Memoirs of a Courtesan

You must show no weakness, no human feeling. Like King Liu Bang, who lived over two thousand years ago.

When they were battling for the kingdom, Xiang Yu kidnapped Liu’s father and threatened to cook him alive. Expecting his rival to surrender, Xiang Yu was shocked when Liu Bang exclaimed, ‘No problem. After you’ve cooked my father, don’t forget to save me a piece for dinner!’

In war, you have to be that ruthless.

Having studied the Art of War, the Thirty-Six Stratagems and all other major works on strategy, I believed no one, trusted no one. So I’d already guessed that little naked Miss Shadow had not plunged to her death – and was probably not really naked, either. I didn’t trust my own shadow, so why would I trust anyone else’s?

To decide how to deal with Shadow, I needed to talk to my real boss, Big Brother Wang.

A bodyguard let me into Wang’s spacious study, filled with antiques, polished redwood furniture and string-bound books. My boss sat at a massive desk, where smoke curled up from a cone of incense nestled on a celadon disk. He was reading a book cradled in his jade-ringed, long-nailed fingers. Above him on the wall was a calligraphic scroll:

Befriend all scholars under heaven; study all books written by sages.

So I worked for a scholar-gangster. Maybe that was why he had never been able to beat the cunning, streetwise Master Lung.

The door closed as quietly as a drop of water in a bucket. Staring at the bald spot on Wang’s lowered head, I could see that he would not look up at me until he finished the page. I was curious to know what he was reading, but kept my lips tight to prevent questions from popping out of my itchy mouth. Instead, I glanced at his many books on the shelves.

Trained to be aware of everything in my surroundings, I wanted to know what these books were about and why, as a gangster, Wang liked to read. In addition to his more active pursuits of cheating, scheming, gambling, threatening, kidnapping, torturing, killing and, of course, womanising.

Despite this last proclivity, Big Brother Wang had never tried to seduce me or even force me to have sex with him. This was not because he respected me but because I was the queen on his chessboard. If the pieces on the chessboard of the gangster world shifted, I would have to shift in response, even at the risk of sacrificing my life. But not my happiness, because I’d never known that sort of emotion.

Wang put down his book. His eyes searched mine, gazing intensely above the gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his square-jawed face.

I straightened myself, cleared my throat and spoke in my most respectful tone. ‘Big Brother Wang …’

‘This is my study time. Do you have a good reason for interrupting me?’

As I told him about Shadow, he closed the book. I saw that it was the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the story of endless battles among feudal lords during the most chaotic time in Chinese history.

‘So, do you think this Shadow will be an obstacle?’ he asked.

‘She will be if Lung stops coming to my show and goes to hers instead.’

‘You think that will happen?’

‘It must not happen, Big Brother Wang.’

‘You can prevent it?’

‘Yes, but I need to get to know her first.’

‘You think she’s working for someone else?’ he asked.

‘You mean as a spy for another warlord?’

‘Yes. But I can’t see who at this point.’ He knit his brows in thought. ‘I can make her disappear.’

Fearing he would give this order right away, I said urgently, ‘Big Brother Wang, if I may give my opinion …’

‘I’m listening.’

‘She is a woman and hasn’t made any trouble for us, so if you—’

Wang cut me off. ‘All right, I understand. You’ve got a point there. I have to protect my gang’s reputation.’

Even a gangster had his reputation and honour to protect! But the real reason I didn’t want Shadow killed was not because I had any sympathy for her, but because of my own excruciating curiosity. I wanted to find out just how clever and scheming she was in comparison to me. Besides, I was dying to put more of my secret training and abilities to use.

So I said, ‘Big Brother Wang, I will handle her.’

‘Good.’ Wang spoke in his gravelly voice. ‘We spent a lot of time and money training you. So don’t disappoint. You understand? You must not let Lung fall for this girl. Report to me soon.’

Though my boss for the past four years, Wang remained an enigma to me. He talked only about what was necessary for business. I knew only what he did, not why he did it or how he felt when doing it – if he felt anything at all. If I tried to probe, my questions, like bullets hitting a metal wall, just bounced right back.

I thanked him, bowed, then started to walk to the door.

