The Valley of Amazement

by Amy Tan

  THE NEW MADAM was named Li, and she brought with her a courtesan whom she had bought when the girl was four. Under Madam Li’s tutelage, Vermillion had grown to become a well-known first-class courtesan, now nineteen years old. She had earned the affection of the madam, who called her “Daughter.” They had come from Soochow, where Madam Li owned a first-class courtesan house. It was widely thought that the courtesans from Soochow were the best. That was the opinion of everyone, and not just those in our world. The Soochow girls had a gentle manner, a leisurely way of moving, and their voices were sweet and soft. Many Shanghainese flowers advertised that they were from Soochow. But in the presence of one who truly was, the lie was apparent. Madam Li believed that she could have even greater success in Shanghai, where money flowed from across the sea, and after she bought the Hall of Tranquility, in keeping with the custom of naming first-class houses after the madam or the star, she renamed it in honor of her daughter: the House of Vermillion. It was good advertising as well. All the courtesans were sent away. I was not yet a courtesan, so I had no second-class reputation to overcome. There was a lot of crying and cursing among the departing flower sisters as their trunks were inspected to make sure they were not taking along furs and dresses that belonged to the house. The courtesan Petal threw me a hateful look. “Why is she keeping you? A half-breed belongs on the streets, not in a first-class house.”

  “What about the courtesan Breeze?” I countered. Magic Gourd had told me recently about Breeze to give me encouragement. She was one part Chinese and another part American.

  “The quantity of blood from each is not known,” Magic Gourd said. “And there were other rumors—that she had been not only a courtesan, but, early on, a common prostitute. Whoever she was, she worked step-by-step to raise herself to a better status every few months. According to plan, she attracted the affection of a wealthy Western man who took her for his wife. Now she is too powerful for anyone to speak openly about her past. That is what you should do. Step-by-step, higher and higher.”

  Madam Li invited three courtesans from top-ranked houses, who had been lured by an agreement that they could keep any money earned in the first three months without sharing it with the house.

  “Very smart of Madam Li,” Magic Gourd told me. “Those girls will work hard to take advantage of the deal, and the House of Vermillion will get off to a fast start.”

  The cheap furniture and decorations in the salon were replaced that first day with the latest styles. And the courtesans’ boudoirs were sumptuously refurbished with silk and velvet, painted glass lamps, carved high-back chairs with tassels, and lace-curtained screens that hid the toilet and bathing tub from view.

  My room remained the same. “You won’t be entertaining any guests in your room for at least a year,” Magic Gourd said, “and we still have to pay rent. Why run up our debt?” I noticed that she had said “our debt,” making it clear that she also meant “our money.” “What I have in this room,” she continued, “is much nicer than what the other girls had. It is still in style and it’s all paid for.” The furniture was dowdy and worn.

  On the second day, we were seated at a table with Madam Li and Vermillion. Magic Gourd had already warned me to remain silent or she would pinch a hole in my thigh.

  “Do you know why I am keeping her?” the madam asked Magic Gourd.

  “You have goodness for this unfortunate waif and recognize her promise. We are most grateful.”

  “Goodness? Pah! I’m keeping her as a favor to my old flower sister Golden Dove, only that. I have always been indebted to her for something that happened many years ago, and she extracted that debt from me when she moved to Soochow.”

  Now the debt to Golden Dove had changed hands to me. Madam Li stared hard at me. “You better behave. I did not promise you could stay forever.”

  Magic Gourd thanked her with excessive words. She said she would be a worthy tutor and attendant. She blathered on about her experience as a first-class courtesan, her ranking as one of the top Ten Beauties of Shanghai.

  The madam cut in. “I don’t need to hear more of this boasting. It’s not going to change the fact that she is mixed race. And I don’t want Violet bragging to guests that she’s Lulu Mimi’s daughter. Everyone’s laughing about the American madam who fell into the trap of an American lover who was nothing more than a convict who had escaped from prison before coming to Shanghai.”

