There was money in Shanghai: cranes and scaffolding were seen everywhere. Builders worked from seven in the morning and through the weekends. Merchant ships arrived in swarms, hardly with enough time to unload their holds.
When people try to dig for gold, the spade sellers live the best, Nina reflected. I have to think of something like that. Maybe import cranes to Shanghai?
“No way,” Jiří shook his head when she shared her ideas with him. “You won’t be able to do it alone, and we don’t have any friends with means.”
He was sure that a bankruptcy with a shameful banishment from Astor House was awaiting them in the near future.
“You have no friends? Then make acquaintances, meet people,” Nina demanded.
In the beginning, she’d hoped Jiří would try to help her. But poverty didn’t scare him; talking to people did. To each of Nina’s ideas, he had reasons and causes for their assured failure.
“Let’s open a cinema,” she would say. “We can rent a place, hire benches and a projector.”
“No way,” Jiří would echo. “Just yesterday I read in the newspaper: people destroyed a theater because the film broke and the operator took too long to repair it. And don’t forget about censorial committees. Each part of Shanghai has its own one: the International Settlement, the French Concession and the Chinese City. All of these request your film be censored. Remember, we watched Lovers in the Night and couldn’t understand a thing from what was left of the cutting?”
“Let’s open a restaurant.”
“Nina, tell me what can you do in restaurants? I can only eat. And you?”
Jiří was always right, but his truth clipped her wings. She was beginning to hate him along with Shanghai.
Nina would never dare tell him that she was desperately scared of failure and numb with the shame of her accent—a mix of English with Russian.
Once she ventured to join a luncheon in Astor House, and no one even spoke to her. She got offended and spent the rest of the evening trying to convince Jiří that it was her who didn’t want to dance with those money-grabbers. “Have you seen their ladies? Narrow faces and fat protruding chins with little snotty mouths in the middle.”
Nina couldn’t understand what was wrong: she looked better than anyone there—a dress, a fan, pearls.
“You looked like you were choosing prey,” Jiří said. “People were scared, unconsciously. You were like an evil sucker…oh…sorry…I mean evil… No, that’s also wrong in Russian. How do you call someone who drinks people’s blood?”
“A mosquito,” Nina sighed.
Jiří smiled sheepishly. “Please, forgive me. I’m really sorry I can’t provide you with any help.”
His humbleness disarmed Nina. Sometimes she would fly off the handle and shout at Jiří, but every time she would apologize afterwards and swear to herself not to torture him. It was Nina who took him with her, and besides, he taught her English and had translated difficult parts of newspaper articles for her.
She should feel sorry for him. One can only imagine how shocked he was when he found himself thrown in the trenches straight from the music hall. It took only two sips of soldiers’ soup to upset his stomach; he fainted at sight of the dead. He was the whipping boy for his Austrian officer who would beat him up when he didn’t receive money, reinforcements or a letter from home.
It seemed Jiří attracted misfortune wherever he went. He managed to break his healthy arm getting out of a carriage. Cursing everything on earth, Nina dragged him to a hospital. She had to talk to the doctor herself as Jiří couldn’t speak: his whole body shook.
The doctor’s fee made Nina’s heart almost collapse. The next day, she went to the bank to ask for a loan, but an uppity fellow with a parted fringe said stateless people were not eligible for credit.
Nina and Jiří were coming back via the French Concession. She looked longingly at the tall walls and knew behind them was life, laughter and pleasure.
She had read that the majority of Shanghai’s multi-million dollar fortunes were made by crime. In the early days of the last century, English merchants imported Indian opium into China and took every effort to hook the locals onto the potion. When the Emperor tried to impose sanctions and ban the drug trade, the English sent a fleet and destroyed the Emperor’s armies. China was forced to sign unfair agreements, which allowed the foreigners to import opium and gave them the rights to rule in the areas where they lived. That’s how Shanghai, a sleepy fishing village, turned into a semi-colony. Only in 1917, did they manage to ban the opium trade, but by then, it was too late: a fifth of all Chinese men were now heavily addicted.
