Tales from Old Shanghai 01

"I was learning the guqin from when I was very young," I say, blinking with surprise. "My grandmother taught me. She is an accomplished guqin player, but I have had no practice since I left home and I do not have a guqin."

"Yes, I advised him of that, Chuntao. He said not to be concerned, he will bring one for you to play."

"When?" I ask.

"Perhaps this afternoon," Mrs. Innes says. "We're having lunch together. Perhaps you'd like to join us."

"Yes," I say. I have no idea who Mr. Maynard is but no doubt I will find out. I'm puzzled though. Mr. Standiford was the only man there who seemed to really enjoy the guqin. Still, whoever he is, he will give me money and I need that. I have not heard from my family for some months now and I do not have much left. I am frugal, but I am also worried. Father is always on time with my spending money.

"Chuntao, you might remember Mr. Maynard from the Cunningham's," Mrs Innes says as I stand to greet the gentleman she ushers into her sitting room. "Micheal, this is Wang Chuntao." She introduces me in the Chinese fashion, surname first.

"I am so pleased to meet you, Mr. Maynard," I say, very politely, my eyes widening, and I am startled. Mr. Maynard. The one that was so rude about the song at the garden party. It's him. Marjory's Uncle Mike. He smiles at me. I blush.

"Miss Wang," he says. He places the guqin on the coffee table. "This is a gift for you, my dear."

I can't restrain myself. "For me?"

"Yes," he says, smiling. "I talked to Chuck Cunningham, persuaded him that guqin was wasted hanging on his wall and that he should give it to someone who would truly appreciate it." He grins. "Me, of course, and he owes me a few favors so I cashed my chips in, so to speak."

I don't really have any idea what he's talking about. Chips? Favors I understand, and he has the guqin I played, the beautiful treasure from the Summer Palace. He's brought it here for me to play, it's sitting there on the coffee table before my eyes and my hands reach for it without thought. I kneel on the floor before the coffee table, my fingers run over the strings, drawing music from it with the desperate need to hear those notes flow through the still summer air of Mrs. Innes' sitting room.

"Miss Wang," Mr Maynard says, and I look up. "Chuntao, it is a gift for you."

My heart jolts in disbelief. I gasp, shocked. This guqin from the Summer Palace, it once belonged to the Emperor of China and it is a treasure beyond price. Mr. Cunningham has given it to him? He has given it to me? Just like that? This cannot be.

His hand reaches out, rests on mine. "I am serious, Chuntao. It is yours. It is my gift to you, young lady. I can see you are an artist who appreciates this instrument. The way you talked about it at Chuck's, the way you played it, it deserves an artist like you to belong to, my dear."

"That is too generous, Mr. Maynard," I say, knowing I will accept his gift. Knowing this will place me in his debt, for this guqin is priceless. Once it hung in the Summer Palace, the possession of the Emperor and it has been gifted to me by one of China's oppressors. One of those foreigners who exploits and tears apart our country for money, caring not the damage that they do to our land and our people, but still, this guqin. I cannot refuse this gift, no matter the price.

"Nonsense, Chuntao," he says. "This guqin deserves you and you deserve it. It is yours."

Almost, almost I hate this man for the casual ease with which he disposes of our China's patrimony, our cultural heritage, but at the very least he is giving it to me and I am Chinese. I know what this treasure is, I know what it represents and I will treasure it and I will care for it and honor it and here in this room, I will play it for him. That is a small price to pay and I will humiliate myself by accepting this gift, knowing that in doing so, in accepting this humiliation and shame, I am helping preserve a little of our China's precious heritage for the future.

"Thank you, Mr. Maynard," I say politely, bowing my head, concealing my shame at having to accept this treasure of China as a gift from a foreigner.

"Let us have lunch now," Mrs. Innes says. "Chuntao can play after lunch."

"That is this guqin?" Tien-chien asks, looking at the guqin that sits on my coffee table.

"Yes," I say, reaching out, plucking the strings; effortlessly drawing the notes from my gleaming instrument, filling my tearoom with the beauty of that music as ably as I did eighty years ago, when I was eighteen.

"Yes, this is that very guqin, that once dwelled in the Summer Palace of the Emperor of China, that was made by the Younger Prince of Lu for himself, he who ruled the Southern Ming Dynasty four hundred year ago. That history is written here, Tien-chien."

