Brother Fish (94 page)

‘“Lily No Gin? Hmm . . . it certainly isn't a difficult name to remember,” said Sir Victor, “but if you must be Lily I shall personally call you Shanghai Lil – it sounds much more
show biz
.”

‘Poppy clapped his hands, bringing them up so that his fingers touched the underside of his chin. “Oh, I say – what an inspiration, Sir Victor!” He turned to me. “Yes, oh dearie me –
yes
! I do so like that, darling.
Shanghai Lil
– we could do something with that.”

‘“It sounds like a prostitute,” I said softly. I knew I was overstepping the mark, but one only gets one chance to name oneself and I, not they, had to live with it – hopefully for a long time. “Big Boss Yu will like No Gin. It was he who named me, gave me my Chinese name.”

‘That seemed to settle the matter on the spot. I was beginning to realise just how powerful my Chinese protector was in Shanghai.

‘I'm bound to say that while Lawrence Smithson was of the same persuasion as Noël Coward – that is, homosexual and in show biz – he didn't sulk or grow petulant for long. He accepted my name, and after ten days of solid piano and singing practice from two to five every weekday afternoon, finally one afternoon he said, “You've done well, darling. You may call me Poppy.”

‘“Yes, quite – bravo!” chimed in Sir Victor.

‘“We open in ten days and . . . ” Poppy fell into “the pose”, which I had learned happened when he was thinking or upset, although “upset” included a raised eyebrow with one eye shut. This time his right eyebrow was at rest and his eyes were both looking directly at me. “We'll need photographs for posters – and I do think the hair must go, darling. After all, we don't want any of the gym frock and ‘Little Countess, the Schoolgirl Maestro' remaining, do we, darling? That would be too ghastly – too
outré
for words.”

‘I needed time to think. “I'll have to ask Big Boss Yu,” I replied, remembering the incident in the nightclub. My comment received the full pose plus arch.

‘“Oh dear – oh dearie me. First he names you, now he arranges your hair. How very sweet.”

‘“Careful, Poppy,” Sir Victor warned. “You have to live here – I don't.”

‘My hair fell almost to my waist and, as many of the songs required me to toss my head about, I mostly wore it in plaits so that it didn't get in the way of the piano keys. If I was going to be a grown-up and lose the schoolgirl tag, then Poppy's request wasn't unreasonable. It was just that it came as rather a shock.

‘My mother had always loved brushing my hair, as had Ah Lai. Even when Ah Lai and I were together in her village she would brush my hair morning and night until it positively shone. The locals used to gather around to look at it and occasionally one or two of them were allowed by Ah Lai to touch it lightly. I think she used touching my hair as a return for a favour granted. To these simple village folk, with my blonde hair and blue eyes I was almost like a creature from another planet. Cutting my hair would be the final farewell to my childhood.

‘Curiously, I had absolutely no idea how this might be done. My mother had always trimmed my hair and after she died Ah Lai would do it. In Harbin I'd either done it myself, or one of the girls in the club would trim the ends for me. I still had about half of the money I'd been given the night the Three Musketeers of the French Concession had visited the General's Retreat, when Big Boss Yu had christened me No Gin. I would need at least two evening gowns for the show and I anticipated this would take most of my carefully hoarded money. I also felt that as Big Boss Yu was my protector, and because of the lock of hair he'd requested in Harbin, I would need to ask him about cutting my hair. On my way home that night I asked Ah Chow if I might have an appointment to see Big Boss Yu, and he said he would ask.

‘The following evening he took me along the Bund to a fairly modest building where Big Boss Yu kept an office. I was ushered into what was not, by Shanghai standards, an overly imposing office. The furnishings, though, were elaborately Chinese – lots of ebony and mother-of-pearl inlay and overstuffed chairs upholstered in an oyster-coloured brocade. Two large, painted scrolls hung on the walls, one of a branch of ripe persimmons and the other featuring a mountain and cliff scene with gnarled trees growing from the cliff face. But what demanded my immediate attention were the seventeen giant grandfather clocks that lined every wall, varying slightly in design though all quite obviously from the same manufacturer. They each registered a different time and the entire room was filled with a cacophony of ticking. Mr Yu sat behind a large ebony desk, the only object on it a wonderfully complicated-looking silver pen-and-ink set designed as two male peacocks.