There was no one to be ashamed of in Shanghai. As God was her witness, Nina didn’t want to be involved in another shady deal, but she really had no choice. She needed a loan, and for that, she needed documents.
“I think I’ll talk to Lemoine,” she said to Jiří. “I don’t have three hundred dollars, of course, but maybe he’ll agree to help me on credit?”
2.
Paul Marie Lemoine was the Royal Flying Corps famous troublemaker, but during the Battle of the Somme, his airplane was shot down and he lost both legs.
He arrived on a huge cruise steamer to Shanghai, in a new wheelchair, with medals on his chest. Montreal patriots had arranged a lottery for disabled war veterans, and Paul Marie won the first prize, a trip around the world. His first stop in Shanghai was the opium dens. He remained in the city after his ship went on to Hong Kong, but his wheelchair, medals and suitcases all fell into the hands of drug dealers.
His next five years were spent floating around port taverns: smuggling, trading forged documents and extorting money from tourists. He found a picture of wooden legs in a magazine and asked a Chinese carpenter to make them; when they were too painful to wear, his burned faced, one-eyed Manchu would carry him around on his back.
They lived together in a stinking hole with a tiny, filthy window. An old cupboard, heavy as a rock, divided their room: behind it was One-Eyed’s bed. There the Manchu slept or prayed to his smoked Buddha statue, mumbling loudly and grinding his teeth.
When the Chinese told Lemoine about the Russian ships near Wusong, his heart pounded like an unhooked window shutter. Here it was, his last chance. He gathered money from all his buddies, swearing that he’d burn in hell if he didn’t return it.
Lemoine’s gamble was correct. The desperate Russians saw dollars and nothing else. They sold the arms five times cheaper than market price. Lemoine was afraid to breathe in case the slightest mistake scared off his good luck.
He had ventured into and succeeded in a dangerous and exciting business, arms trading. He bought a brand new pair of prosthetic legs and a glass eye for his Manchu. He rented a house on Avenue du Roi Albert and hired two housemaids: a seventeen-year-old Japanese and a flaxen-haired Swede with pumpkin breasts.
But despite his newfound wealth, he was still drawn to the Three Pleasures where he could fist fight, grope girls and kindly throw a dollar or two to winos to cure their hangovers.
3.
Lemoine liked Nina. He could have dropped a hint to the Russian captain about her stealing the six hundred dollars from the deal, but the lady was just learning. No trade could be mastered from the first attempt.
“It’s okay, she’ll get experience and get smarter,” he said to the Manchu after they left Nina in Shanghai. “Her eyes sparkle—a good sign! She’ll pan out all right.”
He was glad to see her in the Three Pleasures. A beautiful lady looking for him, in front of everyone—it couldn’t be better. Lemoine bowed as if in the olden days.
The lady followed him into the little office behind the stage, and he told One-Eyed to close the door. Nina was trying very hard to look serious; no doubt some secrets were waiting to be relieved.
Lemoine was quite right.
“I don’t want to speak with your servant present,” she said. “Send him away.”
Paul Marie shook his head. “One-Eyed won’t tell
anybody.”
“Is he dumb?”
“They say his tongue was cut off. Do you want to have a look? One- Eyed, open your muzzle!”
Nina didn’t look; it seemed she had no interest in deformities.
“So, how are you doing in Shanghai?” Lemoine asked courteously. “Prospering? Or not yet?”
The lady was in torment—how did she end up here? Too late for calming drops, my dear: if you came to Lemoine, then your business is rotten.
“You were right,” she said looking blankly. “I need documents.”
“No problem. Do you want a Spanish passport? We’ll clonk it out right here, in Zhabei.”
“I am not interested in fakes,” Nina interrupted. “I need proof of identity which allows me to do business and get a loan.”
“Oh well, that’s three hundred dollars. No less.”
“Why so much?”