Wang spoke to my back, the temperature of his voice dropping. ‘Camilla, do not come here again. You may telephone me when absolutely necessary. You got it?’

I understood. Since Master Lung was getting serious about me, his men might be watching me closely. Though a little disappointed not to be able to visit this gangster with literary tastes, I was pretty sure he did not want to stop seeing me, either, for he often looked at me like a cat does a fish. However, I was just a woman, and what he wanted was something much bigger – to topple the invincible Lung and replace him as Shanghai’s number one boss. To achieve this, my boss was more than willing to send me into the tiger’s mouth.

Of course, Big Brother Wang might have more personal plans for what to do with me after I’d eliminated Lung. But by then I’d be a different woman, not the innocent little girl he’d rescued from the orphanage. I would be the poisonous skeleton woman, the ultimate nemesis.

After I left Wang’s place, I decided to go to my singing teacher, Madame Lewinsky, whose apartment was situated in a quiet spot inside the French Concession. I needed to relax after my meeting with the gangster. Wang’s presence seemed to deplete the very air around him. Since I had no friends or relatives, Lewinsky was the only person I could go to. Moreover, she’d always pamper me with her delicious home-cooked soup and gooey, oven-baked cookies dipped in warm milk. Best, unlike my boss, she never scolded, only praised me.

When my teacher opened the door, a big smile bloomed on her heavily made-up face. Her distinctive perfume snaked its way into my nostrils, soothing my nerves.

‘My darling Camilla, what a surprise! Come on in. I’ve been practising on my own.’ Her big-boned figure was encased in a flowered dress topped with a black-tasselled shawl.

The neat, cosy apartment smelled of delicious food. Of all the houses and apartments I’d visited, I liked Lewinsky’s the best. The sun filtering through the lace curtains boosted my energy and lifted my mood. I imagined that the velvety chocolate sofa was having a pleasant conversation with its matching floral pillows. Plants crawled leisurely down from the tall bookcases stuffed with books and music scores. Atop her grand piano were arrayed miniature busts of famous composers and knick-knacks she’d collected over the years, all seeming to have interesting stories to tell. A vase was filled with fresh cut flowers. Were they from an admirer? I wondered.

Entering her apartment was like entering another world, softer and more human. Perhaps like being back in my mother’s womb – if I had known who my mother was.

I sat on the sofa, my teacher studying me closely.

Then she told me, ‘You look too thin, Camilla. Let me get you something to eat and drink.’

Madame Lewinsky then disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with two steaming bowls atop a lacquered tray. Setting the tray down, she seated herself in a rocking chair across from me. ‘This is authentic Russian soup from my mother’s recipe. Very nutritious.’

After I commended the recipe with smacking lips and abandoned slurping, she asked, ‘Why this surprise visit? Are you okay, Camilla? You look worried.’

Damn. I was not supposed to let people see my emotions. ‘Everything’s fine, Madame Lewinsky. I’m just having some difficulty singing Carmen right.’ I hoped my lie sounded convincing.

Lewinsky took another big helping of her soup, then said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just be patient, and you’ll get there, talented as you are.’

My main repertory was Chinese and Western pop songs, for these were what the nightclub-goers liked. However, once in a while I’d also sing an opera aria or art song in Italian or French to entertain the foreigners and impress the Chinese.

My teacher cast me an affectionate look. ‘Let’s finish our soup; then we’ll go through Carmen’s “Habanera” – how’s that?’

So after I helped her put away the dishes, we walked to the piano. She sat down, her thick, round-tipped fingers immediately plunging into the keyboard. I closed my eyes to savour her powerful voice as it massaged my ears.

Love is a gypsy’s child,

It has never, ever, recognised the law.

If I love you, you’d best beware!

The bird you hope to catch

Will beat its wings and fly away …

Love stays away, making you wait and wait.

Then, when least expected, there it is!

I might have burst out clapping and exclaiming how beautiful her singing was, but I never forgot my training to conceal any emotion.

Madame Lewinsky spoke. ‘Camilla, don’t you find this music wonderful?’

I nodded, feeling a little confused.

Silence.

