Mingmei Yip - Memoirs of a Courtesan

‘Shadow, I’m not as much in control as you think.’

‘I doubt that.’

After a pause she blurted out, ‘Camilla, do beauty and talent give you the happiness you’re looking for?’

Again, what a question. She must know that a pretty young girl like me would not really be in love with the old, puny, monkey-faced Lung.

But she’d never learn the truth from me. I threw her question back. ‘Shadow, how about you? Does your beauty and talent give you happiness – or trouble?’

We both laughed.

She raised her glass to tap my cup.

‘Let’s just hope that fate has a worthy purpose in granting us our beauty.’

I had my agenda, but what was hers?

As we resumed sipping our drinks and munching the delicacies, she asked, ‘Camilla, what made you want to be a singer?’

Of course my training had well prepared me to cover up such matters. I never told anything but lies about myself. The Art of War says, ‘To guard yourself, hide your secrets below nine layers of earth.’ In other words, others should know as little about you as possible.

‘It was my mother’s dream to be a singer; that’s why she sent me to take singing lessons.’

‘And your father?’

‘Oh, he died when I was a baby. My mother never talked about him. I guess it was too painful.’

‘Are you living with your mother?’

‘No, she’s in an asylum.’

‘Oh, how terrible! What happened?’

‘She became insane and can’t take care of herself. She’s much better now, being cared for by professionals. That’s why I have to work hard, to pay for her care.’

I had just made up another elaborate lie. I’d better remember to whom I told which story about my nonexistent parents – in case it mattered.

‘I’m so sorry. It must be very difficult for you.’

I changed the subject. ‘So, will you come to hear me sing at Bright Moon?’

‘Of course. I’ve been wanting that for a long time. I just didn’t have the connections to get in.’

‘Don’t worry. Just come tomorrow at eight, and I’ll tell the manager to let you in.’

The meeting with Shadow wore me out. So the following morning I arrived early at the winged-goddess statue by the Huangpu River. As usual, I went behind the gigantic column so I’d be left alone to practise. The sun had already risen over the wide river that seemed blissfully oblivious of the troubles and miseries of the human world. Staring at the peacefully rippling water always calmed me. What I loved most was that, though I would whisper my secrets to the river, it would never betray me by spreading them.

After I finished my vocal gymnastics, I turned around to watch the bustling boulevard. Vendors screamed their breakfast offerings: Wholesome soy milk! Tasty green bean soup! Sizzling scallion pancakes! Crispy fried dough! Extra juicy pork buns! Competing to be heard, street urchins shouted at full throttle: Leisure News! Heaven Daily! Flower Moon News! Pleasure Talk News! Idleness News! Amid the din, fast-walking businessmen with serious expressions lugged bulging briefcases, maids followed housewives carrying their shopping bags, children in uniforms headed towards school, coolies staggered under heavy boxes as they headed towards the piers …

The collective qi, or energy, of this city always fascinated me. Though pulling in every direction, the resulting cacophony created a strange harmony, chaotic yet orderly. As I watched the people and their intersecting lives in this dusty world, a song I’d written escaped from my lips:

Everyone has parents, but I don’t.

Where are you hiding, dear Mama and Baba?

When, if ever, will we meet?

Would we recognise each other,

Or merely rub shoulders as we pass?

Unexpectedly, a deep and mellow male voice rose beside me, singing the famous song ‘Looking for You.’

You are the floating cloud in the clear sky,

The fleeting star at midnight.

My heart is caught in a pool of passion.

How can I hold myself back,

Hold myself back from looking for you …

His voice sounded as if it could lure a lark down from a tall tree. When he finished, I could almost see the sad notes lingering above the rushing river, reluctant to end their melodious incarnation on earth. I felt strangely drawn by the singer’s unseen presence behind me. When I turned, I found myself under the scrutiny of Master Lung’s son.

‘Hello, Young Master Lung.’ I quickly pulled myself up from the well of my dangerous sentimentality. ‘I never imagined … what a beautiful voice you have.’

Did he blush, or did I imagine it?

‘Good morning, Camilla … May I call you Camilla?’

‘Of course, Young Master.’

‘Camilla, my name is Jinying.’

I smiled, glancing at the crowds along the Bund. ‘What are you doing here so early in the morning?’

‘Listening to your singing.’

We looked at each other in silence for a moment before he spoke again. ‘Camilla, when I was watching, I saw the sun’s rays splashing all over you. I really thought I’d seen a goddess. Or an angel.’

If only he knew. If I was an angel at all, it would be to his father – as the angel of death.

He went on. ‘When I saw you, I could only think of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. ’

So he was already visualising me naked, my private parts covered only by long, flowing hair!

‘And your voice, heavenly and golden like the sun …’

I was not going to let him change the air by the river from foggy to romantic, so I responded matter-of-factly, changing the subject. ‘Young Master, how did you know I was here?’

‘I like to come here and watch the river. Last week I saw you practise. You were so absorbed that I was afraid to interrupt you.’

‘You don’t have to work?’

‘I just got my law degree and wanted to stay in America. But my father sent me a telegram saying that he was not feeling well and needed me to come home. So he lied to get me back here. At first I was furious at him, but now I’m happy.’

‘Happy, why?’

He blushed. ‘Anyway, it is the will of heaven …’

Yes, it is also the will of heaven that your father will soon die through my efforts.

Oblivious of my secret thoughts, he spoke again. ‘But I don’t want to be a lawyer. I only want to sing and play the piano. Camilla, I’m so glad that we share the same passion.’

I didn’t respond. So he went on. ‘May I take you for a morning coffee or tea?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

He made no effort to hide his disappointment. ‘You have something else to do this early in the morning?’

‘Not really, but I just met you. Besides, I don’t go out to cafes with men … Someone will see us and set off gossip.’

He protested. ‘You’re friends with my father, so it’s not like I am a stranger.’

‘Young Master, I am a very busy woman. I wish I had the luxury for chit-chat or wind-and-moon talk over a cup of bitter Western coffee or sweet Chinese tea. Besides, gossip is the last thing I need in my life.’

‘But—’

‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, then took something from his pocket. ‘Can you at least sign this for me?’

It was the fan I’d thrown into the audience the other night. ‘It was you who caught this? And you kept it?’

‘Of course! How could I have thrown it away?’

I quickly signed the fan and turned away.

As I walked, I felt his eyes drilling small holes through the morning fog into my back.

The young master incident threw me off balance, and it was not until much later that I regained my composure. He wanted friendship, something I could not allow myself to have.

Or maybe more?