My fingers point to the Chinese characters embossed into the wood, but I know Tien-chien is a banana through and through. She may look Chinese on the surface but she does not read Chinese, the only Chinese she can speak is to order dim-sum and her mispronunciations even of those simple words are an absurdity and an embarrassment. But still, still she is Chinese enough to recognize her Chinese cultural heritage, Chinese enough to recognize the priceless heritage of this instrument.

"And this is that song I played the evening I first met Martin," I say. "High Mountains and Flowing Waters."

"You make it look so easy," she says, watching, listening as my fingers coax that ancient music composed so long ago, centuries ago, centuries before even that Roman Empire of the Europeans was founded and still this music lives where that Empire of the Romans has died long ago. My fingers coax that music from the strings, as easily as they did on that long ago evening. As easily as they did on that long ago afternoon when Mr. Maynard gifted me this guqin and I played for him, that first time of many.

Tien-chien eyes me. "Just like that, he gave it to you, Grandmother?"

"Just like that, he gave it to me," I say. "But I paid for that gift in the end. I paid dearly, but in the end it was a price I would have had to pay, if not with him, then with another. It was my fate." I fan my fingers across the strings. "Yes, it was my fate and I ran out of options. That is all it was. I will go on with my tale now, Tien-chien."

"We're invited to a dinner," Hua says excitedly on Monday after classes end. "It's from Miranda's parents."

"Who?" I ask.

"Miranda Alexander," she says. "She's another of the day girls."

"When is it?" I ask.

"Friday evening." She looks up. "I think this is the one Mr. Cunningham asked us to accept."

Asked you, I think, but I say nothing and when we ask, Mrs. Innes already knows about the invitation, gives us permission and lets us know Mr. Cunningham's driver will be picking us up.

Hua is excited. So am I, even though I'm not sure that Martin is coming. Miranda and her mother greet us, I recognize her mother from Marjory's. I recognise Miranda's father, standing talking to Mr. Cunningham, and they both come to us. I find myself on Mr. Alexander's arm as Mr. Cunningham takes possession of Hua. Mr. Alexander is entertaining, his wife retrieves me from him and she is rather friendlier than I have been expecting her to be.

"Ah, the young men are arriving," she says, and my eyes light up as I see Martin. I want to run to him, throw myself into his arms but I restrain myself. I'm alive though, my senses on fire, tingling, glowing and his mere presence in the room, our eyes meeting intermittently, that's enough for me. The evening moves on, dinner, and then dancing. Slow dances, and I dance with Mr. Alexander, I dance with one or two older gentlemen and then I'm dancing with Martin and I'm overjoyed.

"Chuntao," he breathes, as we circle the small dance floor, part of the party and apart from the party at one and the same time, lost in our own world, just the two of us. The room is dimly lit, the party more and more boisterous and I am a little shocked at the drinking but I am with Martin and nobody notices us as we edge into a corner and then into a small alcove overlooking the garden and circle there, in view of all and yet discretely concealed.

His hands tempt me closer and I respond, infinitesimally, until I'm brushing him. His hands tighten for a second at that first contact, he jerks away. I look up, my eyes meet his, I smile and smiling, I deliberately ease closer to him and there is no mistaking what I am doing as I press myself against him, closer, melding my body to his and my lips part but I dare not whisper to him to kiss me.

"Martin." I whisper, gazing up at him. "Martin." Nothing else. Just his name. He's hard. His jade stalk, it's hard and it's pressed firmly against me and in my high heels, my one and only pair, I'm taller and he's pressing against me where I'm so moist and hot and sensitive and I shudder with that delightful excitement.

"Chuntao," he breathes, and me moves against me and that slight movement sends ripples through me. Delicious ripples and I know what he is doing, my books have told me of acts like this and how friction will stimulate a man's jade stalk and after Hua, I know what this does to me and I welcome that delicious pressure.

"Chuntao," he groans, softly, moving again.

"Martin," I gasp, my breasts pressed against his chest and I move myself, my hips move, I move against him and his breath gasps outwards and he's moving more vigorously, rubbing himself against me and I'm trembling in his arms and his hands are holding me tighter.

"Chuntao... Chuntao... I love you... I love you." His movements against me are more obvious, he's breathing hard and I forget any pretence of dancing, my arms vine around his neck as he edges me back, back still further and we are out of sight completely, I'm pressed up against the wall and we are hidden, unseen, and I'm gasping with his movements and there's no pretence now that either of us don't know what he's doing.