  Fairweather was a convict? “How do you know—” I started to say until Magic Gourd pinched my leg and said to the madam: “As you can already see, she looks nothing like a Westerner now. No one will recognize her. We have given her the name Violet.”

  Madam Li scowled. “And can you dye her green eyes? How do we explain that?”

  Magic Gourd had already prepared an answer. “It can be a literary advantage,” she said in an overly elegant voice. “The great poet-painter Luo Ping reputedly had green eyes, and he saw the deepest qualities of the spirit.”

  Madam Li snorted. “He also saw ghosts from the underworld.” She paused. “I don’t want paintings of ghouls hanging in her room. That would scare the pants off any man.”

  Vermillion broke in. “Mother, I suggest we simply say her father was a Manchu, whose family originated from the north. Many on the border have foreign blood and light-colored eyes. And we can add that her father was a high-level official with the Ministry of Foreign Relations who died. It’s close enough to the truth anyway.”

  Madam Li stared at me, as if to see how well the lies fit my face. “I don’t remember Golden Dove telling us those things,” Madam Li said.

  “Actually, she said her father’s mother was part Manchu, and it was her grandfather who was the official. Her father was just a big disappointment to the family. Complete truth is not an advantage.”

  Manchu blood! A disappointment to his family! I was stunned that Golden Dove had told them about my father. She had never told me these details.

  “Don’t say he worked in the Ministry of Foreign Relations,” Madam Li added. “People might joke this girl was the result of his relations with a foreigner. Did she ever tell you his name?”

  “I couldn’t pry that out of her,” Vermillion said. “However, this is already enough explanation to turn your debt to Golden Dove into an opportunity. Some of our customers are still loyalists to the Ching. And since the Ching emperors and empresses were Manchu, the bit about her Manchu blood might be useful. And since Manchu women don’t bind their feet, that can easily explain why her feet aren’t small.”

  “We still need a story about her mother,” Madam Li said, “in case anyone hasn’t already heard the truth.”

  “Might as well make her part Manchu as well,” Vermillion said.

  “We can say she killed herself after her husband died,” Magic Gourd said. “An honorable widow, an orphaned innocent girl.”

  Vermillion ignored her. “The usual reason will do. After the death of the father, his younger brother gambled away the family fortune and left the widow and her daughter destined to a life in the gutter.”

  Madam Li patted her arm. “I know you’re still bitter about that. But I’m glad your mother sold you to me.” Madam Li turned to me. “Did you hear what we said about your father and mother? Is it straight in your head?”

  Magic Gourd spoke quickly. “I can test her and make sure she knows every detail by heart, no mistakes.”

  “She has to be ready in a month’s time to attend her first party. It won’t be an official announcement that she is our virgin courtesan, just an appearance to spread the word.”

  I felt as if she had said I would soon die.

  “Don’t worry,” Magic Gourd said. “She’s a good girl, and I’ll beat out any bad temper that remains.”

  Madam Li looked hard at each of us and then she relaxed. “You may call me Mother Li.”

  When she left, Magic Gourd pinched my arm. “There is nothing more important than a good beginning. Do you want a good life? Do you want to be first class?
Tomorrow I’ll start your lessons, and one day, when you are popular and shimmering with jewels, you’ll say to me, ‘Magic Gourd, you were right, thank you for giving me a happy life.’”

  CHAPTER 4

  ETIQUETTE FOR BEAUTIES OF THE BOUDOIR

  Wherein Magic Gourd advises young Violet on how to become a popular courtesan while avoiding cheapskates, false love, and suicide

  Shanghai

  1912

  Magic Gourd

  Do you want to wear out your insides by the time you are sixteen? Of course not. Then learn these lessons well.

