The Nine Fold Heaven (10 page)

This was a secret no one knew about and if they did, didn’t care, because most nightclub singers’ goal is not to improve their arts, but to get rich and famous as quickly and easily as possible. Or even better, get a rich and famous husband. That’s why they don’t bother to practice much.

After I demonstrated my special method to the little girl, her answer surprised me.

“But I can’t do this.”

“Have you ever been to the Huangpu River to watch the rising sun? Or”—I pointed to the sky seen through the thin foliage and crisscrossing branches—“can you feel the sun’s warmth?”

Her answer was, “I’ve been to the river but couldn’t see the sun.”

“How come?”

“Because I can’t . . . see things. I am blind.”

Of course. Somehow I’d not been thinking about this, did not want to admit to myself how helpless she really was. She seemed to have eyes like the rest of us, except that they were semi-hidden underneath her thick glasses. Though I’d seen her bump around, it was all too sad for me to think about.

“I’m so sorry, my little friend—”

“That’s why I am here. My parents are dead. My whole family was in a bus accident.” She paused to inhale deeply, then said, “And my glasses broke and stuck in my eyes.”

“How terrible . . . I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

I was amazed to hear her say this.

“How?”

“I sing a lot better since I couldn’t see. I listen to Camilla’s singing whenever I can. I want to be like her.”

I almost blurted out, “No, don’t try to be her! Her life is harder than you can imagine!” But I stopped myself just in time.

“Big Sister, tell me your name and why are you here?”

“Just call me Big Sister, Peiling. Be a good girl now because I have to go.”

“Please stay, Miss Camilla.”

Could this child be clairvoyant? Or maybe she lied that she was blind and could actually see me?!

“No, I’m not Camilla. Like you, I’m her fan and I try to sing like her.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at me through her thick glasses with her near-sightless eyes.

Fearing that she’d insist that I was Camilla, a truth I had to vehemently deny, I hugged her frail little body. “Peiling, I have to go.”

“Promise you’ll come back to visit.”

“I’ll try,” I said, while having no intention to do so. Another trip here would make it all the more likely that my identity would be discovered.

“Big Sister . . .” Suddenly, she changed the subject. “I’m not that lonely here because I have Baobao to play with. We like each other so much we play together all the time.”

Many Chinese like to call their child Bao—meaning “treasure”—then they double it to Baobao for double treasure. This piqued my curiosity, because no one was treated like a treasure here.

“Who’s Baobao? Why are you not with him?”

“Please wait. I’ll go get him right away.”

Before I could stop her, she hurriedly left, then soon returned with a sleeping baby in her arms.

I asked tentatively, “Is this . . . your baby?”

She smiled. “Oh, no. I just love to take care of Baobao. He’s so cute and such a good baby.”

“You mean no one takes care of him here except you?”

She nodded. “One time I heard a baby crying for a long time and no one did anything. So I followed the sound to his crib, picked him up, and rocked him. Then I gave him water with some sugar I had been saving, and put it in his mouth. He looked very happy, waving his little arms and legs. From then on he’s been a very good baby when I hold him, but he cries when others try to pick him up. So Director Chen assigned me to care for him. The staff here are happy that I help them do their job—”

I interrupted. “But, Peiling, you’re . . . blind, so how can you. . .”

“Big Sister, blind people have to be much more careful than those who can see. Because we listen, really listen. Anyway, I really love Baobao and I think he loves me too. Even though he’s been here only a few weeks.”

I was not really listening but thinking of my own baby, Jinjin. Because Jinjin would be the same age and I imagined he was as nice looking as Baobao. Baobao had Peiling to take care of him and keep him company, but what about my Jinjin? Wherever he was, did he have anyone to play with him and love him?

“Peiling, what’s Baobao’s last name?”

“I don’t know. Everyone just calls him Baobao,” Peiling said, her expression turning sad. “The staff told me that I can’t take care of him anymore once Baobao starts to walk.”

“But why not?”

“Because I’m blind, no matter how careful I am with him, I can’t watch him and he’ll get into trouble.”

I cast the baby another look. “All right, Peiling, have a good time with Baobao, I really need to go.”

Peiling lifted the baby’s hand and waved. “Baobao, say good-bye to Big Sister and ask her to come back.”

Then she threw me a startling question. “Big Sister, can you take me with you?”

“But why do you want to come with me?”

“Because then we could sing together to the rising sun by the Huangpu River and be happy.”

