The Nine Fold Heaven (2 page)

2

A Plunging Toddler

W
hen I arrived back at the main road, I heard a commotion. I hurried across the street to where a small group of people stood, looking upward while emitting heated comments in the hot air. Curious, I squeezed my way to the front and looked.

On the second floor of a dilapidated building, a toddler was standing by a wide-open window and looking down on the street, his eyes open as wide as the window where tears rolled down his cheeks.

His mouth opened to emit hysterical screams, “Mama! Mama! Mama! I want my mama! Mama!”

Someone in the crowd lamented. “Ah . . . where’s his mother? So heartless to leave her child like this all by himself!”

A plump woman exclaimed, “Oh, yes, you have no idea how neglectful some mothers are! I heard that one even locked her child in a closet so she could play mahjong with her friends. When she came home, he was swimming in his own foam and vomit!”

Another woman added, “Yes, mothers like this might as well give birth to a piece of roasted pork to eat! At least she’d get some nutrition out of it!”

The small crowd burst into nervous laughter. But no one did anything to help. Anyway, what could they do since no one knew who or where the mother was? Even if someone dashed up to the floor where the toddler lived, no one would come and open the door. Even if the rescuer could break open the apartment door, it might be worse. What about if the toddler would be startled by the sound and jump?

I looked at the little boy and felt pain wringing my heart. What if this toddler were my baby, Jinjin, neglected, scared, and about to jump to his . . . to turn from a handsome baby to bleeding flesh and shattered bones? Just then the baby, crying and feet wobbling, began to totter. . . .

It was as if my little Jinjin were calling “Mama! Mama!” In a moment I had pushed aside the nattering onlookers and was standing under the window. I rooted myself firmly on the ground and reached up. In a split second, I felt a heavy object drop into my grasp, seeming to almost pull my arms from their sockets. Searing pain spread from my shoulders to my chest, and I fainted amidst cries and horrified exclamations....

 

Someone must have called an ambulance because I awoke to find myself in a medicinal-smelling hospital room. A fortyish nurse’s round face hovered over mine.

“Good, you’re finally awake.”

“Where am I?” I looked around. It was a relatively small room with four beds. Two were empty and the one across from me was taken by a wrinkled old woman, asleep and snoring loudly.

“Kwong Wah Hospital in Waterloo Road.”

“How’s the baby?” I asked, while suddenly feeling confused. What baby did I refer to? Was it my son, Jinjin? No, now I remembered. It was the one who’d been crying and tottering on the second floor of an apartment building.

“He’s doing fine, no bones broken, just some minor scratches. A miracle baby.”

“I’m glad to hear that. How lucky!”

“He was amazingly lucky that you happened to be standing there. You’re lucky, too, that your shoulders aren’t dislocated. Then you would have had them in slings for months.”

She leaned closer to my face. “Miss, you are very brave.”

I chuckled inside. So in a mere week I’d turned from an emotionless, murderous spy into a courageous and compassionate baby rescuer.

“Where is the boy now, can I go visit him?” I asked, then immediately regretted it. It would draw unwanted attention to me. I knew the reason I wanted to see the toddler was because I wanted to pour my motherly love to someone, since Jinjin’s life or death still remained a puzzle.

Fortunately, her answer was: “I’m afraid not, his mother already took him home.”

So this baby had a mother and a home to go back to. But my little Jinjin didn’t, and possibly never would.

“So the baby’s not injured?”

“No, you’re both fine. Only some abrasions.”

“Then why am I still here?”

“Dr. Li is your attending, he’s decided to keep you longer in case you have a concussion. He also needs to contact your relatives or friends to come pay and take you home. I’ll tell Dr. Li that you’re awake.”

Before I could stop her, she went on. “Miss, you’re lucky to have Dr. Li. He fended off many of your admirers and reporters for you.”

“What admirers?”

She laughed. “Oh, you don’t know? You’ve become a heroine! The mother wanted to see you and thank you, but we stopped her.”

My heart started to pound. That was exactly what I didn’t want! I had not done a good deed to get myself discovered and killed!

Oblivious to my fear and bitterness, the nurse left the room and returned with a pen and a printed form, then handed them to me.

”So far the hospital has no information about you, not even your name. So you need to fill in this form.”

Damn. Another thing I didn’t want in life. So I quickly said, “Miss nurse, I need to use the restroom real bad now. Can I fill out this form when I’m back?”

“Okay. I’ll come back for it in a few minutes—please fill it out soon.”

Right after she left, I sprang up and changed back to my own clothes, gritting my teeth at the pain in my shoulders. Then I grabbed my purse and slipped out of the room.

Luckily, rickshaws were waiting in front of the hospital, so I climbed into the closest one, endured the bumpy ride to the Star Ferry, and was soon home. I was asleep as soon as I lay on my bed. Later, when I woke up, still very stiff, I went out to get food and the evening newspapers.

