Chapter 14
Fourteen
Friends
The world has a mauve tint from my new sunglasses as we stroll in the sunshine along lines of plane trees.
Around us mortals chatter away in a foreign tongue.
Mostly French, Mr Lee tells me. It is strange to think my father must have sounded like this.
The scent of walnuts and persimmons is a constant companion, but I feel only mildly giddy.
The too see rolls have done wonders; I gobbled up the last one in the art shop where I bought a small sketchbook and a watercolour set.
Mr Lee picks a few bags of treats up from a nearby patisserie. For the ride home, he said.
‘We should hire a rickshaw; it is too far to walk back to the Bund.’ At my expression, he adds, ‘We can do our part to keep the coolies from going into debt to their guild. Plus, it’s faster and more comfortable than walking.’
My feet are getting sore. The edges of my silk slippers have turned grey from all the dust. And that feeling of being watched is back.
‘Alright,’ I say, glancing around, but the crowds and busy street make it impossible to identify anyone suspicious. Perhaps it’s only Willie keeping an eye on us. ‘So long as you pay the coolie well for his work.’
Mr Lee wastes no time in hailing a rickshaw; this coolie has more flesh on his bones. We clamber in, my paper bags tucked safely between us, and the bags from the patisserie piled on Mr Lee’s lap. We sway and bounce gently as the coolie pulls us along.
Mr Lee hands me one of the bags. ‘Ma ka rong,’ he says.
Inside are pretty cake-like cookies in the softest pastel colours. I choose one that’s the pale pink of a cherry blossom bud and when I bite into it, the crisp surface collapses and my teeth sink into a rich, smooth filling. The whole thing tastes like a candied rose.
Mr Lee picks a tan coloured one. ‘Salted caramel, my favourite.’ He breaks it in two and offers me the other half.
The thought of the caramel vodka from our first night turns my stomach and I almost say no.
But, he was right about the too see rolls, so I take his offering and pop it in my mouth.
It is nothing like the sickly-sweet stuff from the bar.
This ma ka rong is full of contrasting textures, soft and crunchy.
The salted caramel is smoky and savoury, which offsets the intense sweetness.
It’s almost better than three-day-old blood.
Mr Lee watches me, but the sun is low in the sky and even with my new sunglasses which soften the glare, I can’t see his expression.
It makes me feel self-conscious, so I hand him the bag of ma ka rong and pull out my watercolour set – a bright yellow tin case – and open it.
A clever white tray with three grooved sections flips out to facilitate mixing colours.
Nestled in the base of the tin are forty-eight little cubes wrapped in coloured paper to match their contents.
The pigments are infused with honey to make them dry more brilliantly.
Who would have thought a little sweetness could add so much lustre?
‘What kind of things do you paint?’ Mr Lee asks. ‘I can’t quite imagine you painting plum blossoms and writing poetry about graceful willows and cavorting butterflies.’
I touch each little package, still amazed at Big Wang’s generosity in providing me a shopping allowance. ‘This and that,’ I say.
Mr Lee takes out a lavender ma ka rong and hands me the bag. ‘I won’t laugh, you know.’
I keep my eyes on the watercolour set. I know he won’t laugh, but I am out of sorts here.
The constant assault of yang, the sunshine, the small freedom to do as I please without wagging tongues judging my every action, make me feel both nervous and bold.
I look up, my home-grown stars on the tip of my tongue, but his attention has shifted to the pile of paper bags crammed between us.
‘What’d you get at the bookstore?’
Before I can stop him, he’s pulled out my treasure trove and is flicking through the titles, frowning at the comic of ‘Mr Wang’, a hapless wealthy old man, on one of the back covers.
‘Careful! Those are discontinued issues – I was lucky to find them.’ I take the precious copies of Shanghai Sketch, a weekly pictorial magazine full of clever comics. ‘It’s been out of print for years.’ I place the rare issues back into their paper bag.
Mr Lee examines another volume from my pile – a yellow book with a black-and-white photo of a scholarly looking foreign man on the cover.
‘How to Win Friends and Influence People. This one was only recently published.’ He flicks through the pages. ‘Never imagined you would be concerned about what others think of you.’
I snatch the book from his hands. ‘Leave my stuff alone.’ My face burns hot as Old Zao’s braziers.
‘Lady Jing, why do you think you need this book?’
