by Ron Miller
We ate in our seats, too, since there wasn’t anything like a dining car. At every stop—and there must have been a hundred of them—a gang of kids and old ladies would clamber on board, their arms filled with pots and baskets of food. They’d move up and down the aisles until everything was sold then get off at the next station. Pat would buy whatever was thrust in front of her and eat it like a starving horse. I’ve never seen anyone eat like that girl. She must have had the metabolism of a Bessemer converter.
Chan-chun proved to be a bigger city than I’d expected. There were modern-looking buildings and factories almost as far as I could see. And judging by the smoke pouring from their stacks they weren’t just for show, either.
We were met at the station by a Japanese officer and a squad of soldiers, which didn’t surprise me much, given what Pat had been telling me. The city was pretty much in the Japs’ back pocket, being the capital of this phony Manchukuo they’d invented.
The officer bowed and scraped until I thought he’d snap his buck teeth off on the pavement and told me that the emperor was just dying to meet the two honorable Americans, ah so. I told him it would make our day complete, too, and to lead on.
There was a big, black Daimler limousine parked on the street outside the station and we all piled into it—the Jap officer in the front with the driver, Pat and me in the back. There was a glass panel separating the two compartments, but I lowered my voice anyway when I spoke to Pat.
“Just what do you suppose this P’u-i wants with us anyhow?”
“He’s probably just curious. He’s dealt with the British a lot, but I don’t know how many Americans he’s ever met.”
“Well, if I had to put any money on it, I’d say the Japs are a lot more curious about us than this kid is. It’ll be a big surprise to me if I find out that they’re not behind this invite.”
“For goodness’ sake, Carl, surprises are what adventure is all about.”
I could have given her a dozen examples where she was dead wrong, but I knew it would get me nowhere. So I settled back and watched the scenery.
I had been surprised by the city as we’d pulled into the station, but now I got a good look at it. I had to admit the Japs had put on a good show. It looked as modern and up-to-date as any place in the West. Brand-new buildings of brick and concrete in the latest style were mixed with traditional structures that must have been centuries old. It reminded me of some of the places I’d seen in the Soviet Union. They were like an aging actress trying to look young again under too much make-up and dresses she was thirty years too old to wear.
About fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of an imposing building. It was two stories high and covered a full city block. It was obviously brand-new and made to impress the natives, though it looked a lot more European than Chinese to me with its dark brick façade and windows framed in white stone. The officer led us through an arched door in the base of a green-domed tower and politely asked us to wait. He went to a desk in the lobby and consulted with the officer who manned it.
“The Emperor will see you now,” he said when he returned to us. “In his office, just down this corridor, if you will please to follow me.”
We pleased and a few seconds later were in the presence of the K’ang-te of Manchukuo. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it was hardly the kid who rose from the ornately embroidered chair. Put a varsity sweater on him and a pork pie hat and he wouldn’t have looked out of place on any American college campus. He wasn’t dressed like that, but neither was he wearing the robes and other gear I’d expected of a Chinese emperor. He had on a nice grey suit, white shirt with a soft collar and a blue silk tie. Frankly, my first thought was of his resemblance to Charlie Chan’s number one son.
He advanced toward us with this big grin on his face and an outstretched paw. I took hold of the latter and gave it a good pumping, which nearly rattled the kid’s big round glasses off his face. Pat merely allowed the emperor to raise her fingers to his lips where he planted a dainty kiss on them.
“I am so pleased indeed to meet you!” he bubbled. “I don’t think I have met more than two or three Americans in my whole entire life.”
“Well, you’re my first emperor, Emperor,” I replied.
“Oh, please! There is no need for such formality! Call me Henry, if you please. I am all too sadly aware that all this is nothing but a sham. I am but a puppet emperor of a puppet nation.”
“The Japanese do seem to have made something of a presence here.”
“Indeed they have,” said the emperor, with an odd note to his voice. At least so far as I could tell. His English was pretty good, but maybe not so good that I could be sure he wasn’t being cagey. “It is an especial pleasure, Mr. Denham,” he continued, placidly changing the subject, “to have you as my guest. I have been a great admirer of your wonderfully exciting films!”
“Well, that’s swell.”
“And I want to hear everything about this amazing adventure with the enormous ape. How thrilling that must have been!”
“It was a thrill all right.”
“And Miss Wildman,” he said, turning toward Pat, “I am no less looking forward to getting to know you.”
Pat shot a glance at me that was unmistakable. She’d probably seen the kid’s expression on a thousand teenage boys before. His big, round glasses were opaque with steam.
After a little more chit-chat, P’u-i suggested that we adjourn to the palace where he assured us we’d be a lot more comfortable. I thought we were already in the palace, but it turned out that this place was only an office building that was but a small part of a vast complex that must have covered several square miles at least.
We followed the emperor down a couple of flights of stairs and out the back. Both Pat and I were so surprised by what we saw that we stumbled into one another. There were several massive buildings, all surrounded by lush gardens and trees. A couple of these were in the European style, looking vaguely French or Russian, like the place we’d just left, but the largest was classic Chinese.