Back in the temporary safety of my dusty but anonymous apartment in the crowded Wanchai district, I flipped the pages of the
Singtao Daily News
until my eyes landed on a headline in the local section:

I almost chuckled at the last two words. I might have a heart, but it’d been anything but loving. Then I sighed. When I’d been the Heavenly Songbird Camilla in Shanghai, publicity was all I sought. But now I had to avoid it like a mouse a cat, or a pickpocket the police.

 

 

Just then I woke up, wetting my pillows with tears flowing like the Huangpu River.

I wanted my real Jinjin in my arms—not merely in a dream.

I had to go back to Shanghai to find him. Even if I’d get killed trying, so be it.

But making unexpected, risky moves in a seemingly hopeless situation was part of my training as a spy. Besides looking for my baby, I also needed to find out what was left of the two rival gangs after the shoot-out. Was the Flying Dragons’ Master Lung really dead at last—or just nursing his wound somewhere, awaiting his comeback? Had my boss, the Red Demons’ Big Brother Wang, finally been able to take over Lung’s place to be Shanghai’s number one gangster head?

 

The next few days, I shopped, packed, and booked a steamship ticket for Shanghai. Then, because I had no choice, I went to a hairdresser and had my waist-length hair cut off, replaced with a bob and thick bangs. I consoled myself thinking it made me look playful and even younger than my twenty years. I needed to look as different as possible from my days singing at Shanghai’s Bright Moon Nightclub, when I wore my hair permed to be as wavy as the ripples on the Huangpu River and swept to one side. Since arriving in Hong Kong, I had stopped putting on makeup and dressed mostly in a white blouse and dark skirt so I could pass as a university student, or a salesgirl.

I was scared to be going back to Shanghai, but also energized to be back in action at last. After all, I’d been raised to be a spy, not to mope around doing nothing.

PART TWO

3

Home to Heartbreak

W
ith light luggage, a heavy heart, but at least a thick purse, I dragged myself aboard the ship for the short trip back to Shanghai. In my modest stateroom, I unpacked my few belongings. Soon the ship was under way and I went up on deck to watch people. Some looked like harried businessmen, others, excited tourists, and yet others, happy families going home. But sadly, I felt none of their cheerfulness. I turned to look at the infinity of the turquoise sea, and into my mind popped the words of the Tang dynasty poet Wei Zhuang’s “Jiangnan, South of the River”:

I had no idea why Wei thought that homecoming—to Shanghai, which is south of the river—was heartbreaking. And why it’d become bearable only after you gathered snow on your sideburns. Is it because only when we are old can we let go of painful memories?

Finally, the next evening, with much shouting of the crew, the ship bumped against the same pier that I’d left in a hurry three months ago. With more shouting the ship was made fast and the gangplank was lowered with a crash. To take no chances of being recognized, I had disguised myself as a man. This way, I felt a little less anxious because I could not imagine anyone would recognize me as Shanghai’s most famous songstress. Just in case, I’d made up a man’s name—Shen Wei—and would pose as a university student returning home from overseas. I’d also made up a woman’s name—Jasmine Chen—for when I didn’t need to dress like a man.

But I had no illusion that even with my new hairstyle, new name, and new gender, I was out of danger. I might not look like Camilla now, but I did not want to be looked at anyway. So as soon as I was off the ship, I hired a car to drive me to a slightly shabby hotel on Rue Lafayette in the French Concession. I hoped this busy street inside a foreign territory could give me some protection.

After settled inside the hotel room, I washed, unpacked, and then took out a pen and paper to write down my plans. My first step would be simply to explore my surroundings and gather information. I needed to read the local newspapers to see what news there was about Master Lung, Big Brother Wang, Jinying, Gao—and myself. Then I’d quietly walk by the apartments of those I needed to visit—Jinying and Madame Lewinsky—to be sure they were not being watched by gang members. It was my singing teacher Lewinsky who’d helped me when I gave birth to Jinjin—and her who had told me he was stillborn. Too, I wanted to revisit the Bright Moon Nightclub where I performed.

 

The next day when I woke up, it was already three o’clock in the afternoon. I hadn’t realized I was that exhausted. Dressing in my man’s outfit, I slipped out, bought two evening newspapers, and read them while I had an early supper in a noodle stall. I worked my way through the newspapers carefully but was surprised to find no news about me or the gang war that I’d set off.

With the newspapers under my arm, I set out for a walk in the crisp Shanghai air, hoping to clear my mind. I was still hungry, so I stopped at a street vendor selling fresh-out-of-the-boiling-wok doughnuts. The snack looked fresh and golden. Just what I needed: a fresh start and an golden opportunity! After I paid, the vendor wrapped the doughnut in an old newspaper, then handed it to me. Soon I was savoring golden hotness, both in my hand and my mouth. Then, when I had finished and was about to throw away the paper, I saw the word
Camilla
—my name.

Heart beating fast, I unfolded the paper and read the headline:

Damn. The rest of the article was cut off, just at this crucial place. I looked at the dateline: It was more than two months ago, three weeks after my escape. But no more news. It seemed I would have no choice but to see if Jinying was holed up in his apartment.