She smiled mischievously, her crimson-painted lips like two leaves curling in the spring breeze. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you, but I want to know: are you in love?’

‘No.’ I always kept my answers short and simple. I feared if we engaged in a long conversation, I might tell this motherly woman more about myself than was safe.

She cast me a curious look. ‘Have you ever been?’

I shook my head.

‘But that’s not possible, a beautiful, talented girl like you! So many men admire you. What about all the rich customers at the nightclub and their rich sons? Or those successful young businessmen? The erudite young professors? Don’t tell me none of them ever chases after you.’

‘I want to concentrate on my singing.’

She took my hand and rubbed it lovingly. ‘Oh, my little Camilla, don’t work too hard. It’s time for you to fall in love. Trust me, it’s a wonderful feeling.’

Wonderful or not, I was not going to fall in love and ruin my mission – and possibly my life. Look at how Carmen had ended up! I wanted this beautiful Gypsy’s freedom, her nonchalance, her power over men, but definitely not her pointless, tragic end. But as long as I was careful, I hoped I wouldn’t end up like her. If I failed in my mission, it would not be carelessness but fate, like my bad karma of being an orphan. But not the foolishness of love, not for a trained spy like me!

My teacher’s soothing voice awakened me from my pondering. ‘Maybe the next time I go to Bright Moon to hear you sing, I can pick out a suitable young man for you.’

I didn’t respond, silently discouraging her suggestion.

She was smart enough to stop insisting and change the conversation. ‘Hai, since my Sergi’s death twenty years ago, I thought someday I might fall in love again, but the chances, as if they had wings, have flown away. And now I’m too old—’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘That’s very kind of you to say, Camilla, but I know the ways of the world.’

Then all of a sudden she began to sing the famous Xinjiang melody, ‘The Waltz of Youth.’

After the sun goes down, tomorrow it will climb back up in the sky.

Flowers wither, then bloom again next year.

But the beautiful bird of youth flies away and disappears,

The bird of my youth will never return …

I closed my eyes to feel her voice’s penetrating sadness. I thought about the two birds – the rebellious one of love that knows no law and the one of youth that flies away and never returns. I sighed silently as Lewinsky’s last note, like the disappearing bird of youth, faded into the unforgiving air.

Her eyes looked as if they were dipped in sweet wine. ‘My Sergi, we were so young, so much in love and so filled with hope and dreams for our future. Just as we thought that the world existed only for us, in a minute, he was gone.’ She wiped away a tear with her lacy white handkerchief. ‘All of a sudden the world decided to turn against me full force. Had I not learned to sing and won awards back in Russia, I’d be starving on the street and wouldn’t be here talking to you, my dear.’

I blurted out before I could stop myself, ‘Why do people fall in love?’

She laughed, her eyes glistening. ‘You’re so naive, Camilla. Love only is – there’s no reason. Of course I could tell you that Sergi was handsome and kind, ambitious and talented and very nice to me. But I didn’t analyse all those qualities before I fell in love with him. I just did.’

Now her eyes drifted like two dreams. ‘You know, when I used to perform, just before I started, I’d look for someone in the audience, pretending he or she was the only person in the hall, and then I’d just sing for that special one.

‘So on that evening – I will always remember, it was on September twelve, nineteen twenty-five – even though the hall was packed, my eyes, with a will of their own, landed on this young man in the back row. I couldn’t move them away. So for the entire hour I was singing, heart, body and soul, just for him. From then on, like the telepathy between identical twins, we were deeply connected. Even now, sometimes I can still feel his presence.’

I’d heard these sorts of sentiments before.

‘But he died …’ she breathed.

‘How?’ I had heard the story many times, but I would not stop my teacher from reliving her tragic love once again.

‘Sergi was a very talented, aspiring composer. However, unable to make a living by composing, he had to take up odd jobs to bring in money. The only work he could find was at a construction site. Then one day, a beam fell on his head. He literally dropped dead on the spot.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, as a courtesy. Why should I feel anything for this man I didn’t even know?

Some silence passed, then Lewinsky dabbed her eyes as she changed the topic. ‘Camilla, why don’t you sing Carmen, and let me hear your beautiful voice?’

