang, so they put up with me. He runs the Club brilliantly, is always available to make up a set for bridge, stocks the best brandy, funds the local paper hunts and we’ve never lost a servant to anything other than age. I bask in the glow of his perfection.’

  ‘It seems to me he’s a lucky man to have you.’

  ‘Well, there you’re wrong. It is I who am the lucky one. My Fred is a genuinely good man, bless him. He loves me. And even though it might mean on occasion he finds himself defending the eccentricities of his wife, for Fred, that is a far better choice than trying to change me. I wouldn’t have stuck around if he had tried. And the man is intelligent enough to realise that.’

  Ilma shook the teapot in the air and a servant quickly appeared. Annie listened to her talking to the old man.

  ‘Your number one son all better?’

  ‘Very well, very well.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Ilma patted the man’s arm warmly. Then she turned back to their conversation, as though it was perfectly acceptable to be asking a servant if his son had recovered from an illness. She leant in conspiratorially.

  ‘It drives the younger members mad when I talk to the servants like old friends.’ The t
ea sloshed from the side of her cup as she laughed. Annie felt a kindred spirit in Ilma.

  ‘Why didn’t you go home to England when your husband retired?’

  ‘We’re too old to go home now, and frankly, too set in our ways. We both wanted to stay, no children to worry about. Where is home for you, Annie?’

  ‘Shanghai.’

  ‘Ah, the metropolis; we spent a few months in Shanghai many years ago but it got too big for my liking.’

  Ilma put down her teacup and sat back comfortably. Annie noticed how thin she was, the bony point of an elbow resting on the arm of the chair. Heavy ivory teardrops hung low in her ears, dragged down by years of wearing earrings. They sat in silence for a while. Annie closed her eyes and enjoyed the familiar smell of moist manicured lawns. There was a lovely quiet too, without the constant noise of a ship’s engine.

  She must have fallen asleep. Ilma was still sitting beside her, though the tea things had disappeared and someone had tucked a cotton blanket around her. It was like a sanctuary, she thought to herself, snuggling into the deep roll of her cane chair. Ilma hadn’t noticed she was awake which allowed Annie time to watch her companion smooth her hair and tuck a few loose strands behind her ears. There were flecks of pale grey amongst the white. Annie noticed how her hair caught the sun and shimmered as Ilma slowly loosened the strands and began to rebraid the plait.

  ‘Perhaps you’d prefer a quiet dinner in your room tonight? I can arrange it, and then tomorrow I’d like to show you something of our countryside, if I may? The ship will be here in another day, and you’ll be off to Shanghai. But before you go will you join me on a little expedition?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that. I’ve always enjoyed exploring.’

  A cold rush of air thrilled through Annie; it was exciting to be up so early, with the world cast in a sepia shroud of pre-dawn anticipation. A few staff moved quietly about loading supplies onto a donkey for the day’s outing. Ilma came to stand beside Annie, a thin cigarette held tightly in her teeth. The gravel drive crunched beneath her boots.

  ‘Ready?’

  Annie nodded. They both mounted waiting sedan chairs. Annie’s back pressed into the hard wood. It was an unceremonious means of transport and she took a while to adjust. The awkward walking rhythm of her two bearers pushed her body about in the seat like a rolling ball. Ahead, her first bearer dipped and bobbed with the bounce of the long wooden poles that stretched through and back to the man at her rear. Already she saw red marks where her weight bore into his shoulders.

  But the first breeze of the day caught in her curls and breathed lightness into her mood. She left her hat off, ever hopeful of more breezes. Beneath her, the chair creaked as they set off at a steady gait.

  In front, Ilma’s head bobbed in motion. Both sedans moved to the side as a wagon cart loaded with crates of fowl rumbled past. The road was barely wide enough to fit the wagon. It scraped against a wall on the far side, and the driver shouted angrily at the sedan bearers. Then they were on their way once more and the street dissolved into a dirt path that opened out into countryside.

  Annie exhaled and settled. Now they’d left the town she could see the sky, with its broad, blue expanse. She waved to Ilma as they passed each other. Some children ran out of a house and beside the sedans for a stretch, sticks flapping like flags about their heads. Annie threw coppers to them. The constant movement became a lulling rhythm and her eyelids drooped despite the uncomfortable chair.

  The stillness woke her. She licked her lips, aware of how dry her mouth felt. They’d stopped by the side of a hill. Ilma was already stretching out her arms and leaning into her back.

  ‘Pit stop, my dear.’

  They shared a water flask. The cool drink flushed down Annie’s throat pleasantly. A farmer and ox worked a field just below them, the plough kicking back small chunks of mud and grass. The smell of churned earth carried across the breeze.

  Ilma walked over to the bearers who were sitting on their haunches against some rocks. One lit the cigarette in Ilma’s outstretched fingers and she turned to rejoin Annie. The men waited a respectful distance from them. Their bare chests were shiny with sweat.

  ‘How much further will we travel?’

  ‘We’re halfway there. From now the path gets steeper. If you look back, you can see where we’ve come from.’ Ichang sat in the distance below them. Annie shielded her eyes and squinted into the sunlight. Faraway, the river splintered into channels like the veins on the old lady’s wrists.

