David Rotenberg - The Shanghai Murders

“Stand up.”

As she did, he took a step back and looked at her in the mirror. Even without her makeup completed, she was exquisite. He quickly applied the covering base makeup to his own face and then put on the costume of the serving man. When he was finished he stood beside her and looked into the mirror.

The two of them stared at the couple in front of them.

Slowly she reached up and touched one of the feathers on the headdress.

“Draw it down slowly and bend it into your mouth,” he said.

She did as he said, drawing the feather down and placing part of it between her lips. A buzz of pleasure shot through him.

“Who am I?”

“You’re you.”

“No, I mean who am I dressed as?’’

Fong was about to say ”You are dressed as you“ but stopped himself.

”A beautiful princess from the coast who was promised in marriage to a prince of the west.“

”And you?“

”The serving man entrusted with taking you across three thousand miles of China. Across snow-covered mountains, swift wide rivers, and vast deserts to bring you to your new husband.“ ”And do you?“

”I do.“

”And do we fall in love on the journey?“

After a silence in which both of them heard each other’s shallow intake of air, ”Yes.”

“Do we consummate our love?”

“In our own way, yes. In the three-year journey we only touch once. When I break my leg crossing a river. You insist that I ride the horse. You help me onto the horse’s back. Our hands touch for an instant.”

“Our consummation.”

“Yes.”

“And what happens when we finally get to the court of the west?”

“Your new husband is there. He is indifferent to you. You are only a pawn in a game of politics. But he takes you in. He completes his part of the game.”

“And what happens to you?”

“I turn around and walk three thousand miles back to the sea.”

She touched his hand. It felt dry like rice paper.

“Did your wife play this role?”

“In a way, yes.”

He began to complete her makeup. “She’s dead?” He nodded yes and continued with her makeup, being as careful as he could to avoid the wound on her cheek. She put a hand into his free hand. For a moment he didn’t respond to it. Then he returned the touch. Jolts of feeling leapt between them, their touch a full consummation.

Li Xiao was in the middle of grilling the cabbies who had driven Fong when the call came through. Li Xiao called for a map. Wang Jun said, “Fuck that, follow me.” The parade of cops spun about and headed back toward the theatre.

Withdrawing her hand from his, Amanda looked up at this strange man from this distant country. She could feel a third person in the room with them. “What was her name, your wife?”

“Fu Tsong.” He pronounced the name simply but to her ear with immense delicacy and sadness.

“How long ago did she die?”

“Years, days, minutes. Sometimes she’s not dead at all,” he said in a flat, faraway voice. Tears were in his eyes.

“Tell me.”

And he did. How they met. How he loved her. How his careless words led to her death. How he found her on an abortionist’s table. How he was never sure whether she loved him. Each phrase hit the centre of the still pond between them, sending perfect circles out in all directions.

After he stopped speaking she allowed a lengthy silence. Finally she asked, “Why did you take me here?”

“To hide you.”

“I already told you that you’re a bad liar. Why am I here? ”

“To produce a memory.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

“Why?”

“This is China. There is no way to escape here. I will be caught shortly and I will be sent to prison for a very long time. I need a memory for the nights when the darkness gets too great for me to bear. I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.”

“Don’t be. What’ll they do to me?”

“They’ll try to frighten you. Probably deport you. They don’t care about you. They do care about upsetting your government so nothing serious will happen to you. Just be brave and you will be home in a week.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of that? Absolutely.”

“And of other things?”

She saw his mind return to Fu Tsong. She knew that he was fading from her.

She reached for him. The clouds parted and he was with her again.

“Don’t go away like that.”

“I loved her very much and hurt her very badly.”

What was Amanda to say to that? The truth of what he said was etched clearly on his face. So clearly that makeup couldn’t hide it. In fact, as was the beauty of Peking opera makeup, his emotions were conveyed with startling clarity.

She reached for his hand again. This time when they touched, they just touched hands.

Bones and skin and sinew failed to transcend this world’s realities.

Onstage Su Shing was working with several actors and actresses. All the women were dressed and made up as the princess in Journey to the West and all the men as the serving man. The musicians played a section of the opera as Su Shing illustrated a moment in the journey in which the princess, in fear, pulls down her left feather with her left hand while shooting her right leg straight forward. Su Shing then hit a high note and contracted into an exquisite pose. As she did, the cymbals sounded and, as if on cue, the police entered from the back of the theatre. Wang Jun was in the lead with Li Xiao and Commissioner Hu right behind. At the same time several burly northern cops came from backstage. One stepped forward and called to the back of the theatre, “There’s no one left backstage on this side, we’re checking the other side.” He made no reference to the stagedoor man. Fong stood at the back of the group of actors dressed as the serving man. As half the cops moved across the stage he scanned the wings. He knew what had happened to the stage-door man. He didn’t know exactly how he knew but he knew in his bones that Loa Wei Fen was in the theatre too. That he had followed them somehow and killed the doorman to get in undetected.

Su Shing stepped forward, berating the policemen. “This is a rehearsal, not a police station. There is a performance of these apprentice actors in less than half an hour and they are going through their final preparations.”

His Hu-ness yelled back, “There will be no performance today. We are the representatives of the people.The people own this theatre, not you. You work for them. So work. Act and we the people’s representatives will watch.”

Amanda slipped out of her platform shoes. She was now the same height as the rest of the actresses in theirs. Su Shing screeched a command to the musicians. The music began and two of the actors moved forward. They enacted a section of the play where the serving man guides his charge across a raging river. Li Xiao and his Hu-ness were moving toward the stage.

As they got close to the group of women, Fong spotted Loa Wei Fen high in the flies over the stage. A reptile on the hunt.

Li Xiao was looking closely at the women. Amanda didn’t know it, but the wound on her face was bleeding through her makeup.

Fong caught Amanda’s eye. He canted his head slightly to the left. She looked and saw that the left side of the stage was not covered by the police, all of whom seemed intent upon examining the women. Amanda smiled slightly; as she did, she raised her arm slightly toward Fong.

Fong almost swooned. Something rose up inside him. A terror. A memory. The simple arm gesture from Amanda moved something deep inside him, as if his body organs had shifted as he stood.

Amanda repeated the gesture and said silently, without moving her lips, “Goodbye, Fong, and thank you.” Then she looked at the young detective who was near her. She slipped her platform shoes back on, making herself a full foot taller than he. She took a deep breath and then shouted in English, “Back off, pipsqueak.”