  While you are still a virgin courtesan, you must learn all the arts of enticement and master the balance of anticipation and reticence. Your defloration won’t happen until the New Year, when you turn fifteen, and I expect you to have many ardent suitors by the time Madam is ready to sell your bud.

  You might be thinking, What does my attendant, old Magic Gourd, know about romance? When I was nineteen, I was one of the top Ten Beauties of Shanghai. And not too many courtesans last until they are thirty-two. So you see, I know more than most.

  REPUTATION

  Always remember, little Violet, you are creating a world of romance and illusion. When you play the zither, it should be the aching or joyous companion to your song-poem. Sing to your suitor as if no one else is in the room, as if it were fate that brought you two together at this moment, in this place. You cannot simply pluck the silk strings or let memorized words fall from your mouth. You might as well not play at all and just take the sedan directly to a brothel where no one bothers with illusions or preludes.

  Most beauties learn only ten song-poems throughout their career. You will not be like most. You will be unusual. Over the next year, you will learn three melodies about mountain retreats, three rustic ballads about maidens and young boys who meet in the mountains, three classic song-poems about returning from war and slaying tigers, one sing-speak tune to make guests laugh, one lively favorite for happy celebrations, and one farewell hymn about companions who will soon depart, which adds warmth at the end of a party and extends an invitation to get drunk together again.

  You are an educated girl, so I know you are capable of learning quickly if you are disciplined. If you want to become one of the top Ten Beauties of Shanghai, your repertoire must be large enough to choose a different song for each suitor who hosts a dinner in your honor. When you sing it to him, he will forget all other women. When it comes time for the customers of all first-class houses to nominate the top Ten Beauties, guess which beauty will get the most votes? Each month, you will learn another song, and with each you must sound natural and honest, as if this song is flowing from your heart. I will accompany you on the zither until your warbled notes don’t sound like two cats screeching over the same dead mouse.

  We’ll choose your song-poems carefully. Forget winter mountain poems, because they are always cold and bare in mood. But those having to do with spring thaw are fine, because they speak of renewal and abundance, the opposite of death and loneliness. Songs of summer yielding to autumn are acceptable, especially if they include the tasting of fruits your suitor enjoys. Make sure the fruit is not overly ripe, however, because that suggests worms will follow. The sounds of nesting swallows carry promise, but avoid any songs that have to do with the arrival of magpies or the departure of phoenixes, since they herald bad news and the retreat of life.

  Later, when you are closer to your defloration, you will learn a few song-poems about the death of a beautiful girl. I know it seems strange to choose sad songs, but tragedy opens the aching heart and increases longing, passion, and desperation. A man will do anything to remove regret and feel his loved one back in his arms. Even if he has never lost anyone he truly loved, he will want to pretend he has and lie next to you, to unite with your departed spirit, to revel once again at the peak of passion. The tips to attendants and maids are especially good when the songs are tragic, to say nothing of the gifts that will be placed at your goddess feet.

  In time, we will add to your repertoire those song-poems that match each man’s idea of his self-importance. Is he a scholar, a businessman, or a politician? These are songs you would perform for the host in front of his friends, and the more songs you know, the better you can sing praises not just to a scholar but also to the president of a university, not just to a businessman but also to the chief officer of Renji. There are many captains of industry; you need to know the nature of those industries. Occasionally you might entertain the abbot of a temple. That one is easy: He loves songs for the gods. When sung with whispered intimacy, words sound true, and his chest will swell, knowing that others are there to hear these honest praises. The effect is the same for every man: He will feel more powerful, more virile, and in a conquering, generous mood, the more so if he has drunk plenty of wine. You must be attentive to filling the half-empty cup.