‘I bowed my head. “Good afternoon,
loh yeh
. I thank you for allowing me to see you.”

‘“Sit down, No Gin. What brings you to see your old uncle?”

‘I looked up into his lined face and purple-ringed eyes. It was impossible to guess his age. “It is perhaps a matter of small consequence. They wish me to cut my hair for the new-season show opening at the Palace Hotel. I have come to ask your permission.”

‘He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Why do you think a man would be concerned about a young woman's hair?”

‘“I am aware it is a subject of little concern, my lord. It is only that you requested a lock in Harbin and I thought perhaps . . .”

‘But he interrupted before I could complete the sentence. “You are very perceptive, No Gin. I will let you know.” With this he offered me tea, which I knew to politely refuse, bowing and turning to go but unable to take my eyes off the clocks. He must have been aware of my curiosity. “The clocks, they tell the time in every major capital city in the world. They are a gift from a Japanese company. I receive a new one every year.”

‘The following evening Ah Chow drove me to what I took to be a Taoist temple and on the way instructed me to ask for the incense master, telling me that all had been arranged. “At the end you must give him this,” he instructed. It was a red-and-gold
li tze
, or “lucky money” envelope with a peach-and-pine design for longevity on the outside, and judging by its thickness it contained a considerable amount of money.'

Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan's story was becoming more and more intriguing, and I wished Jimmy was here to listen to it first-hand.

‘I entered into the semi-dark of the building to be met by a young acolyte in a white-and-red robe. I greeted him and asked if I might see the incense master. He nodded as though he had been expecting me. As I passed the altar I bowed three times to Kuan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy. She was very old and made of wood that had once been painted in the gaudy colours Chinese peasants so love. But now only a glimpse of yellow, cobalt and red clung to the dark, incense-stained statue. I had entered a Taoist temple on two occasions with Ah May, my present
amah
, and of course with my first
amah
, Ah Lai, on many occasions in her village, so the surroundings were familiar, although I knew this to be no ordinary shrine.

‘I was ushered into a small room and asked to wait, and presently a most venerable old Chinese man wearing an ash-grey robe and a knotted turban of red cloth entered the room. I bowed. “Greetings from my taipan, Yu Ya-ching. I am sent by him,
loh yeh
.”

‘“You are she,” he said, looking at me carefully. “Come.” He led me back into the main temple behind an intricately patterned screen, which had also seen better days and was torn and carelessly patched in several places. Here, too, was a smaller statue of Kuan Yin with an incense lion beside it, a curl of dove-grey smoke rising from its mouth.

In the customary manner I lit three joss sticks and bowed slowly three times once again, which I sensed somewhat tried the patience of the old man. “What is it you wish to know?” he asked.

‘“Will the cutting of my hair cut off my luck,
loh yeh
?” I asked. Then I hurriedly added, “But this is of little importance, my lord. I must know if it will affect the fortunes of my taipan?”

‘“I will read the water mirror. Stand still, and look at me,” he commanded.'

Before I had the chance to even ask the question, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan turned to me to explain. ‘Reading the water mirror is simply a very close scrutiny of the face, used to decide what divining method the incense master will choose. After some little time looking into the rheumy eyes of the old man, he said, “
Lu ssu
bird!”

‘The
lu ssu
bird, also known as the rain bird because it is said to be able to forecast rain, is a tiny finch that was kept in a cage behind the altar. The incense master now reached for one of a number of bamboo flasks each set into a cubbyhole contained within a box-like shelving structure with the cubbyholes facing outwards, much like a wine rack. He opened the lid and I saw the flask was filled with a large number of bamboo slivers, a bit like a container of fiddlesticks, although burned on each sliver was a line of Chinese characters – ancient calligraphy beyond the understanding of any Chinese layperson.