"Yes," I gasp, "yes," as he rubs himself against me.

"Chuntao?" and it is a question, gasped in my ear as he moves as his erection is rubbing, prodding, big and hard.

"Yes, yes, it's alright, Martin. Don't stop." I look up at him, flushed, weak-kneed myself, not smiling. I don't feel like smiling, I just want him to hold me and move against me like he is doing, his jade stalk, his erection, big and hard and rubbing against me though our clothing and one of my hands brushes the back of his neck and I wonder what is going to happen and then I find out.

"Ohhhhhh, Chuntao... Chuntao." He groans in my ear, he crushes himself against me, he bucks hard against me once, twice, a third time and then he shudders, stiffens, his breathe gasps out, he groans again, juddering against me convulsively and then he relaxes, holding me but his grip is almost limp and his breath is coming in hot panting gasps.

"Martin," I breathe, resting my flushed face against his shoulder, the top of my head brushed by his lips as he shudders against me.

"You... you don't mind?" He almost stutters.

"No," I say, very simply, because I do and I think I understood what has happened and no, I don't mind. It is part of love, it is natural and I don't know how to explain that at all and anyhow, now is not the time or the place to talk. Now is the time to hold each other and we do and I Think love him. I think? I know I do.

"I need to..." Martin says, and he's still breathing hard and I smile.

"Yes," I say. "I'll be here, waiting for you." There's a seat tucked away behind a curtain and I want to be alone, I don't want to talk to anyone. I want silence and peace while I absorb what has happened.

"I love you, Chuntao," Martin breathes again.

"Martin," I whisper, and I don't say it but I smile and he smiles and he's gone and I sink into that seat, still breathing hard myself and I'm weak and shivering with my own excitement and I close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to be naked with him as Hua and I were naked together and I very much think I would enjoy that a lot.

I've only been sitting there a couple of minutes, my heart is back to normal, my breathing has slowed when I hear voices, and one of them is Mr. Cunningham's.

"Of course, my dear, just tell me what your problem is and I'm sure I can help you."

The other voice is Hua's, I'm sure it is but her voice is so soft and quiet I can't make out her words, but she's talking.

"I do understand, my dear," Mr. Cunningham says, and they're closer, they're in the alcove and I sit, almost concealed by the curtain, frozen, unmoving, not want to appear as if I am listening. Of course, I am listening.

"Can you help me?" Yes, it is definitely Hua's voice, anxious, and through a crack between the curtains I can see them, Mr. Cunningham is dancing slowly with her in his arms and if his jade stalk is hard, Hua is close enough to know. "I'll... I'll do anything you want."

"Yes, I could help you," Mr. Cunningham says, so quietly I can barely hear him and I watch his hand slide from Hua's waist down to her hip and rests there. "You do understand what anything implies, don't you my dear?" His hands moves up and down on her hip before sliding around to her butt and holding her there and then he pulls her firmly, unmistakably, against him. "I don't want there to be any misunderstanding, it's a lot that you ask for, my dear."

"Oh," Hua gasps, and I gasp with her. My heart jumps as hers must be jumping. My eyes widen as Hua's widen.

"Anything?" Mr. Cunningham asks.

"Yes, I understand," Hua says, very quietly, and she's looking up at him and I experience a moment of shock as I realize what she is offering and why.

She has not heard from her family for longer than I. Her school fee's, her boarding fees, I know they're overdue and how will she pay? She's been worrying about that for months now, there is no way for her to return home, no-one to help her, and I understand. This is her solution. Mr. Cunningham will pay, and she will give Mr. Cunningham what he so obviously wants from her and I want to cry for her. How I wish I could help, but I have nothing.

"Then I believe we have an arrangement that is satisfactory to both of us, Hua," Mr. Cunningham says. "I'll speak to Mrs Innes and make sure she understands. There will be no need for you to say anything to her." His hand caresses her butt, slowly.

"Thank you, Mr. Cunningham," Hua says, and she actually sounds grateful.

"We'll meet next week," Mr. Cunningham says, looking down at her. "I'll let you know where and when after I've met with Mrs. Innes and made the arrangements." He smiles. "Once a week will be perfectly satisfactory for me without imposing too much on your schoolwork, Hua."