I nodded, and she struck a key on the piano. Before I began, I tasted that starting note as if I were sucking on my favourite chocolate truffle. To help me sing better, I sensed each note with its own colour and personality. Middle C is yellow and virtuous, because it takes the imperial position – in the middle of the keyboard. The D next to middle C is orange and honest, for it has royalty as a neighbour. E is Chinese red and expansive. And the rest: F is blue, G is green, A is gold and B is purple. I gave the sharps and flats variations, so F-sharp is turquoise, A-flat becomes a brownish gold, B-flat bluish purple.

I straightened my back, inhaled deeply, then blurted out the first note, singing in French at first, but then reincarnating Carmen as Chinese. I used all my skill to imitate my teacher’s style and emotional nuances. But I especially liked, ‘Love is a Gypsy’s child; it has never, ever, recognised the law.’ Because I had lived my whole life controlled by others, even when outside the law.

When I finished, Madame Lewinsky nodded appreciatively. ‘Very good. But, Camilla, sooner or later, you’ve got to develop your own style.’

Lewinsky stood up and went to put a record on her gramophone. Besides her piano, this was her most treasured possession. Even in affluent Shanghai, few could afford this amazing machine from the West. She set the needle down on the record, and a beautiful voice singing ‘La Habanera’ perfumed the room like fine old wine being poured. We half closed our eyes and let the music kidnap our minds for a few moments.

‘It’s Maria Gay. You feel her subtlety and sensitivity?’

I nodded.

‘That’s what I want you to focus on, my dear. Camilla, you’re gifted with an innocent, sweet voice that is like a pacifier in this ruthless, chaotic world. Those people at Bright Moon, they’re wicked and scheming, but deep down they crave purity.’

I chuckled inside. Did she really believe I was innocent? If I ever had been, my training as a spy had long since ended it.

My teacher spoke again. ‘Maybe those politicians and businessmen at your nightclub can’t tell, but I can.’

‘Sorry. What can you tell?’

‘Let me be blunt with you, Camilla. Your singing doesn’t have real feelings, only the imitation of feelings.’

I didn’t respond.

‘Don’t worry, once you fall in love …’

‘But I won’t.’

My teacher cast me a curious glance. ‘What makes you so sure?’

Of course I knew why, but the ‘why’ was not something to be shared.

Lewinsky winked, smiling. ‘Hmm … you’re sure you’re not in love already?’

‘No way.’

‘I can tell your mind has been wandering.’

I meant to ask how could she tell, but she was already speaking. ‘With my experiences of focussing on one person during my concerts, I can spot any musician’s wandering mind.’

‘Hmm … Madame Lewinsky, unfortunately I don’t have your kind of sensitivity.’

‘Next time when you sing at Bright Moon, find someone to focus on.’

‘I will.’

Just then the bell rang, and Lewinsky went to open the door to let in a student. It was time for me to leave. This was the first time I’d visited except to have a lesson.

Was there a genuine bond developing between us? I both hoped and feared that.

At the door, my teacher winked at me and hummed the tune from Carmen, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘The bird you hope to catch will beat its wings and fly away … Love stays away, making you wait and wait. Then, when least expected, there it is!’

When finished, she reached to pat my cheek. ‘Beware, my little sweetie. Karma happens. So be prepared.’ She winked again, then closed the door with a very tender click, like the sigh on a lover’s lips.

4

The Red Shoes

Visiting Lewinsky was an all-too-brief intermission from my tension-filled, murder-oriented existence. But I couldn’t do it often, because being relaxed was dangerous. Tension is like spice on food; without some, the dish would be tasteless, if not inedible.

After having had the right dose of tranquility, now I needed to plan for my next move: to discover Shadow’s intentions and prevent her from stealing Lung from me. And, if there was any chance that she was smarter and more talented than I, plot how to get rid of her.

After some hard thought, I decided to cancel my Thursday night performance and take the risk of inviting Master Lung to see Shadow’s debut magic show with me. In the subtle Chinese art of calligraphy, this is called pianfeng, an unorthodox brush movement for the sake of a startling aesthetic effect. In military strategy it is called bingxing xianzhe – send the soldiers to advance into danger. An illogical move is applied to win an impossible battle.