‘The incense master up-ended the flask, sending the bamboo slivers scattering to the floor at his feet. Next he lifted the bamboo cage and placed it on the altar, opening the door to allow the tiny bird to hop out. The
lu ssu
bird hesitated for only a moment, then fluttered to the floor, picked up one of the slivers and flew up to rest on the incense master's outstretched hand. He took the sliver of bamboo from its beak and gently placed the tiny bird back into the cage, closing the door behind it.

‘Then, searching within his grey robes, he produced a small leather case, opened it and removed a pair of
pince-nez
, which he carefully adjusted on the bridge of his nose. He held the sliver of bamboo so that it almost touched the spectacles and examined it for some time. Then he looked up at me, removed his
pince-nez
, returned them to their case and concealed it, once again, beneath his robes.

‘“You may cut your hair, but the left plait must be removed first and immediately destroyed. The right plait must be washed and re-plaited, and this you must give to your taipan. When he returns it to you your good fortune will end.”

‘“And
his
good fortune, my lord?”

‘“It is good for now, but it will sail away across the seas and return again later to his dragonhead.”

‘I bowed to him, then bowed three times to the Goddess Kuan Yin, and presented the
li tze
with both hands. Jack, you must understand that Chinese fortune-telling is ninety per cent ritualistic superstition. I didn't believe the old man for one moment. What I had done by going to the Taoist temple was simply out of respect for Big Boss Yu. While I was obliged to present my right plait to him, I had already decided to send the left one to Ah Lai, my old
amah
in Manchuria. Then, just as I was leaving, the old man said, “Sadness in your life, death. A man with a limp.” I knew he couldn't possibly know of the recent death of my father, or that he had had a permanent limp. I had told Big Boss Yu of my father's death and conceivably his senior assistant, Chang Kia-yin, may have mentioned this to the incense master when he made the arrangements for my visit, but even this seemed a highly unlikely deduction to make. What none of them could possibly have known was that my father possessed a permanent limp. I suddenly felt compelled to follow precisely the incense master's instructions.'

Just as I was wondering how a girl's plaits could bear such importance, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said to me, ‘Jack, the business of the hair may seem to western eyes a very small thing. You may well wonder why I would include it in the story. But in China it is often the minutiae that in the end are important, and the main thrust of our lives of little importance. There is a Chinese saying that goes like this: “When a single hair of the brushstroke is out of place, the painting is spoiled.”

‘My visit to the incense master was not to be the end of a long day. Ah Chow next drove me to a hair salon on Avenue Haig on the boundary of the French Concession. It was owned by Madame Peroux, a famous Shanghai hairdresser from French Indochina, who, as it turned out, was French in name and Chinese in appearance. She was delighted when I spoke to her in French. “Such beautiful hair, Mademoiselle Lenoir-Jourdan. It is a shame to cut it – it will never be as good again. How old are you?” she asked.

‘“Sixteen, madam.”

‘“Sixteen years to grow it like this, and I must cut it! How very sad.”

‘“It interferes with playing the piano,” I said, trying to sound practical.

‘“No, no,
ma chérie
– I can braid it so.” She took my plaits in both her hands and made an arrangement so that they appeared to sit in a circle with a clever twist at the back and all of it on the top of my head out of the way. “No?”

‘I laughed. “I look like a Brünnhilde from the Black Forest, madame. No, it has been decided. I cannot change my mind.”

‘“At sixteen it is no shame to change your mind, mademoiselle. At sixteen it is compulsory to do so at least twice on everything you decide to do. No?”

‘“It has been decided by Big Boss Yu, madame.”

‘Madame Peroux sighed, the magic name putting all further argument aside. “To be a woman, it is a terrible burden,” she clucked, then reached reluctantly for the scissors.