‘I said leave my stuff alone.’ I shove the book in with the others and put the paint box back in its bag too.
‘Don’t you have friends?’
The coolie’s heavy breaths punctuate the street noise – the rhythmic clacking of our rickshaw wheels, motorcars with their musical horns, and pedestrians chattering like magpies as they stroll along the wide boulevards.
‘There’s no shame in wanting to learn new skills,’ Mr Lee says, a softness in his voice that makes the back of my eyes burn. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re charming, in a prickly kind of way.’
Mr Lee touches my wrist. The tips of his fingers graze my skin ever so lightly. His nails are short, a perfect half-moon rising from each bed. Blue-green veins crisscross the broad back of his hand and fine lines ladder his knuckles. His fingers are long and elegant, much like the man.
I pull away, curl my hand in my lap. Mr Lee drops his own hand and bows his head slightly, as if I’ve chastised him. Something sour twinges in my chest. I want to bridge the silence, but I don’t know how to speak my heart.
Instead, I ask, ‘What deal did you make with Big Wang?’
Mr Lee swallows and looks away, down the street at the mess of honking cars and coolies pulling rickshaws. Still not looking at me, he hands me a bag of wax-wrapped cubes. ‘Sea salt caramels,’ is all he says.
I glance at him every few minutes. His expression is sombre, and his attention is far away. He doesn’t tease or taunt me. He’s almost indifferent to my presence. This new Mr Lee worries me. I cast about for something to say.
‘I think my fear of water started at the Hulijing Court,’ I offer to the heavy silence between us. From the corner of my eye, he straightens and turns my way.
The caramel bag crinkles as my grip relaxes. ‘Something happened there. Lady Soo had something to do with it, but I can’t remember what, no matter how hard I try.’
‘Do you have any good memories of your time there?’ he asks.
‘I remember I loved rainbows. Which is strange because I can’t bear the rain.’
I unwrap a caramel, focus on the sweetness to rid myself of bittersweet feelings, and offer the bag to Mr Lee.
The way he looks at the bag makes my heart hurt. There’s a heavy sadness in the line of his eyes, the way his lips tighten ever so slightly. He reaches for a caramel and turns the small cube around in his fingers.
‘These are my little sister Ruxi’s favourite sweet.
I used to buy them for her when she was young.
’ Mr Lee takes a deep breath. ‘In fact, all the places I took you today were places she used to love. But she’s very ill now.
She’s not a bad person but she had a hard life.
Fell into opium to dull her disappointments.
She ended up on the streets and got mixed up with the triads before our father was able to extricate her.
’ He fists his hand around the caramel. ‘She’s broken, body and soul; I don’t think she’ll live out the year. ’
A breeze ruffles his hair as we pass a trio of young women strolling arm in arm down the street, laughing as they talk, wholly absorbed in their own joy. I wish I could be so sure of my place in the world, so protected from outside judgement and expectations.
‘Ruxi is about their age.’ He nods to the women who have paused to admire the colourful display of a shop window. His gaze swirls with loss and regret. ‘I petitioned Yan Luo Wang to allow me to pay her karmic debt. I don’t wish for her to reincarnate as a cockroach.’
‘I don’t understand – your sister could easily work off her debt herself,’ I say. ‘It wouldn’t take long, and Big Wang takes good care of the indentured ghosts.’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m her brother. I should have been there to look out for her.
Mother passed when Ruxi was twelve. Shortly after, Father sent me to Europe and then America to university.
He was busy with his business, and wasn’t as careful as he should have been when choosing a match for Ruxi.
Her husband was violent and cruel. I didn’t know how hard things were for her.
If I had come home when she asked, I could have helped her. But by the time I did, it was too late.
‘So I made a deal with Yan Luo Wang. The work I do for him will atone for the sins she committed while under the thumb of the triads. I ensure my little sister’s next life is filled with all the joys she lacked in this, and he gets his Central Bank of Hell.’
I gaze at him, horrified.
He gives me a lopsided smile. ‘The Central Bank of Hell is in very safe hands. Even H. H. Kung, Chiang Kai Shek’s Minister of Finance, defers to my advice.
And now, this three-day trip home to Shanghai means I am off the hook for the one hundred and fifty years of indentured service that had originally been part of our deal. ’
I sputter. ‘One hundred and fifty years? What on earth has she done to rack up so much karmic debt?’
