Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

But no matter how hard the couple worked, their financial situation grew ever more dire. So the lovers who could never live without each other began to quarrel. As time went by and the exchanges of words became nastier, hate began to seep in. And now the man bitterly regretted that he hadn’t listened to his parents in the first place. And his wife began to ask herself, why did I waste my beauty and my life on this man, instead of staying with a rich patron?

I sighed inside. For I feared to think that Jinying’s love for me would be the same as these men’s. And that, if fate brought us back together, as the years passed, we’d forget the love we once cherished and end up hating each other.

I tried to suppress these unpleasant thoughts and continued to walk. Soon I entered the busy part of the street where crowds milled around shops and stalls. I felt some relief becoming one of the crowd—like a drop of water in the sea.

Happy for the distraction, I enjoyed the sights: street vendors selling cigarettes, chestnuts, bowls of steaming red bean soup, towels, blouses, underwear, mahjong sets, and anything else one imagine one needed. For the better off there were restaurants, Cantonese opera theaters, gold stores, and many others.

At the red bean soup stall, a young mother was feeding her child by first sloshing the hot liquid in her own mouth, then spewing it between her toddler’s lips. This way the hot soup cooled more quickly, I assumed.

At one stall a child about ten stood by herself, selling something sticky, gooey, but strangely appealing.

I walked up to her and asked, “Little friend, what is this?”

“ Lomaichi with black sesame filling, very sweet and tasty, have one,” she said, already thrusting one patty into my hand.

I paid, took a bite, and immediately felt the sesame oozing into my mouth and warming my palate. It was as sweet and tasty as the little girl had promised.

She looked so vulnerable here by herself that I was tempted to ask, “What if gangsters come here to demand protection money?” but decided to swallow my words.

In between chewing and swallowing, I asked instead, “Where are your parents?”

“They are selling other things over there.” She pointed with her dirty little hand. But there were so many pedestrians and sellers that I couldn’t possibly tell whom she meant.

“Good luck, little friend,” I said, then swallowed the whole lomaichi. But this time the glob of sesame burned my mouth. As if a foretaste of the hell that awaited me because of my bad deeds.

I resumed walking and soon passed by a grand restaurant with a huge signboard surrounded by flowers and blinking lightbulbs:

Though I could not see the happy couple, I envied them. Would I ever find my own happy nuptials and hundred years of harmonious union? My life so far had been a matter of kill or be killed. I had not allowed myself to think so far into the future, since my concern was usually surviving the next few days. Happiness seemed as out of reach as the dead rabbit dangling in front of a race dog.

Into the gaily decorated restaurant flocked a procession of guests, men in Western suits or Chinese silk gowns, women in the latest Paris frocks or fancy embroidered cheongsams . Their happy laughter and congratulatory sayings only intensified my loneliness.

I kept walking until I found myself in front of a huge tent with a signboard proclaiming:

The words “fantastic magic show” sparked my interest because of my magician friend Shadow, who’d disappeared during our last show the “Great Escape.” I went up to the reception area and bought a ticket from the young sales girl.

Seeing there was no other people around, I asked, “Young sister, can you tell me something about this circus?”

“Oh, I don’t work for the circus, but the landlord. Anyway, the circus is only here until my boss is ready to turn this place into a theater. You know, the animals are very expensive to train and feed, so he thinks a theater will be better.”

“Who are the magicians?”

“Miss, you bought your ticket, so go in and find out for yourself. It’s already started.”

Shrugging, I walked into the tent. Immediately music struck my ears, lively but with an undertone of melancholy. I was suddenly overcome with a dreamy, nostalgic feeling, whether happy or sad, I was not quite sure. It made me feel that I might be close to finding happiness, but fearful that it would elude me still. Then I realized that the music reminded me of the day Jinying took me to Big World Amusement Park in Shanghai where the same kind of dreamy music smeared the air like thick paint.

I looked around. Only half of the seats were occupied, so I could see why the landlord was unhappy with his revenue. But the audience looked happy chatting, snacking, laughing, or focused on reading their programs. Children in colorful clothes either ran around or ogled the clowns performing tricks inside the big ring. I had paid for a good seat in the third row. Once I sat down, I hailed a hawker and bought a bag of peanuts fried with fish flakes, another bag of sugared plums, and a lidded mug of tea.

I stuffed a few coins into the boy’s pants pocket, and he rewarded me with a smile that seemed to spill outside his face. “Thank you, miss, and enjoy the show!”

Because of my spy’s training, I always looked around to see if anyone was paying me an unusual amount of attention—even here in Hong Kong. But everyone around me in the tent looked quite ordinary—a few middle-aged couples, a group of giggling teenage girls, and young couples with excited children.

Inside the roped area in front, clowns with big red noses, colorful shirts, and loose pants danced clumsily. Some juggled small bars, others balanced on big balls or rode monocycles forward and backward, like a horizontal seesaw. Although I found them more tedious than entertaining, the children paid rapt attention. And when the children laughed, their parents laughed with them.

Then the clowns ran, or rode, offstage, and the animals made their entrance. Around the ring, elephants padded majestically, tigers jumped through flaming hoops, girls balanced on trotting horses. Entertaining but not particularly interesting to me.

Finally, when both the animals finished their acts, it was time for the magic show—what I’d bought the ticket to see. The orchestra changed to a new tune, no doubt meant to seem mysterious, as a woman magician and her two male assistants walked briskly to the center of the ring. A round of applause burst from the audience. Suddenly, it crossed my mind that she might be Shadow. So I craned my neck and squinted my eyes, but unfortunately I couldn’t tell. Like Shadow, this woman was tall, but her hair was black instead of dark brown, and she seemed to have thinner legs and a narrower waist than my friend.

Her magic was not particularly impressive either. It was usual stuff—making purses disappear and reappear, changing a pigeon into a rabbit, disappearing from the stage, then reappearing among the audience. Nothing grand like Shadow’s making a castle disappear or jumping off a tall building in the nude and disappearing.

I felt both relieved and disappointed that the magician was not Shadow. Relieved because she might be angry about my cutting off part of her finger, disappointed because she was the rival I tested myself against.

The magician and her assistants ran from the ring, which was empty for a few moments as the orchestra changed to an even more rousing tune. It was time for the finale, the most dangerous, heart-stopping kongzhong feiren, “high trapeze.” Three figures appeared, two women and a man, high up on a wooden platform.