“Because Shanghai is infested with refugees from all over the world. Without a passport you won’t even be able to use a library. Consuls don’t want the risk. They’re afraid to issue passports to some adventuress; then she could enter their country, make a mess, and they’d be left responsible.”
Nina frowned. “So, legal papers are in great demand?”
Lemoine explained that only documents from decent European and American countries were valued. For example, with a Belgian passport, one could get a visa to any country in the world. But it’s better to be a citizen of one of the Great Powers, with their extraterritorial rights.
“What’s that?” Nina didn’t understand.
Lemoine laughed. “The rights of white people. Let’s say you’re a British citizen, then the Chinese authorities won’t be able to touch you, and you can only be tried by an English consul. The same goes for the French, Americans and several others. The Russians also used to have extraterritoriality, but they pissed it away after the revolution. So, there are two options: either communist equality and fraternity or rights of the capitalist white people.”
For a while, Nina was deep in thought. “Is there a Czechoslovakian Consulate in Shanghai?” she finally asked.
“Which one?”
“Czechoslovakia. It’s a new country. It used to be a part of Austro- Hungary, but after the Great War, it proclaimed independence.”
Lemoine and One-Eyed exchanged glances. “Never heard of this one. I don’t think there is a consulate. It’s messy in Europe right now, so they won’t get to China anytime soon.”
“I’ll set up a Czechoslovakian Consulate myself,” Nina said. “And sell passports. What do I need for people to take me seriously?”
For a moment, Lemoine was at a loss for words. He started to scratch his head with both hands. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. If you can forge a passport, then you can easily print consulate papers. We can make it seem legitimate: a small republic wishes to protect its nationals in China. If no one here knows about Czechoslovakia, then no one could question the validity of my enterprise. I’ll supply a real Czechoslovakian consul; he can talk about whatever you desire: politics, culture or history.”
“You’ll be thrown into a Chinese prison,” gasped Lemoine. “Well, you know what? Let me kiss your hand! To start with, you need to talk to a proper lawyer. I know just the right one. His name is Tony Aulman. He’s pulled me out of the crap many times before.”
Nina smiled ironically. “What kind of crap?”
“Criminal, of course.”
“Does your Aulman know international law?”
“Local lawyers are like village doctors: they know little bits of everything.”
4.
Nina realized that her idea was total madness. Jiří would be horrified. If the police found out her scam, she would end up in a Chinese prison, which meant certain death.
Lemoine looked at her, grinning. “I always thought that men do big deeds out of courage, but women out of despair. If you want to witness a heroic act, scare the daylights out of a lady.”
Harnessed to a rickshaw cart, One-Eyed brought them to the luxurious porch of a five-story building on Peking Road.
Three nuns emerged from the doors.
“How’s the Pope doing?” barked Lemoine.
The sisters hurried away, peeved.
He smacked his lips. “Saintly women! They are also into heroic deeds here: got themselves into this Chinese hole. And for what reason? They’re petrified that they’ll end up burning in hell together with the Chinese pagans. So, to get rid of that possibility, isn’t it a better idea to get this narrow-eyed crowd baptized and sent to paradise?”
Nina smiled. Lemoine was rough and clownish, but he was a person of fortitude.
Aulman, Borman and Pevsner. Lawyers, read a smart brass plaque. Without knocking, Lemoine barged into the reception room. A short, neatly dressed gentleman with a curled mustache was standing on a table, hanging a Chinese scroll on a wall. Two clerks were doing the same thing.
“Lemoine!” exclaimed the whiskered fellow, looking relieved. He jumped off the table. “Mr. Young, Mr. Che, leave the poems, no need to hurry.”
He introduced himself to Nina, “Tony Aulman.”
In very good French, he explained that for successfully solved cases, the Chinese brought him presents: calligraphy scrolls, poems and whatnot. The clients wanted to see their gifts displayed, but the office was too small to fit all of them. So, every day they had to re-hang the poems depending on who was coming.