Mr Lee opens his mouth to answer, and I hurriedly put a hand up.
‘No, I don’t want to know. I don’t care about that, or the Bank.
You came to Hell without a Lei talisman.
You could have died. If someone else had met you at the docks .
. .’ My throat goes tight, remembering that I almost drained him. ‘Why would you risk so much?’
‘She’s my sister,’ he says simply.
I collapse against the rickshaw seat. All that for his sister? No one has sacrificed themselves for me. I am puzzled and envious that such depth of loyalty exists.
Mr Lee blows out a long breath, as if cleansing himself of his pain. ‘My turn to ask you a question.’
‘What do you want to know?’
He gazes at me and murmurs, ‘So much.’ But his expression lightens, and he nods towards the paper bag with my books. ‘Why that book?’
‘I want to learn how to make friends.’
‘But you seem to know everyone in your Shanghai.’
‘Sure, but that doesn’t make us friends.’
‘What about Lady Gi?’
I scoff, nearly choke on a caramel. ‘Her? We aren’t friends.’
‘Well, you’re not super chummy, but you seem to know each other pretty well.’
My shoulders twitch. ‘We play kanhoo a lot.’
‘I never pegged you as a card player. What’s a lot? Once a week? Twice a week?’
‘Well, no, more like every other day.’
Mr Lee’s eyebrows push into his forehead. ‘I see. Do you talk much when you play?’
‘No. Well, maybe, a little. Mostly insults.’
‘How long are your games?’
‘They last all night. We normally start after dinner. Big Wang lets us play on his roof terrace. We usually stop just before the first ferries pull in. Lady Gi doesn’t like seeing them either.’
Mr Lee clears his throat. ‘So you and Lady Gi see each other every other day and play kanhoo while you trade verbal barbs for some ten hours. I hate to tell you, but I think you and Lady Gi are friends.’
‘What? No. She hates me. I hate her. She’s a flowery obnoxious show-off.’
‘Who you play cards with almost every day.’
‘Every other day! And besides, she’s the only person in all of Shanghai who has time and is willing to play kanhoo with me. Everyone else only loses to me. Gigi’s a good player. Sometimes she wins, sometimes I win. It’s more fun that way.’
Mr Lee nods with a peculiar expression on his face. Disbelief? Amusement?
‘What?’
He shakes his head as we pull up to the Cathay Hotel. He gets off and offers me his hand. His lips are pressed together, but his eyes betray him. They sparkle. His shoulders tremble from suppressed laughter. I swat away his hand and hop off on my own. Mr Lee follows after paying the coolie.
‘There’s a nice restaurant on the hotel terrace. We could have dinner there?’ He’s still trying not to laugh as we push through the revolving doors of the hotel. ‘Though, you’ve eaten a lot today. It’s okay if you’re full and want to skip it.’
I laugh. ‘Skip a meal? Never! Does this place have a view of the sunset?’
‘Sunset?’
‘I like to paint them . . . but I don’t really remember what they look like. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a real sun dip over the horizon.’
‘It’s unfair that you only remember the cruelty, and none of the beauty.’
I pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Was Lady Soo the one you set fire to?’
‘You heard the guards talking?’
He looks down at the lobby’s marble floor and nods. ‘My hearing is pretty good. And the guards weren’t trying to be quiet.’
‘She deserved it,’ I say, my voice flat.
When he looks at me, his gaze isn’t judging or doubting. There’s a warmth there. Understanding.
‘I bet she did.’ There’s a vehemence in his tone that surprises me and makes me feel protected. I’m reminded of those giggling women by the café, their obvious fondness for each other creating a safe space against the outside world.
I’m tempted to pry open those half-buried memories from childhood and share them with Mr Lee.
All the times Soo hurt me, scared me, and then the shock, years later, when I thought I was free of them, for her to turn up at a Mahjong Council.
The words are there, ready to trip off my tongue.
But what if he only laughs at me, what if, like everyone else, he thinks I deserved it?
‘You’re scary for a scholar,’ I say instead, opting to keep things light. ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side.’
‘Scholars are overrated. Bad sides are more fun.’ He throws me a smile that’s all teeth, and I can’t help it, I burst into giggles.
Mr Lee’s expression settles into the more familiar gentleness. ‘There’s a Russian restaurant around the corner with a great sunset view. You’ll love it.’