So now I was using a bingxing xianzhe in asking Lung to Shadow’s show. My real purpose was to prevent them from having any contact with each other without my knowing. In old China, this strategy had been adopted by many first wives. They would rather hand-pick the woman to be their husband’s concubine than let him pick for himself. That way they would have some control over the interloper who was to share their house and their husband’s bed. The shrewd first wife would pick a concubine who, though younger and prettier, was respectful and submissive and, most important, a little stupid.

Know yourself as well as your enemy; then out of one hundred battles you will win one hundred. Sunzi’s advice was as useful now as when he’d written it twenty-five hundred years ago.

Having Lung escort me to Shadow’s show would let her know that the gangster head was my not-to-be-trespassed-upon property. Of course that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to cross the line. But at least she’d get my message. Best would be if Lung had no interest in her big, muscular physique.

But I had learned never to rely on hope. Anyway, the first step is like a house’s foundation; if it’s not cemented right, the whole house will sooner or later collapse. Actually, each step is critical; as the sage Laozi said, ‘Things are more likely be spoiled at the end than at the beginning.’

But as I contemplated this more, I felt as if I were hanging on a cliff above sharp rocks surrounded by starving tigers. Then I asked myself, if it was easy, where was the thrill?

Shadow’s debut show was held at the Ciro Nightclub, a competing establishment with Bright Moon. The manager greeted Master Lung and his entourage with a smile as gleeful as if his wife had just given birth to his first son, then led us to the table in the middle of the front row.

Lung, his right-hand man, Mr Zhu, and I all sat down at a table already set with bottles of expensive wine and plates of snacks – watermelon seeds, dried plums, olives, sugared lotus root. As usual, Master Lung’s head bodyguard, Gao, and his team took the neighbouring table. Nightclub-goers threw us curious, envious stares. Among them I noticed a flamboyantly dressed, striking young man four tables from ours. Five or six tall, beautiful girls in matching pink dresses surrounded him like stars about a bright moon. The only strange thing about this figure, at least from the distance, was that he had make-up on.

When our eyes met, he smiled, then raised his wine glass and made a toast. I smiled back, then quickly averted his scrutiny as an uneasy feeling rose inside me that Lung might notice. Or even Gao, because the quiet but physically intimidating man was watching me intently. I feared, not that he had any inkling of my secret mission, but that he had a crush on me, which could be dangerous for us both. He might not survive trying to seduce his boss’s woman.

Once in a while I admit I did flirt with him, though indirectly, by twirling my hair as if deep in thought, or wriggling slightly when he was watching. I sensed that he was the kind of man who’d risk death to protect a helpless, beautiful woman in danger.

Even though my present status was above his, I always treated the bodyguard with respect. It’s smart to accumulate good karma by acknowledging, and even doing small favours for, those beneath you. You never know when you might need their help or when they might decide to mess up your life, no matter how small a cog they were in the big machine.

Although tonight Lung was physically present, I could tell his mind was somewhere else.

My patron took a long sip of his whiskey, then asked, ‘Camilla, how come you’re so curious about this magician – what’s her name – Shadow?’ Then he turned to Zhu, scoffing. ‘Why would someone in their right mind name their girl Shadow? What did they call their other children, Ghost, Apparition, Phantom? And the parents, Specter and Silhouette? Eh?’

Lung laughed his full-toothed laugh with his thin lips stretching downwards. The Chinese call this the capsized-boat expression. In physiognomy it is deemed an unlucky trait. But so far Lung’s luck, like his bodyguards, was always there for him.

Except for Gao, who was always serious, everyone else burst into hilarious laughter. Not that the joke was that funny, but because it had come from the mouth of the most relentless man in Shanghai.

‘Maybe her other siblings are called Smoke and Mirror?’ I quipped, a risky move, in case Lung might think I was trying to outsmart him. However, judging from his past mistresses, he could be fascinated by a woman’s brain, not just her breasts.

Now it was Lung’s turn to laugh, followed by even more hilarious laughter from the group. Not because my joke was so funny, but because I was the number one gangster’s number one woman.