Memoirs of a Courtesan

‘This is my study time. Do you have a good reason for interrupting me?’

As I told him about Shadow, he closed the book. I saw that it was the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, the story of endless battles among feudal lords during the most chaotic time in Chinese history.

‘So, do you think this Shadow will be an obstacle?’ he asked.

‘She will be if Lung stops coming to my show and goes to hers instead.’

‘You think that will happen?’

‘It must not happen, Big Brother Wang.’

‘You can prevent it?’

‘Yes, but I need to get to know her first.’

‘You think she’s working for someone else?’ he asked.

‘You mean as a spy for another warlord?’

‘Yes. But I can’t see who at this point.’ He knit his brows in thought. ‘I can make her disappear.’

Fearing he would give this order right away, I said urgently, ‘Big Brother Wang, if I may give my opinion …’

‘I’m listening.’

‘She is a woman and hasn’t made any trouble for us, so if you—’

Wang cut me off. ‘All right, I understand. You’ve got a point there. I have to protect my gang’s reputation.’

Even a gangster had his reputation and honour to protect! But the real reason I didn’t want Shadow killed was not because I had any sympathy for her, but because of my own excruciating curiosity. I wanted to find out just how clever and scheming she was in comparison to me. Besides, I was dying to put more of my secret training and abilities to use.

So I said, ‘Big Brother Wang, I will handle her.’

‘Good.’ Wang spoke in his gravelly voice. ‘We spent a lot of time and money training you. So don’t disappoint. You understand? You must not let Lung fall for this girl. Report to me soon.’

Though my boss for the past four years, Wang remained an enigma to me. He talked only about what was necessary for business. I knew only what he did, not why he did it or how he felt when doing it – if he felt anything at all. If I tried to probe, my questions, like bullets hitting a metal wall, just bounced right back.

I thanked him, bowed, then started to walk to the door.

Wang spoke to my back, the temperature of his voice dropping. ‘Camilla, do not come here again. You may telephone me when absolutely necessary. You got it?’

I understood. Since Master Lung was getting serious about me, his men might be watching me closely. Though a little disappointed not to be able to visit this gangster with literary tastes, I was pretty sure he did not want to stop seeing me, either, for he often looked at me like a cat does a fish. However, I was just a woman, and what he wanted was something much bigger – to topple the invincible Lung and replace him as Shanghai’s number one boss. To achieve this, my boss was more than willing to send me into the tiger’s mouth.

Of course, Big Brother Wang might have more personal plans for what to do with me after I’d eliminated Lung. But by then I’d be a different woman, not the innocent little girl he’d rescued from the orphanage. I would be the poisonous skeleton woman, the ultimate nemesis.

After I left Wang’s place, I decided to go to my singing teacher, Madame Lewinsky, whose apartment was situated in a quiet spot inside the French Concession. I needed to relax after my meeting with the gangster. Wang’s presence seemed to deplete the very air around him. Since I had no friends or relatives, Lewinsky was the only person I could go to. Moreover, she’d always pamper me with her delicious home-cooked soup and gooey, oven-baked cookies dipped in warm milk. Best, unlike my boss, she never scolded, only praised me.

When my teacher opened the door, a big smile bloomed on her heavily made-up face. Her distinctive perfume snaked its way into my nostrils, soothing my nerves.

‘My darling Camilla, what a surprise! Come on in. I’ve been practising on my own.’ Her big-boned figure was encased in a flowered dress topped with a black-tasselled shawl.

The neat, cosy apartment smelled of delicious food. Of all the houses and apartments I’d visited, I liked Lewinsky’s the best. The sun filtering through the lace curtains boosted my energy and lifted my mood. I imagined that the velvety chocolate sofa was having a pleasant conversation with its matching floral pillows. Plants crawled leisurely down from the tall bookcases stuffed with books and music scores. Atop her grand piano were arrayed miniature busts of famous composers and knick-knacks she’d collected over the years, all seeming to have interesting stories to tell. A vase was filled with fresh cut flowers. Were they from an admirer? I wondered.

Entering her apartment was like entering another world, softer and more human. Perhaps like being back in my mother’s womb – if I had known who my mother was.

I sat on the sofa, my teacher studying me closely.

Then she told me, ‘You look too thin, Camilla. Let me get you something to eat and drink.’

Madame Lewinsky then disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with two steaming bowls atop a lacquered tray. Setting the tray down, she seated herself in a rocking chair across from me. ‘This is authentic Russian soup from my mother’s recipe. Very nutritious.’

After I commended the recipe with smacking lips and abandoned slurping, she asked, ‘Why this surprise visit? Are you okay, Camilla? You look worried.’

Damn. I was not supposed to let people see my emotions. ‘Everything’s fine, Madame Lewinsky. I’m just having some difficulty singing Carmen right.’ I hoped my lie sounded convincing.

Lewinsky took another big helping of her soup, then said, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just be patient, and you’ll get there, talented as you are.’

My main repertory was Chinese and Western pop songs, for these were what the nightclub-goers liked. However, once in a while I’d also sing an opera aria or art song in Italian or French to entertain the foreigners and impress the Chinese.

My teacher cast me an affectionate look. ‘Let’s finish our soup; then we’ll go through Carmen’s “Habanera” – how’s that?’

So after I helped her put away the dishes, we walked to the piano. She sat down, her thick, round-tipped fingers immediately plunging into the keyboard. I closed my eyes to savour her powerful voice as it massaged my ears.

Love is a gypsy’s child,

It has never, ever, recognised the law.

If I love you, you’d best beware!

The bird you hope to catch

Will beat its wings and fly away …

Love stays away, making you wait and wait.

Then, when least expected, there it is!

I might have burst out clapping and exclaiming how beautiful her singing was, but I never forgot my training to conceal any emotion.

Madame Lewinsky spoke. ‘Camilla, don’t you find this music wonderful?’

I nodded, feeling a little confused.

Silence.

She smiled mischievously, her crimson-painted lips like two leaves curling in the spring breeze. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you, but I want to know: are you in love?’

‘No.’ I always kept my answers short and simple. I feared if we engaged in a long conversation, I might tell this motherly woman more about myself than was safe.