“Reminds me of the Imperial Palace in Peking,” Pat said. P’u-i turned at those words.
“Yes,” he said, “it was designed in imitation of the great Forbidden City. It covers nearly four and a half hectares—about ten acres, I believe. It is really only used any more for certain administration and ceremonial purposes.”
The building we were led to, however, was a two-story building that looked like it might have been lifted right out of London.
P’u-i had his servants take us to our rooms. I say “servants” but they were half a dozen big flat-faced thugs in uniform just like the ones who’d met us at the station. Every one of them carried a side arm. I didn’t like it one bit when I turned before entering my room and saw Pat being led on down the corridor.
“Where you taking the lady, Mac?” I asked, but the guard—and I wasn’t about to kid myself about what the thugs really were—only grunted and stepped to block my view. I shrugged and went in my room, shutting the door behind me. I hadn’t a doubt in my mind that Pat could take care of herself and in any case it was pointless to worry about her. Whatever the emperor had in mind for us wasn’t going to happen in the next fifteen minutes. Instead, I looked around. The place seemed OK, like a first-class hotel in New York. All the furnishings were European. There wasn’t a clue to suggest I was in the middle of China. I went to one of the windows and tried the sash. It was locked. I looked for the latch but there wasn’t one. The window was nailed shut. I pressed my face to the glass and looked out. There were gardens and ponds and several large buildings. Beyond them I got a glimpse of a swimming pool and what looked for all the world like a golf course. I could have been in Palm Springs for all I could tell.
My room was in a corner so I went to the window in the other wall. Any illusions of being Palm Springs evaporated. I could see a number of grim-looking concrete structures that looked like bunkers. Beyond was a high concrete wall that I assumed enclosed
the entire grounds. Turns out I was right about that.
I went to the door and tried it, half expecting it be locked, and was vaguely surprised to discover it wasn’t. I had half a mind to find where Pat was, but decided better of it. Instead, seeing that my baggage had been waiting for me in the room, I decided the time would be better spent cleaning up and getting some fresh clothes on. I figured Pat was doing the same.
I found a bathroom attached that had all the amenities of a good European hotel. The water from the taps was boiling hot so I took advantage of this to give myself a good long soak.
Just about the time I was finished and dressed, there was a discreet knock at the door. Opening it, I discovered a smirking Chink servant bowing and scraping on the threshold. He told me that dinner was imminent and then stood there expectantly. Not wanting to disappoint him or put any undue strain on his English, I closed the door behind me and followed him down the corridor.
The dining room was as luxurious as the rest of the place. The emperor and Pat were already at the table. Henry stood as I entered, a big grin on his moon-like face. Although he had changed for dinner, he was still dressed in the European style. He looked like a college boy home from Yale.
He was busy practicing his English manners but I wasn’t listening to him because Pat was wearing some sort of green thing that fitted her like a sheath on a knife. She looked as though she had been born in the dress and grew up in it. I couldn’t figure out any other way she could have gotten into the thing. Where she’d found it was beyond me and, frankly, I didn’t much care.
I realized that the emperor was at my elbow now and still yammering. I said something or another that I hoped was polite and allowed him to lead me to a seat, which happened, happy day, to be facing Pat. It was only then that it slowly dawned on me that there were other people at the table besides Henry, Pat and myself.
Sitting on either side of the emperor were two Chinese women. Both were young, very attractive and dressed in the latest western mode. There was something uncanny about them, though, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Henry introduced the woman on his right as Wan Rong, the empress. The other as Wen Shu, the imperial concubine. Neither woman acknowledged the introductions or even seemed aware there were guests present.
The dinner itself was a weird mixture of oriental and western fare. Henry explained that due to having so many European guests, his kitchen was well-stocked with French, German, English and Russian goods and his chefs were experienced in their preparation. For myself, I thought the short order cook at Joe’s in the Village could teach them a thing or two, but I didn’t say anything. As for Pat, she ate everything in sight.
We didn’t talk about much during dinner. Henry, it turned out, was a big fan of my movies and had a thousand questions about them. I felt sorry for the little guy. He was emperor of half a billion people and hadn’t ever been anywhere. So I told him all about making movies in Africa and the South Seas and he ate it up like a little kid. He’d heard about Kong, of course, and I had to fill him in on all the details about that, too.
I noticed that all the while he talked about me incessantly, he never took his eyes off Pat. But I figured that was only because she made a pretty distinctive change of pace among the company he kept.
Pat pretty much kept to herself during all this, though I didn’t care much for the smirk on her face. The other two women hadn’t said a word, either, for that matter. They ate and drank like automatons, their glassy eyes focused on nothing in particular.
As I’d expected it would, the conversation eventually turned to politics.
“Tell me, Mr. Denham,” he asked, “what you think of the current situation?”
I knew exactly what to say: “I figure the Japs are giving the Chinese a pretty rotten deal.”
The little guy brightened at this expression of sympathy and his eyes gleamed behind his big round glasses.
“They are indeed giving my people what you call a ‘rotten deal,’ Mr. Denham. The invaders have been inhumanly brutal in their treatment of the Chinese. They have systematically bombed civilians and massacred survivors.”