I laughed out loud. “Then what about your Baobao, I thought you and him are inseparable?”

“Of course I’ll take him with me too.”

An impossible dream, I thought, but kept it to myself.

What she said next startled me. “So we could be a happy family.”

 

“But what about if I already have one?”

“No, you don’t.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you don’t think about Baobao starting to walk soon.”

 

For the next few days, thinking about Peiling at the Compassionate Grace Orphanage left me off balance. It was creepy that a child so young could sing my songs, especially someone who, like me, was abandoned to an orphanage. I kept remembering how it had felt to hug her little body and see her pick up Baobao. It was almost as if she were my reincarnation, except that I was alive, at least for the moment.

Then I thought of Baobao. I knew that orphanages are so understaffed and underfunded that babies were left lying in cribs for days without being touched. So this Baobao was a lucky little guy to have someone paying him personal attention.

Despite now being able to afford beautiful clothes, expensive jewelry, and meals at any expensive restaurant, suddenly I felt as impoverished as the orphans.

 

That evening, my baby, Jinjin, again entered my dream.

 

 

A strange and disturbing dream. Was it really Jinjin or just my imagination? Was he somewhere in this world, or in the next?

12

Sacred Heart

I
willed myself to stop thinking of Peiling and “her” baby. I needed to look for Jinjin, not wallow in the sentimentality of a little blind girl who could sing like me. Visiting the Compassionate Grace Orphanage had not yielded any information and it would be dangerous to go back, now that Peiling had recognized my voice and the new director was a fan of mine.

The only hope I had for finding my son was through Madame Lewinsky. Since she was no longer living in the same apartment, the only way I could try to locate her was to ask around in the small Russian community inside the French Concession.

So the next day I took the tram to “Little Russia.” I walked along with the other pedestrians, passing a church, an herbalist’s shop, a restaurant, a bank, the Paris Theater, the Cathay movie theater, and banners advertising instruction in Russian, music, and mathematics. Finally, I stood in front of a tea house a few blocks from where Madame Lewinsky used to live.

I had noticed this place, simply, but appropriately, called Russian Tea House, when I’d come to this area to take lessons from my teacher. Visiting her had given me almost the only relief I had from the tension of my life among gangsters. I remembered the little luxury of drinking sweet tea with cream from her dainty cups decorated with blue flowers.

I braced myself to enter the tea house. Not that I feared I might be recognized by the Russians, but that I’d be unable to get news of Lewinsky’s whereabouts.

Inside, it was a cozy little place decorated with small paintings and delicate tea sets on shelves. Russian folk music flooded the place, probably to make us forget that we were still in Shanghai. Russians, with a few Chinese here and there, were drinking, snacking, and chatting. A language I didn’t understand filled the air accompanied by animated gestures. Now I was no longer the heavily made-up and lavishly dressed-up Heavenly Songbird Camilla, but a student in a white blouse studying philosophy or literature. I even carried my favorite book, Sunzi’s
The Art of War,
as a prop. Only a couple of foreigners bothered to look at me.

I settled at the counter and ordered tea and a cake. After eating my cake and reading for a while, I looked around, ready to make conversation. I ordered a second cup of tea, then, speaking Shanghainese, asked a middle-aged Russian man at the counter, “Mister, do you happen to know a Madame Julie Lewinsky?”

He made a gesture to indicate he didn’t understand much what I said. Then he beckoned to a fiftyish woman with gray hair tied up in a bun.

I repeated my question to the woman, who cast me a strange look. “So you’re looking for Lewinsky?”

Good, as I’d hoped, she could converse sufficiently in my language. I nodded.

“Who are you?”

“A friend’s friend.” I made the relationship vague. “You know where she is?”

She nodded. “Yes, she came here often to have her afternoon tea.” The gray-haired woman cast me another look. “You took lessons from her?”

“Yes, I used to. I have something for her.”

“Then that’s too bad. She’s been very sick. She moved out of her apartment, maybe went back to Russia.”

“What about her baby?”

She thought for a moment, then split a smile, “Oh, you mean the Chinese baby? Very cute. She said the baby’s mother died.”

“What happened to the baby after Lewinsky moved out?”

“That I don’t know. But wait . . . one time she mentioned the Sacred Heart Convent. You know the place not too far from the big orphanage? Maybe you could go there and ask the sisters, they might be able to help you.”

