Shanghai Story: A WWII Drama Trilogy Book One

by Alexa Kang

  Isaac sat down. Skeptical, he poked the zongzi with the tip of his fork, then picked a tiny bit from the corner and put it into his mouth. His nose wrinkled ever so lightly as he chewed. Eden pulled out a chair next to him, ready to tell him he didn’t have to eat it if he didn’t like it. But when she looked at him, he swallowed and put another chunk into his mouth.

  She stuck the fork into the piece on her plate. He really didn’t need to do this to try to please her. She smiled at him, but his eyes suddenly bulged. His face contorted, and he spat what he was chewing out onto his plate.

  “What?” Eden put down her fork. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s pork in it.” He ran to the bathroom.

  Eden got up and went after him. In the doorway, she watched him rinse his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The one she ate yesterday was a sweet one filled with red bean paste, and neither she nor her parents had thought of asking Clark what was in the salty ones.

  “He didn’t tell you there’s pork in it?” Isaac grabbed a towel and wiped his face.

  “Why would he? He couldn’t have known.” She felt horrible. “I’m sorry.”

  “China,” Isaac mumbled as he walked passed her out of the bathroom. “Everything has pork in it. Even Challah bread.” He was talking about the roast buns he bought from a Chinese bakery the other day. From the outside, the buns looked exactly like Challah bread. But they were not. They were Chinese roast pork buns.

  The front door opened and Eden’s parents walked in. Eden went to greet them, but the grave look on their faces confused her.

  “Isaac.” Dr. Levine took off his hat. “We received a letter from your parents.”

  “What did they say?” Isaac’s hands tensed.

  “The authorities wouldn’t let them board the ship unless they turn over ninety percent of everything they own.”

  “I don’t understand,” Isaac said. “That law’s been in place since the end of last year. We came. You didn’t have to give them ninety percent of what you owned.”

  “We were lucky. Luckier than we’d ever know. We got out just in time before they got serious about it.”

  Isaac fell into the chair. “What does that mean? What are they planning to do? They’re still coming, right?”

  “They don’t know yet.” Mrs. Levine put her hand on his shoulder. “Ninety percent of everything they own is a lot to give up.”

  Helpless, Eden exchanged a glance with her father. Isaac’s parents owned a well-run toy business in Germany. They were better off compared to most people, and ninety percent was a lot of money.

  Isaac clasped his hands on his lap. She’d never seen him look so distressed.

  “They’re afraid to come with nothing.” Dr. Levine took the seat next to him. “They’re afraid they wouldn’t know how to make a living here.” He put his hand on Isaac’s. “I’ll write to them. I’ll urge them to come. If they do, I’ll help them any way I can. You can all stay with us for as long as you need. A lot of Jews have found jobs here. If money is a problem, we’ll find a solution somehow.”

  Isaac stared at the floor. “I have to get a job.”

  Eden turned her face. Medical school, of course, was now completely out of the question.

  6

  Betrothal by Birth

  In the living room, Clark sat down and picked up the copy of the North China Daily News the houseboy had left for him on the coffee table. Good old Uncle Six. No doubt he had told the house staff to order a subscription. He’d thought of everything to make his return home easy and comfortable, even making sure a copy of an English-language newspaper would be readily available for him. It was also his way of acknowledging Clark’s rise in status as someone Westernized in the eyes of the servants.

  “All Eyes on Berlin as City Gears up for Olympic Games,” read the headline on the front page in big bold letters. He read the first paragraphs of the article until a smaller headline caught his attention. “Anti-Jewish Signs Down for Olympics,” it said, with the subhead, “Hitler Promises to Remove the Placards During the Winter and Summer Games.”

  Empty gesture. He didn’t bother reading it. What good would it do for Eden and her family? It was madness for the rest of the world to go along with this, including the Chinese, who were sending their first-ever Olympic team. What message was the world sending to Hitler? That it was okay to hang anti-Semitic signs at all other times, as long as the signs weren’t visible to international visitors? What the eyes didn’t see was deemed clean? No wonder Eden’s family had to leave.

  Eden. He’d been thinking about her a little too often. But then, how could he not? How could any man forget those rich, brown eyes? They were eyes that mirrored a soul. Besides, he was about to make the next big decision of his life because of her. All week long, he’d been looking for the right moment to tell his father that he’d decided to work for the KMT instead of taking up a position with their own company. In the spur of the moment, he’d declared to this girl he’d met only once his next career choice. And now, he couldn’t take it back. He did not want her to think of him as someone full of empty talk. He hoped his father would not disapprove.

  The loud click of heels against the floor brought him out of his thoughts. Wen-Ying stormed into the living room, pulled her gloves off her hands, and threw them onto the coffee table.

  “What happened?” Clark looked up from the paper as she plopped herself onto the couch. “What are you so angry about?”

  “That foreign trash. That son of a bitch.”

  “Who? Your boss? Findlay?”