It was good that Police Chief Li thought I was still hiding in Hong Kong when I was actually back in Shanghai. As in the saying, “The most dangerous-seeming place may actually be the safest.” But not always. To go to Jinying’s place would really be dangerous, but I knew I would go there anyway. But I waited until midnight before I took a tricycle rickshaw to my lover’s flat.

My first worry was the police would still be watching, even though it was unlikely after three months. So I kept my disguise as a man, wearing a suit, glasses, a hat to cover up my hair, even a mustache. I was well aware that the chance Jinying would be staying in the same place after all that had happened was close to zero, but I had to see for myself—and even if he was long gone, I might find a clue as to his whereabouts.

I sighed with relief that there were no police, nor any pedestrians near Jinying’s place. Looking at the building, bittersweet memories rose up in my chest. This was where Jinying and I had first consummated our forbidden love, despite my being his father’s mistress—with little lost Jinjin the result.

Blinking back tears, I took my time walking up the stairs, savoring my memories. Arriving at his floor, I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, and knocked, preparing for anything and everything. I could feel the beatings of my heart like that of a lost deer bumping around in the dark. But what if he was there? How would he react to me as a man? I had no chance to find out, for despite more and more knockings not a sound came from inside the apartment.

Finally, I decided to make use of my spy training. I took out my Open-One-Hundred-Doors key, the same one I’d used to open Shadow’s apartment to steal her magic secrets. This key proved itself so worthy that with just one twist, Jinying’s apartment opened like the sore legs of a desperate prostitute. I pushed the door open just a crack so as to see what was inside, in case someone else was now living here. After making sure that his sofa, redwood dining table, landscape paintings, bookcases, and the upright piano with its decorative objects were in their familiar places, I went inside.

“Hello, anybody here?”

Not even a ghostly response.

“Jinying, are you there?”

The ghosts, if there were any, remained stubbornly silent. I looked at the bedroom, the restroom, and kitchen; there was no Jinying, not even his pleasant body scent. Disappointed, I sat down on the sofa to think. It was late, why wasn’t he home? Suddenly a chill rose in my heart—perhaps he had forgotten me already and was now in a nightclub admiring another pretty singer. After some disheartening thoughts, I started to search his apartment for clues of his whereabouts.

I started with his drawers, then methodically went through his writing desk, cabinets, and closets. But there were only piles of bills, receipts, old magazines, and newspaper clippings, mostly about me. Then my wandering eyes landed on his upright piano and I dashed over to open its lid. Yes, a notebook, almost new, was staring at me like an orphan baby begging to be picked up. I snatched it out and opened it to discover that it was a diary filled with Jinying’s irregular, agonized handwriting. There were also some drawings of a naked woman who actually looked like me with phoenix eyes, a watermelon-seed face, and long, curly hair swept to the side. And the woman was pregnant! More surprises came when I saw what was written underneath two of the drawings of the woman’s bulging belly. The first one read:

The second read:

The next few pages had been torn out, leaving me wondering what more Jinying had written about me and our baby: stillborn, according to my singing teacher Madame Lewinsky, but alive somewhere according to my dream.

So I flipped back to the beginning of the diary and started to read.

On the next page was a cutout newspaper photo of me, but the rest of the page was missing, like some of the others. I set the diary down on the coffee table, feeling anxious but also touched by Jinying’s drawings of a pregnant me with all the nutritious herbs for our baby, and his loving note to little Jinjin.

Then I rubbed my temples and thought. I had just risked my life coming back to Shanghai to find Jinying—and now he was in Hong Kong looking for me? Heaven really enjoys playing games with us mortals!

Would we ever meet again? I thought of the Chinese saying, “Five hundred incarnations of looking at each other just to rub shoulders in this Dusty World.” But we didn’t just rub our shoulders, we had a son together! So we must have turned to look at each other much more than five hundred times in our past lives to be awarded a son in this one. I hoped Jinying and I would be reunited and have a chance for happiness. But I also knew this would be determined not by what I wished, but by the mysterious working of karma.

And I was all too aware that my karma was bad, very bad.

I remembered the pessimistic Chinese saying, “Husband and wife are like birds in a forest, when disaster strikes, they will fly their separate ways.”

But Jinying, instead of ignoring me and going his own way, traveled to Hong Kong to look for me. But how could he possibly expect to be able to find me there? Of course anyone could post a flyer or buy a newspaper ad for
Xunren,
“Finding a Missing Person.” But I didn’t think he’d be so naive as to give away my name so my enemies could find out where I was.

Worse, I’d already changed my name from Camilla to Jasmine Chen and Shen Wei when disguised as a man. Therefore, Young Master, your effort would prove to be futile one more time! So maybe we were not destined to be together after all, and I should accept that our brief encounter was like a failed magic show. Just like my former rival and partner Shadow, who was about to disappear from a water tank, but instead nearly drowned in it!

Feeling an unbearable sadness, I went to his piano and sat down, but afraid of alerting the neighbors, I did not touch the keys but began to hum very softly.