But I was not so sure. I’d never known any nuns, but without any husband it seemed they must have only
yin
in their life but no
yang
for balance. I had also heard that they could be very severe if you don’t act just right to them. But I had not much choice, so I got directions to the Sacred Heart Convent.

I thanked the Russian lady, gave her some lucky money, and quickly left.

I wondered, though, why would an “orphaned” baby be taken to a convent instead of an orphanage, especially when one was so close by. Then a disturbing thought flashed across my mind: Would a nun, depressed at her childlessness, take my baby to raise as her own?

 

To visit the nunnery, this time I again dressed like a student with a white shirt, black skirt, but with a new twist—two short, bouncing pigtails. I’d thought to disguise myself as a man but realized it might make it more difficult to deal with the nuns. I wondered if some didn’t secretly fancy a warm, muscular body next to their own, forcing them to conceal their emotions, while resisting the demon inside. Or maybe they genuinely didn’t want men, I had no idea.

Both the orphanage and the nunnery were on Avenue Joffre, but a mile or two apart. They shared the same architectural style, which was grand but ominous. Entering the grounds, I spotted white-attired nuns pacing around the yard. I didn’t know much about their religion except that they believed in an Almighty God who could strike you down by lightning at his whim. I also heard that He is always angry. There’s always good reason to be angry with people, but why God was not used to all the bad things we do, I didn’t know.

Unfortunately, though, I didn’t believe in this Western God, neither did I believe in any of the Chinese ones either, including Buddha, Guan Yin the Goddess of Compassion, the whole plethora of Daoist gods and goddesses, or even Laozi, the old sage, and Confucius, the great teacher.

In my twenty years of life, I’d been taught to believe in one thing and one thing only—my mission, which was to eliminate Master Lung, a task I could not expect any god to help me with. If I had gods, they were cunning, scheming, ruthless. However, now that I had escaped from the black societies, I just wanted to find my son, Jinjin, and his father, Jinying. I’d found Gao by chance, but sadly, lost him again.

An older nun saw me and asked, wrinkling her face with a smile, “Young lady, what can I help you with?”

“Sister, I’m here looking for someone,” I said respectfully, and bowed slightly.

“May I know your name?”

“Jasmine Chen, Sister.”

“And whom may be the person you’re looking for, Miss Chen?”

“Madame Julie Lewinsky, a singing teacher.”

“Hmm . . . I think we know her. Why don’t you come in and follow me to our abbess’s office, she may be able to tell you more. Abbess has books that record of all our visitors. Please come with me.”

I listened to the scraping of her cloth shoes as we turned corners and passed empty rooms. Finally, she stopped in front of an office and knocked softy, head bowed, like a sinner about to make her humble confession.

“Sister Stone, you have a visitor, may I bring her in?”

A voice boomed from behind the door. “Yes, please come in!”

The sister introduced me to the abbess. “This young lady is Miss Jasmine Chen and she’s looking for a Madame Julie Lewinsky.”

She signaled me to sit across from the older nun, then quietly left.

The room was nearly bare. Besides the wooden desk, a few chairs, and a tall metal cabinet, the only decoration was a wooden cross with a little person spreading his arms on it, looking sleepy with his drooped head. I recognized this man and knew that his name was Jesus. I also knew that all the nuns here, and elsewhere, were his collective wives.

The sixtyish, plain-faced nun studied me with suspicion. “Why are you asking for Madame Lewinsky, and what is your relationship with her?”

The intimidating-looking nun had a few wisps of gray hair escaping from underneath her hood like wayward desires.

“I am doing a favor for a friend who was one of Madame Lewinsky’s old students. She had a letter for her, but when she tried to deliver it, she found that Lewinsky had moved out and heard she was here. Unfortunately, my friend had to leave for Hong Kong, so she asked me to visit her teacher for her.”

The abbess got up and went to a metal cabinet. She took a large ring of keys from her habit, picked one, and used it to open a drawer. She came back with a thick book, set on the desk in front of her, then put on a pair of rimless glasses.

She wet her thumb and began to flip the pages. “Yes, Miss Lewinsky visited many times.” Then she raised one thin eye brow. “Hmm . . . in fact, a few months ago, she began to stay in our infirmary.”

My heart began to pound. So Lewinsky was here and I could see her, and possibly my little Jinjin, soon, maybe even in a few minutes! I tried but failed to suppress the corners of my lips from lifting like curtains.

“So, Sister Stone, can I . . . see her now?”

She lowered her head to give me a suspicious look over the rim of her glasses. “Be patient, young lady. Who are you?”