  Madam said you will attend your first dinner party in a month. It is not your formal debut. Madam wants you there so that gossip will reach the mosquito press. The buzzing of men who were at the party will make others eager to host debut parties night after night. But don’t do anything that leads to stinging gossip. Why do you think it’s called the mosquito press? Each party will breed more stories in Social Shanghai. How you behave next month can set the course of your career. I don’t want you to act like a little girl, nor a seductress. And don’t show off your fancy Western education or your smart opinions. If you laugh, cover your mouth. You never remember to do that. No man at this party will want to see what’s ugly inside of your mouth. If the older men are becoming impertinent, call them Grandpa. Some of those old men will try to pull you onto their laps. Bastards. If that happens, I will come quickly to you to say, “Mr. Wu on East Prosperity Road is waiting for us.” I will always say this whenever I want to remove you from an undesirable situation. Don’t be stupid and ask me who Mr. Wu is.

  The first party is for an important man named Loyalty Fang. Important means he is very rich. He is hosting a big banquet and wants two courtesans for each of the eight guests. So that also tells you how important he is. It’s good for you to start out at a rich man’s party. You’ll see just how fierce the competition will be. All four beauties of our house will be there and also twelve from other houses. He asked if our house had a virgin courtesan, and Madam was happy to say she had a new one, fresh and naive. He was pleased and said he liked a variety of ages for interest. Maybe he has a special eye for virgins. Even so, don’t try to charm him—Madam has her eye on him for Vermillion’s husband. If you make slight mistakes of etiquette the first time, everyone will be forgiving. They may consider it proof that you are pure and innocent. If you are terribly clumsy, stupid, or haughty, there goes any chance of a comfortable life. You’ll be lucky if Madam lets you stay on as a maid to pay your debt.

  You may not be asked to do anything special, but don’t think that means you don’t have to do anything at all. First, you must observe and learn my cues. Greet the guests, ask the customer you are standing behind whether he desires more tea or a particular dish, and then let me know. I will bring what he ordered. I doubt the host will ask you to provide entertainment, since there will be several accomplished beauties who are popular in the storytelling halls, but I’ve been taken by surprise before, and it was unfortunate. Just in case, I have come up with a story you can learn over the next week. You will tell it while I accompany you on the zither.

  The story is about eternal youth. If it is told in the right way, any man who hears it will wish to have your youth rub off on him. The actual rubbing, of course, will not happen until your defloration. With this story, you are creating a promise for the future. Immortality. The tale has been promising immortality for over a thousand years. It is called “Peach Blossom Spring,” and even a child can recite some version of it.

  Because it is an oft-told tale, you must use special talent in performing it. Lots of expression—sadness, wonder, surprise, genuine regret, and so forth. You pause here, look the
re, and move your eyes sideways to increase anticipation. In my younger years, many men said they had never felt closer to immortality than they did while listening to me. Even the other courtesans said so, and they are not ones to flatter another beauty, except insincerely.

  My version went more or less like this: A poor fisherman falls asleep on his boat, which floats into a secret grotto. He emerges on the other side in a haven where people dress and speak in the style of a bygone era. The people are free of war and worry, hate and envy, sickness and old age. There is only one season, spring. The maidens are always virgins, the wine is always sweet, the peonies are always blooming. Standing on every hillside are trees whose branches are heavy with voluptuous peaches.

  “What is this place?” the fisherman asks a young maiden, and she replies, “Peach Blossom Spring,” and then pleasures him in ways he never imagined possible. (“With wine and song,” you should say with innocence. Everyone will get a big laugh out of that.) Time does not pass in this heaven on earth. It renews itself, as does his insatiability. Eventually he regains his senses, realizing that everyone back home must be worried sick about his absence. He sails for home laden with delicious meats and fruits for his mother, father, and wife. He will tell his friends to come with him to this Utopia. The boat is a leaky wreck by the time he reaches his hometown. Half the village has burned down, the pagoda has collapsed, and the people are frightened by his long, matted beard and hair. He learns that two hundred years have passed, three civil wars have been lost, and his family and friends are long dead. Sadly, he returns to his boat and sails back toward the grotto. Many years pass, and he is still sailing, unable to find Peach Blossom Spring.