  The bearers clicked their tongues and the women turned away from the view and climbed once more into the sedan chairs. Their pace slowed considerably as the path followed the turn of a hill. The sensation of dipping backwards was exhilarating as the men shifted their weight into the steeper climb. Each tree, each rock, was new and undiscovered and Annie strained to see beyond the bend of every approaching turn. To one side the path dropped away steeply. On the other, trees grew precariously out of the slope. It smelt of scented wood and leaves. Above Annie’s head, swallows darted about in the open space.

  The bearer in front stumbled and Annie gasped. The muscles across his shoulders pinched tightly as he corrected the weight of the chair. Ilma’s hand shot up in a wave; she was fine. They paused while the bearer found his footing. Then the coolies resumed the slow, cautious climb along the gravelly path. Annie held on tightly. But within minutes they’d rounded a bend into a flat patch of grass and rubble. A simple stone temple sat into the mound of the hill. The summit peaked above the temple’s dome. Annie was relieved to see there was nowhere further to climb.

  She jumped down from the chair; it was good to stand on solid ground again. Something rustled amongst the rocks, sounding loud in the silence of the clearing. The men moved away and pulled out a table and chairs from the packing on the donkey. They set about preparing lunch.

  Ilma came to stand beside Annie.

  ‘How are you feeling, dear?’

  ‘Like an explorer who’s just discovered a new mountain. This is so beautiful and untouched. I feel honoured that you’ve brought me here.’

  ‘It’s one of my favourite spots.’ Ilma hooked her arm through Annie’s and walked with her to the temple. ‘Come and have a look inside.’

  The entrance was cut up in rocky uneven edges where the bricks had tumbled from the walls. Two long, narrow steps led into a plain room with a dirt floor, open to the elements. The pointed roof swooped out at each corner in a tidal surge.

  It took a few moments to see clearly after the brightness outside. Annie closed her eyes and opened them again, to see Ilma lighting a joss stick. The incense burned in pots of dirt to the sides of a long, low table that ran the width of the room. After the freshness of the hillside, the temple air cloyed at Annie’s throat.

  On the table was a row of six porcelain gods. The statues all sat cross-legged and were draped in intricately painted robes with long beards. One had his arm raised above his head, the other arm reaching across his chest. Between his legs sat a drum. Another looked directly ahead, his hands in a prayer position.

  On the ground was a set of fraying mats. Ilma stuck her incense into one of the pots and moved beside Annie. The small head fired up briefly then dropped to a glow. As they turned to go, one of the bearers moved silently past them to crouch on a mat. The soles of his feet were dark with dust and indented with stones. There were marks where the wooden pole had dug into his shoulder. Annie wondered if he had a wife at home waiting to rub oil into his skin and prepare him for another day of carrying foreigners.

  The dining chairs at the picnic table could have been straight from her home, mused Annie as she relaxed into one. The lunch was simple but delicious. Ilma dismissed the bearers to their own food and the two women sat companionably with cold drinks and sandwiches. Annie noticed the men had pots of rice and vegetables they unpacked from neatly tied cloth bindings. She considered the bottles of cold sarsaparilla on the table, wet with condensation from their packing of iceblocks.

&n
bsp; ‘Would you mind if I offer these to the men? I think they could do with a cold drink more than us?’

  ‘By all means, my dear, go ahead.’

  Annie handed the drinks to one of the men. ‘That made them smile,’ she said as she returned to the table. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Ilma. It’s so peaceful.’

  ‘It must be a relief to be out of Shanghai.’

  ‘I can’t deny it was good to get away. But my husband says things in the city have calmed down since we left. As I understand it, there’ve been some big arrests including a gang leader and that will make a significant difference to the strength of the local gangs. They’re always trying to conflate tensions between the Chinese and ourselves. It’s madness, but hopefully not after these arrests. Hence my early return.’ Annie tried to keep the regret out of her voice; she knew she wasn’t telling Ilma the full story.

  ‘We get news infrequently, but the last visitors told us Shanghai feels like a warzone with barricades and curfews and police everywhere. Workers protesting against low wages is not something that would have happened in my day. But I suppose the new Communist fad is filling their uneducated heads with foolish notions.’

  ‘It’s more serious than a fad. Two policemen were killed in a riot recently at a cotton warehouse down river from Pudong Point. The workers refused to disband and there was a gunfight. Frightening business.’

  ‘Goodness, did they find who shot them?’

  ‘I really don’t know if they’ve got the killers or not, although they’ve arrested a large group from the protest; most of them weren’t even workers, they were students and they will be tried for the deaths.’

  ‘It’s those Communists getting in their heads; so young and foolish, what a waste.’

  Annie found it liberating talking so freely about politics with Ilma. Such conversations scared her European friends in Shanghai. But no one took the time to investigate what it actually meant to be a Communist. What if they just wanted a better life; wasn’t the same yearning for more from life the reason she’d run away to Shanghai? She didn’t feel threatened, she felt angry. No one cared about the Chinese and Japanese students who now sat in prison cells awaiting trial. No one wrote about the bodies left like fallen leaves in the street until their compatriots came to pile them into carts.