I repeated what I’d already told her. “My friend was her former student and I am going to deliver a letter.”

“What is the letter?”

Damn. I was not prepared for this sort of interrogation and I didn’t actually have any letter.

Seeing that I didn’t respond, she asked, “Then why didn’t your friend just send it?”

“She did, but it was returned, so she asked me to find Madame Lewinsky’s whereabouts and give this letter to her personally.”

“Then why didn’t your friend come to it deliver herself?”

“Because she’s already left Shanghai.”

She tried to penetrate my eyes with her wolflike ones. “But you can’t do that.”

“Excuse me? Can’t do what?”

“See Julie Lewinsky.”

I found myself getting annoyed at this nun with her obtrusive questioning. So I dared her. “But why not?”

“Because she’s already favored by God’s loving call.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Another unreached Chinese. Have you never heard God’s word or read the Bible?”

What I’d heard about God and the Bible wasn’t good. Most of us Chinese didn’t want the foreigners’ God trespassing in our territory.

The abbess went on. “So let me be direct—she’s passed away.”

“What?” My brain froze for a moment. This was the last thing I’d imagined could happen—the one person who for sure knew Jinjin’s fate was dead! After all I had been through, could fate be so cruel?

I blurted out, “You’re sure?”

She looked at me with an authoritative look, as if she represented God. “I am a Christian. We do not use our Lord’s name in vain.”

“Of course not. I’m so sorry, Sister Abbess Stone. I apologize and please forgive my audacity.”

In fact, I didn’t understand what she was gibbering about that Lewinsky was summoned by God’s boundless, privileged love or using the Lord’s name in vain. I didn’t know anything about this Western Lord, only our Chinese Lord Guan. Or General Guan, who didn’t say much, but then would cut people in half if they annoyed him!

The abbess nodded. “I accept your apology. To forgive is the great lesson taught by Christ. If someone slaps you on the right cheek, you should turn your left one to receive the same.”

I wondered, if I slapped her sunken cheek right now, would she turn the other one?

But I ignored the itch on my hand and instead politely asked. “Where is Madame Lewinsky buried?”

“Why would you want to know that?”

“So I can pay respect to her for my friend, and hope she’d have a closure. I can also burn my friend’s letter as an offering to her former teacher so she can read it in heaven.”

“If I tell you, you must promise not to do any such superstitious thing. She is in God’s hands.”

There wasn’t any letter to burn anyway, so I nodded. The abbess scribbled on a piece of paper, then handed it to me.

“Here’s the address of the cemetery. I will offer a prayer for her, you should too.”

“How did it happen, I mean, Madame Lewinsky’s passing?”

“How? She came to us in her final days by the grace of God. According to the file, she came here a few months ago with a baby. She expressed her wish to live with our order as a lay sister to repent for the terrible sin she had committed. What her sin was, only Father Ricci and God know. But since she brought this little fellow along, I knew instantly the sin had to do with the baby. But the infant was Chinese, not Eurasian, and didn’t look like her a bit, so it couldn’t possibly be adultery. What she did is for God to judge, not us mortals, we are but His humble servants.”

Now I could barely restrain myself as I listened to her pious chattering. So Jinjin was really alive! And this not very friendly nun might know where he was. I knew if I seemed overly eager, she would become suspicious and probably clam up.

So I made use of all my training to appear emotionless. “What happened to the baby?”

For the first time I saw something resembling a smile on the face of this childless woman who was married to God. “A very cute, healthy, and handsome boy, I should say. So he was soon adopted.”

I felt my heart almost jump out of my chest. “What, adopted? By whom?”

“An American couple.”

“You know their name and where are they?”

“But why on earth do you want to know, young miss?”

“Hmm . . . nothing, just curious. Just thought I might know them—I know a lot of Americans.”

“This was a private adoption, so we can’t release any information. Young miss, you must learn to curb your overzealous curiosity. Omniscience only rests with God, not us mortals.” She scrutinized me with her elongated eyes. “Miss Chen, just who are you and why are you so curious about Julie Lewinsky and her Chinese baby?”

I blurted out, “Because HE IS MY BABY AND I WANT HIM BACK!”

Her jaw dropped as she stared back at me. “If that is true, you must notify the police immediately.”

Confused and agitated, I jumped up and ran from the room.

 

No one interfered with me when I rushed out of the convent. I then paced for more than an hour to try to calm myself before flagging a rickshaw.