“I saw some of that myself,” I said and told him what I’d experienced in Shanghai. “But surely,” I asked, “there’s a resistance movement of some kind?”
“Yes, but it has been ineffectual. Officially, all resistance to Japan ended with the surrender of General Ting Chao in 1932. But there are many guerilla movements that still fight for China.”
“So I’ve heard. Outfits like this Tang?”
“Yes. Marshal Tang Yulin has been quite a thorn in the side of our Japanese masters.”
“Marshal?”
“Yes. Tang Yulin is—or was at least—governor of the province of Jehol.”
“Well, what d’you know about that.”
“I am afraid, however, that such brave men are fighting a losing battle. The Japanese have resources and numbers that our puny resistance cannot long withstand. I fear all is lost.”
For some reason, I decided to hold off telling him about Tang’s imminent visit. I’m not sure why. The kid needed a boost, there’s no question about that, but I wanted to get a better feel for the lay of the land before I got more involved than I already was.
Henry apparently lost interest in me after that. Not that his attention had been entirely focused on me anyway. He’d been staring all along at Pat like Rockefeller ogling a dime.
“Please forgive me if my inquisitiveness intrudes on courtesy,” he said to her, “but I am overwhelmed by curiosity to learn what such a beautiful woman is doing in such a dangerous country as mine so unfortunately is.”
“Why, Henry! China is absolutely charming!”
“‘Manchuko’,” he muttered.
“And had I not visited,” she continued, “how could I have continued living happily knowing I’d missed the pleasure of your excellent company and hospitality?”
She batted her eyelashes at him and I thought he was going to bite through his fork.
“You know, Miss Wildman . . .”
“Pat, please!”
“Ah, Pat. You know—Pat—I cannot help but think how charming you would look in silk. Green silk, emerald green, of course, to compliment your glorious hair.”
“It’s hard for a working girl to afford silk these days, Henry.”
“You should not have to suffer for that, my dear. Silk should be showered over you simply because something as beautiful as you exists. It is your due, a humble homage from the gods, as is the gilding on a great statue of Buddha, the downy cloak of the graceful swan or the endless forests that clad the mountains.”
“Oh, shucks, Henry. You flatter me.”
It was weird watching the emperor flirt with Pat like some love-struck college Romeo, especially with his wives watching. Or at least I think they were watching.
What with what seemed like a dozen courses and several bottles of wine and all the chit-chat, dinner didn’t start to wind down until nearly ten o’clock. I didn’t know about Pat, but I was beat. Henry’s two wives still looked like zombies, with eyes like fried eggs, but the emperor looked like he was good for the rest of the night. Nevertheless, for all his enthusiasm, he was too good a host to overlook our exhaustion. He apologized profusely for letting his passions impose on us. He was particularly effusive in his apologies to Pat and for a moment I was afraid he was going to throw himself at her feet in a fit of remorse.
“Don’t worry yourself,” she said, “about me losing any beauty sleep. Mr. Denham needs that more than I do.”
“You are as gracious as you are beautiful, Miss Wildman,” he gushed, kissing her hand like Wimpy drooling over a hamburger.
Turning to me he said, “There is much I would like discuss with you tomorrow, Mr. Denham.”
I said I was sure there was.
“What did you think of those two women?” Pat asked as soon as we left the dining room.
“I don’t know. They were pretty quiet.”
&n
bsp; “They weren’t quiet, they were drugged senseless!”
“What do you mean, ‘drugged’?”
“I mean they were a pair of cocaine fiends if I ever saw any. Did you see their pupils? Like pinpoints.”
“And where would you have seen cocaine fiends?”
“That’s neither here nor there. The point is that those two women were drugged—whether intentionally or under duress, I would sure like to know. Either way it’s a little spooky.”
“Well, this is China. There’s an opium den on every corner. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. It just seems weird to me that Henry allowed us to see them that way.”
“Like I said, this is China. So who the hell knows?”
Back in my room, I discovered a pot of hot tea waiting for me. I figured it was just what I needed to help me get to sleep and drank a full cup. It helped me get to sleep all right. I barely made it to the bed.
It was broad daylight when I woke. I had a splitting headache, so I dressed quickly and went in search of some hot coffee. I found Pat waiting for me in the dining room, where a breakfast buffet had been laid out. She was dressed in embroidered silk pajamas and looked so perky I wanted to slap her.
“You look like you could use some hot tea,” she said.
“No thanks. I had some of that last night. Is there any honest coffee around here?”
“Sure. Gallons. You didn’t drink that tea in your room last night, did you?”
“Why not?”“There was a mickey in it. Enough opium or morphine or some such thing to knock out an elephant. No wonder you look so awful.”
“I suppose you dumped yours down the drain?” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster.
“Well, of course! How dumb do you think I am?”
I decided to change the subject. I poured myself some coffee and poked under the covered salvers to see if there was anything decent to eat. There were sausages, bacon, eggs, tomatoes and potatoes, fried bread and black pudding., prunes, marmalade and juice. It was all very English but I wasn’t in any mood to quibble. While I loaded a plate, I asked: “Why would anyone dope me?”