  Wen-Ying crossed her arms. “I was sitting right outside the meeting room. He didn’t even have the decency to close the door. ‘Yellow pigs. Worthless yellow-skinned reptiles. Rats. Snakes. Bandits.’ I could hear everything he said. If we Chinese are such lowly life forms, then what is he doing here in this dump? He’s the kind of garbage who gets stepped over by everyone in his own country, then he comes here and lords over us like he’s somebody. I’ll tell you who the bandit is. That red-haired devil. He’s the real bandit. Profiting off the blood and sweat of Chinese people.”

  Clark put down the paper. “Don’t upset yourself this way. Why do you work there anyway if he’s so terrible? You don’t even need to work. You’re the Yuan family’s da xiao jie. If you want to work so badly, you can work for our own company. I’m sure you’ll do a great job. You don’t need to go to the British consulate’s office every day to take this kind of treatment.”

  “No.” Wen-Ying scowled. “There’s no need for me to work for our own company. Sooner or later, that business will be yours and you’ll run it just fine.”

  “If you want to join, I certainly wouldn’t object.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a woman.”

  “So? I wouldn’t find it ridiculous. I’d be happy to have my sister run the business together with me in the future. I wouldn’t object even if you take over the business instead of me.”

  “Ge!” She uncrossed her arms. “You can’t talk of this matter so lightly. You’re our family’s only son. Of course our business will be handed down to you. It is how things should be. I don’t know what new ideas they put in your head overseas, but we must take our family business seriously. Everything depends on you.”

  Clark observed his sister. Shanghai had advanced so far during the years they were growing up. Still, the roots of traditional values held on. Wen-Ying had always been a stubborn child. If her opinion was fixed, arguing with her was useless. He smiled and tried to soothe her. “All I’m saying is, if you want to work so badly, why don’t you take up a position with our own company instead. You can work however much or little as you please.”

  “I have no desire to work,” Wen-Ying said. “You won’t understand. I’m at the British consulate for a purpose. I’m the eyes and ears to what the foreigners are up to.”

  “If you mean keeping account of their commercial intent and activities, I suggest you forget it. Whatever advantages you think yo
u can gain for us, it’s not worth all your agony.” He leaned closer to her. “I’d rather see you happy.”

  “It’s not all about business,” she said. “War is coming. The Japanese are waging attacks against us. Everybody can see that. Outside the International Settlement, they pick skirmishes, testing the limit to see how far they can push. No one’s calling it a war yet, but war will come. It’s only a matter of when. The Britons are the most dominant foreigners here. I want to be the first to know what they’re up to, if they have any intention of keeping the Japanese in line.”

  "Wen-Ying," Clark said. This was the first time Clark had glimpsed the true scope of her motive, and it worried him. “Even if what you say is true, it shouldn’t be your responsibility to take on such a burdensome task.”

  “Why not? This is my country. I’ll do anything I can to defend it.” She crossed her arms again as a maid brought her a cup of tea.

  Clark wanted to persuade her to reconsider, but the conviction on her face put him to shame. Unlike her, he’d made the decision to join the KMT only upon the desire to impress a girl he’d met.

  That wasn’t entirely true. Another reason compelled him. The Japanese. Back in China now, he could feel the true magnitude of the conflicts between the Chinese and the Japanese up north. The Japanese called them “incidents.” What a way to twist the truth. Military aggression was more like it.

  When he mulled over Tang’s proposal, thoughts of the Japanese weighed heavier and heavier on his mind.

  A burst of laughter of women filled the front entrance. Their mother had returned home. Next to her stood a young woman, Shen Yi. His supposed fiancée.

  “Guo-Hui!” Madam Yuan took the young woman by the hand and came up to him. “Look who has come to see you.”

  “Shen Yi.” He forced out a stiff smile. He hadn’t realized until now how much he had been dreading this moment. “How are you?”

  “I’m so happy to see you.” Shen Yi lowered her eyes. A flush of red rose to her cheeks.

  “Shall I ask someone to get you some tea?” Madam Yuan asked Shen Yi and looked around the room for the maid. “How about some snacks?”

  “No, thank you.” Shen Yi shook her head. “I should go. I’ve taken up your whole afternoon already. You need to rest.”

  “Nonsense.” She patted Shen Yi on the arm. “You were so sweet to accompany me shopping. It was I who took up your time. But you’re right. I should go relax now. Guo-Hui.” She turned to her son. “Why don’t you walk Shen Yi home? It’s been years since you’ve seen each other.”

  “Ma.” Clark panicked. He wasn’t ready for this.

  “Go on.” Madam Yuan put her other hand on his back and guided them to face the door. “You two young people go on outside and take a walk.”

  Shen Yi turned her face away, looking both embarrassed and delighted. Clark glanced at Wen-Ying, hoping she would intervene, or at least volunteer to come along. But Wen-Ying only crossed her legs and sat back in her seat, like she was all ready to watch an amusing show.

  Clark had no choice but to head out with Shen Yi as his mother wished.