"Yes, Mr. Cunningham," she says.

"And I'd better circulate now, my dear," he says, patting Hua's butt. "Don't want to start any gossip. And warn that pretty little friend of yours not to make herself so obvious with that boy." He chuckles. "Lucky young dog."

He releases Hua, eases away, slips out of the alcove and as he turns, I can't help seeing. Yes, he has a massive jade stalk and it must be packed with his yin energy because it's enormous and my jade gate pulses hotly at the sight. I stay, frozen, watching Hua as she stands there for a minute before slipping outside herself.

Only then to I stand and slip out and over to the window. Were we that obvious, Martin and I? We need to be more careful. We can't risk meeting where anyone could see us. Not even at party's like this. I'm there, looking out into the garden, my thoughts in turmoil, when Martin returns, his voice soft and loving behind me.

"Chuntao."

I turn, smile, step into his arms and we dance out onto the floor, mingling with the others and the evening continues on. I dance now with others, as does Hua, until we're tired and it's time for us to depart and it's Mr. Cunningham's car and driver that are returning us to the School.

"Tomorrow," Martin breathes as we part.

"Tomorrow," I smile. I'll talk to him then. Maybe he'll know somewhere we can go where there's no risk of him being seen by anyone he knows. I'm not worried about me. Outside of School, nobody here has any idea who I am and Chinese girls with foreigners, that's a common sight. They're not Chinese girls like me, they're sing-song girls but Martin knows I'm not one of those. That's all that's important.

I hold Hua's hand in the car as we are driven to the School. Neither of us say anything, not then, not as we climb into our beds, not on Saturday morning as we prepare for our outing and I have a surprise now for Martin. There's somewhere I want to take him, I was handed the pamphlet last night as we climbed out of the car outside the school and this is something I want to go to.

"Come with us, Martin," I say, excitedly, and yes, I'm so excited I'm bouncing up and down like a little girl and Hua is laughing at me. "We're not going to watch a movie today."

"Where are we going?" he asks, because I've already dragged him over to a rickshaw and give the rickshaw coolie the destination as I climbed in.

"North Szechwan Road," I say, holding his hand as Hua squeezes in on the other side of him. "We're going to a speech by Jiang Qing, she's talking about Ibsen's "Nora" and how it relates to the position of Chinese women in China today."

"Sounds absolutely scintillating," Martin replies, smiling. I know he's laughing at me. I don't care. "Who's Jiang Qing?"

"She's in the news all the time," I say. "She's a movie actress and she plays Nora in the play. She's been in some other movies too."

"Yes," Hua says. "I loved her character in "Blood on Wolf Mountain," she's so good and the way she played Yu Yueying in "Goddess of Freedom," that was so inspiring."

"Oh, Chinese movies," Martin says, as if they were nothing, and he smiles down at me.

"We'll take you to one," I say. "You'll see. Some of them are really good." Hua giggles.

"If you take me, I'll come, Martin says, looking down at me, smiling, squeezing my hand and I know he will and I love him so much and I rest my head against his shoulder as our fingers move, intertwining, caressing, and I love him so.

"Who's the foreigner?" one of the girls at the door to the teahouse asks as we go to walk in.

"He's a friend," Hua says. "We asked him to come with us. He won't understand though, he doesn't speak Chinese."

"One of them? Oh alright, but you two, you shouldn't associate with foreign men. That only leads to one thing. Please be careful, sisters."

"Yes, we well." Hua gives me a barbed look and I shrug. She hasn't told me yet, but I know and her look annoys me a little. Martin is oblivious, looking around, fascinated. The teahouse holds an eclectic collection of men and women. Modeng girls in their western-style dresses and bobbed hair. Older women in qipaos. Students such as myself and Hua. Men in suits, some younger men. Students perhaps? A few workers in ragged trousers and shirts.

And one European. Martin. Oblivious to the glances coming his way.

A girl stands up at the front. "Welcome," she says. "Before Miss Qing gives her talk..."

"What was all that about?" Martin asks, three hours later, as we are leaving and I've been totally enthralled by Jiang Qing's speech and all the questions and answers that followed.

"Have you read Ibsen?" I ask. "She talked about his play, "A Doll's House", and how Nora is a model for modern Chinese women, the way she gives up being her husband's Doll to make her way in the world. Jiang Qing plays the part of Nora and she talked about her as an example for modern Chinese women."