Aulman’s face wasn’t handsome, but lively. It was strange to watch him, a pressed and perfumed lawyer, hugging Lemoine, a port rogue with filthy hands.
Aulman’s office was filled with books, sports prizes and hunting trophies. A spy-glass stood near the window, and a target for darts hung on the wall.
“That’s how lawyers have fun,” explained Lemoine. “Borman foretells stock listings by throwing a coin, Pevsner throws darts, and Aulman spies over the brokers’ office window opposite.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Brokers are scumbags. They know nothing, but are happy to advise for a fee.” He sat at his desk. “So, what can I do for you?”
Aulman listened as Lemoine explained Nina’s idea. He looked straight into her eyes without any emotion. He was professional, calm and confident. Nina noticed a wedding band on his hand: some lady had obviously struck it lucky.
“Not a bad plan,” he said when Lemoine finished. “It’s possible to set up a consulate. We’ll write you a patent, but the exequatur will be real. We can do it through the Chinese Foreign Affairs Office.
“What’s the exequatur?” Nina asked.
“An official authorization issued by a host country, permitting a consul general to perform his official duties. How long do you think you’ll last?”
“As long as luck allows.”
Aulman twisted his mustache, deep in thought. “You’re claiming someone else’s bread and butter, so all the other consuls will immediately start digging to find out who you are and what you’re up to. I’ll give you some advice: stay away from passports and deal in champagne.”
Lemoine slapped his thighs. “That’s right!”
“What do you mean?” Nina frowned.
“For a box of champagne, customs will take ninety dollars. But consuls have the right to purchase liquor duty-free—for social events. If you order ten boxes, it’ll give you considerable savings.”
“Customs people will surely get suspicious. To drink up to ten boxes is hard, even in a month.”
“By yourself, no doubt. But if the Czechoslovakian Consul was arranging small receptions, then no one will be counting exactly how much his guests have drunk.”
Lemoine started fanning himself with his cap. “Madame, I’ll sort out the selling business, but balls and receptions—all yours. Deal?”
Nina could never have expected such a turn. Her idea with the consulate was a way to go down all flags flying. But, if there was no need to even sink?
“How am I going to arrange balls? I don’t know anyo
ne; no one would come.”
Aulman smiled knowingly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll introduce you to my wife. She’s also Russian. Tamara will teach you everything.”
It was well after midnight when they left the office. They decided they would all have shares in the business: Nina’s job was to negotiate with Jiří and arrange the ceremonial part, Lemoine was to establish relations with liquor dealers, and Aulman would provide the documents and connections with Chinese civil officers.
“In half a year, we’ll quietly close the consulate and send your Jiří back home,” summarized Aulman. “We’ll just say he was required back in Prague.”
When they were outside, Nina said to Lemoine, “Thank you for introducing me to your lawyer.Have you met his wife before?”
“How do you imagine I’d do that?” he laughed. “Tamara stays at home all the time: she has some problems with her back. And I don’t qualify as a guest.”
5.
Nina told Jiří that he would become a fake consul.
“If you don’t agree, you can get lost. I’m not going to keep you any longer. Enough is enough: you’ve been kept clean and full—all at my cost.”
It was fair. Jiří had a suspicion that Nina had stolen the money they lived on all this time. Constant worry tortured him, but how could he say no to a soft and clean bed? To breakfasts in sunlit cafés? Where would he go? Give music lessons? To whom? Jiří tried to imagine what a stronger, more courageous person would do in his situation. A person who had Nina’s respect would stand up for his rights and refuse to be bullied into her crazy plan. But where could Jiří go with a broken arm? He didn’t even have the money to remove the plaster.
Nina knew she had trapped him.
“All right. I’ll be a consul,” he said.
After eight long years of being forced into foreign wars, Jiří appreciated any day he didn’t need to fight, shoes that left no blisters, warm showers in the evenings—this was the meaning of life. And if Nina didn’t want him to be a consul, but the emperor of all China, he didn’t give a damn.
White Shanghai Page 7