  On the street, Clark kept his distance without appearing rude. He wasn’t sure exactly how to treat this girl, Shen Yi. After all, she wasn’t his fiancée by choice. As a child, the concept of marriage meant little to him. All he knew was, when their families met up on occasion, they would encourage him and Shen Yi to play together and seat them together at meals. They did as they were told, but afterward, their existence to each other never quite registered. As they got older and began to understand the implications of their intended relationship, their encounters with each other became awkward, and they both tried to keep away from each other as best as they could.

  Things changed again the year before he left for America. For reasons he couldn’t guess, she began looking for excuses to come around him. At first, he thought her parents had put her up to it. Out of courtesy, he never turned her away as he didn’t want the adults to give her a hard time. But soon, he began to suspect she was approaching him entirely at her own will. At fifteen, he couldn’t make sense of the situation for himself, nor could he handle her show of affection. He certainly wasn’t ready to think of this girl, or any girl for that matter, as his wife. When it came time for him to leave the country a year later, he was all too relieved to get away.

  Nonetheless, there was a time when they could’ve developed something deeper. In the isolated suburbs during the first year when he was in America, her letters came once a month like the north star on a wide desert. Homesick and aching for a connection to something—anything—familiar, he wrote back. How he needed to share all his thoughts with someone! He told her things he’d learned in school. American history and their system of democracy, biology, chemistry, philosophy. If China could achieve the same level of democracy; if medical care in China could become as advanced as the West; if China could produce more scientists; if Chinese people would be educated in matters of philosophy, how much better the lives of people would be. He wanted her to see what he had discovered, to share his aspirations and dreams.

  She answered. Not with her own thoughts as to what he’d told her, but with updates on the which boys had become her girlfriends’ latest infatuation. She always looked forward to his letters, she said. Even if, being a girl, she didn’t understand all the deep things he’d written to her about. They showed that he was far more brilliant than all those other boys.

  What could he make of her response? Could he fault her for telling him that she thought highly of him and that he stood head and shoulders above all the other boys she knew? But the north star soon fell like an illusion. When each day ended, he found himself still stranded in the empty desert.

  A year passed and the Mid-Autumn Festival came. He wrote to her under the glimmering full moon in the dark quiet sky, his thoughts crossing oceans to Peng Amah pouring tea and serving mooncakes to his parents and sisters in their courtyard, and the neighbors’ children frolicking with their paper lanterns illuminating the streets. She replied that she was sad too because the flower shop she loved had closed. But the good news was that Tang Ying was opening another boutique in its place. Tang Ying’s fashion brand was all the rage. She was bringing Parisian designs to Shanghai faster than the Parisian labels themselves.

  He put her letter away. That was the last time he wrote to her from the heart.

  His letters to her became less frequent, dropping to once every three months to twice a year. Sorry for not having written more. School was taking up much of his time. It wasn’t a lie. His coursework progressively increased, and for a long time, it took him twice as long to read his textbooks in English than reading books in Chinese.

  Her letters slowed too. Maybe the novelty of writing had worn off. She wasn’t much of a writer, she said. Things would be so much easier when he returned home and they no longer needed to write to each other.

  That was fine with him. Far away from home, in a country where free love reigned, his engagement felt surreal. How serious were their parents when they made this arrangement? In this day and age, did they truly expect their children to follow through on a custom as ancient as marriage by designation in the womb?

  He threw the entire matter to the back of his mind and focused on his schoolwork. When he returned, he had wondered if the engagement had become an afterthought for everyone else as it had for him. Of course he would pay Shen Yi a social call, in time, as he would to all their family friends and acquaintances. He couldn’t imagine a girl he barely knew would wait six years for him.

  Or would she?

  “How are your parents?” He tried to break the ice. “Are they well?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “They told me to give you their regards if I see you.”

  “Please thank them for me.” He twiddled his fingers in his pockets. “What about you? How’ve you been?”

  She broke into a huge smile. “Of course I’m good now that you’ve come back. I took on an English na
me.”

  “Oh?” He glanced at her. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. I thought I should have one, given that my fiancé has studied abroad in the West.”

  Fiancé. Clark swayed back, squeezing his arms against his sides.

  “My English name is Betty. Do you like it?”

  Betty. She didn’t look like a Betty. “It’s a nice name.” He shifted his eyes away.

  She looked satisfied. “I had my tailor make me a new wardrobe. I told him, my fiancé is educated in the West. My style should be Western to match him.” She straightened her back and strutted across the street. He couldn’t tell her that foreign women in the West would not wear suit dresses like the one she had on. The heavily laced collar and Victorian ruffles only highlighted her vain but failed attempt to look Westernized.

  “I’m learning English too,” she said proudly.

  “You are?” That impressed him. Learning a foreign language took real commitment.

  “Yes. I’ve been taking private lessons for eight months.” She switched her parasol from her right hand to the left.

  Clark stepped back to avoid being hit by the frame. Women in the West didn’t use parasols to keep themselves shielded from the sun anymore either.

  Stop it, he scolded himself in his head. She was doing all this to please him. He shouldn’t nitpick at her efforts. Still, he wished she wouldn’t try so hard on his account. “Learning another language is a good way to improve oneself,” he said. “But you needn’t change yourself for anyone. Especially not for me.”