Skeleton Women (5 page)
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 analyze all those qualities before I fell in love with him. I just did.”
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 analyze 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?”
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 favorite chocolate truffle. To help me sing better, I sensed each note with its own color 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 neighbor. 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, recognized 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 focusing 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!”
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
V
isiting 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.
isiting 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.
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 handpick the woman to be their husband’s concubine than let him pick 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.
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 handpick the woman to be their husband’s concubine than let him pick 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.
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 told 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 neighboring 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 makeup on.
When our eyes met, he smiled, then raised his wineglass 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 favors 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 downward. 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.
This was the satisfaction of being at the top. But as the great sage Laozi said, “When things reach their zenith, they have nowhere else to go but down.” So there is always the dread of the possible downward journey or, especially the fate of many gangsters, assassination.
When the laughter subsided, Zhu leaned over to his boss. “This Shadow must be an illegitimate child or an orphan to have a name like that.”
Was Zhu subtly deriding my orphan status?
Lung scoffed. “Maybe you’re right. Ha-ha! But who cares about a shadow, right?” Then he said to me, “Camilla, this had better be a good show. I don’t want to waste my time being bored. How come you wanted me here tonight?”
I smiled my heart-softening, man-hardening smile. “Master Lung, what a question. You want to embarrass me by having me declare my love for you in public?”
He squeezed my narrow waist with the same hand that had inexorably squeezed out many rivals’ last breaths. “Besides your singing, your speech is also getting more clever. Whom did you learn this from?”
“You of course, Master Lung. Who else?”
“Ha-ha! Ha-ha! I like smart, beautiful women, just like you.” He pulled my head to him and planted a kiss on my cheek.
I caught a jealous glance from Gao, followed by an ambiguous one from that young person four tables away.
Just then the orchestra struck up an animated tune, a signal that the show was about to begin. I’d already guessed that the first act on the program wouldn’t be Shadow’s. As the star, her act would come last.
The opening act was a songstress, mediocre in looks, talent, and dress. Following her was another mediocre singer, better dressed but with a screechy voice.
Master Lung, looking bored, raised his rough voice amid the loud music. “I really don’t understand why Ciro Nightclub hired two homeless cats to
meow
.”
meow
.”
I giggled. “Master Lung, you’re so funny! Because these two mediocrities are only here to make us appreciate the following show.”
He hit his fist on the table, causing a small earthquake. “You’re damn right, Camilla. What do you eat to get so smart?”
“All the meals granted by you, Master Lung.”
He laughed, and the earthquake shifted to his belly. “Good, Camilla! That’s why you’re my favorite!”
I could only hope that would last—until my mission was completed.
“Thank you, Master Lung.” Though I feared his impatience if he were bored, I silently prayed that Shadow would not be my match in beauty or intelligence.
But Master Lung would be the one to judge. And unfortunately men’s opinion about women is unpredictable and subject to change, like a child’s in a toy store, or a woman wandering the aisles of the expensive department stores on Nanking Road.
Still smiling, Lung playfully pinched my hip. I pretended to fend off his ambush by hitting his arm flirtatiously with my hand.
He cast me a curious look. “Where’s the painted fan I gave you?”
That was the fan I’d thrown toward his son the other night. To be courteous, I should have invited the young master tonight. But I hadn’t because I didn’t want him here to further complicate things or to be another distraction to my goal.
I responded. “Didn’t you see that I threw it to the audience? I guess someone must have caught it.”
“Next time, don’t throw my fans away.”
“Of course not, Master Lung.”
As if on cue to save me from more chiding, a burst of loud drumming rolled out as multicolored lights crisscrossed the stage. A quiet fell over the hall as people anticipated the long-awaited act. Soon a black-tuxedoed man entered from the right side of the stage.
“We want Shadow and her magic!” someone shouted.
I smiled inside. Any performance is a form of seduction. Playing hard to get is always a winning strategy.
With his white-gloved hand, the master of ceremonies tapped lightly on the microphone, then cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Ciro Nightclub!”
A round of applause burst in the packed hall.
“Are you ready for our mysterious guest tonight?”
Another burst of applause as the audience shouted a collective, “Yes!”
“Are your eyeballs ready to be astounded?”
An even louder “Yes!”
“All right, so now be prepared for Miss Shadow’s impossible show. If you saw her daring stunt last week at the Customs House, I can assure you that tonight’s show will be even more astonishing.” He paused for a moment.
“Okay, everybody, let’s hear a loud welcome for the incredible Miss Shadow!”
The MC strode off the stage as another fusillade of drumming burst from the orchestra. All the lights dimmed in the hall except those onstage. An unworldly silence seemed to stretch into infinity. Then, to everyone’s surprise, instead of the much anticipated appearance of Shadow herself, there was only a pair of red shoes floating in the air!
My heart sank. If she could think of this, she might actually be able to outshine me.
I cast Lung a secretive glance and found that his eyes were protruding more than usual. He must have found her intriguing, if not downright attractive.
More gasps and exclamations sprinkled the hall. Now we only saw one bare foot, toenails painted bright red, like drops of blood from a slaughtered chicken.
I could see that, like me, the magician knew how to create a presence. I wondered, was she also well-versed in Sunzi’s
The Art of War
and the
Thirty-Six Stratagems
?
The Art of War
and the
Thirty-Six Stratagems
?
Then she materialized on stage, and immediately a collective gasp exploded in the hall. Just as at the Customs House, she had not a stitch on her entire body! The men laughed and cheered, and the women gasped.
My hear sank another notch.
Shadow had a voluptuous figure, her full breasts jiggling like tofu, with a firm, if generous, bottom atop muscular legs. Her face was rounder than mine, with a high forehead and two painted-on, crescent-moon-shaped eyebrows. Her hair was pulled back tightly like a ballerina’s but slithered down her back. Sizing her up, I had to admit to myself that I could not compete with her athletic physique. But so far I had been able to rely on my narrow waist, long legs, slim, girlish figure, and innocent eyes. “Like a beautiful maiden walking out from an album of exquisite paintings”—that was how the entertainment newspapers in Shanghai described me.
A few seconds passed as the audience—at least those who sat close to the stage in the first three rows—realized that the magician was not naked but wearing a tight, flesh-colored tunic. Some men emitted a disappointed, “Huh!” and a few women, “Thank old heaven!”
Shadow began slow dance movements to the dreamy music from the orchestra as the red shoes floated teasingly in front of her. Then she paused, hands on hips.
She made a face, chiding the shoes, “Oh, you terrible little twins. Now come back to Mommy!”
The shoes shook but came no closer. Looking annoyed, she reached to snatch them, but they playfully bounced away.
“Come back, good girls, come back to Mommy... .” Shadow cooed as the shoes kept backing away like playful toddlers, advancing and retreating until Shadow suddenly slapped them down onto the floor.
Then a gasp of shock came from the audience as a pool of blood appeared around them—just as had happened in front of the Customs House. She shook her fist at the shoes, then put them on and exited the stage, leaving a trail of blood in the shape of a zigzagging snake.
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