The months since I had posed for Sassoon had been an endless slog of torment and tears. When Peiyu wisely notified my relatives that my wedding was suspended due to the mail delivery problem, I could hardly feel any relief. Each day I thought of Ernest and longed to see him and explain; each evening I was tempted to take a detour to the hotel. Yet his furious piano playing burst in my head. He wouldn’t forgive me; he would lash out at me, like Cheng, like any Chinese man who owned a woman’s body. It was over between us. I didn’t sleep well or eat well. I cried myself to sleep.
At the club, I covered myself up with long tunics and a coat and did my best to run the business, which had declined since Yamazaki’s visit. I had put out some promotions, which had attracted desperado customers looking for cheap entertainment, but many chose to stay away. I withheld the news of the partnership with Sassoon from the public, waiting for his payment. But his bank account was under Japanese inspection, I heard, which meant it was frozen. I had a terrible premonition that my plan had gone awry.
Then I got a phone call from Emily, who told me to meet her at the wharf.
“I want to say goodbye before I leave,” she said, a leather suitcase near her feet. Around us, throngs of porters, their backs bent low with suitcases, yelped and teetered, and passengers in black coats rushed to the gangplank of a two-story steamer to Hong Kong.
The sky was gray, and so were the clouds. Even the steamer, belching with noises, was masked in gray. But the water was bright muddy yellow, on top of which floated wreaths of black trash and sodden paper lanterns poor families tossed in to guide the souls of their deceased family members.
My eyes moistened. I had so much to tell her: my photos, my torment—I hadn’t seen Ernest for months, and I felt I was dying. I wanted to ask for her advice about what I should do with Ernest. She was the only person who would understand me, the only friend I could have. “Why leave, Emily?”
“You gave me the physician’s address.” But I never meant she should leave Shanghai. “It’s time for me to go.” She looked different, wearing a white silk blouse with ruffles at the collar, a deep-red wool jacket, and wide-legged black trousers. On her head was a stylish red velvet bicorn hat with a bow. She was not sniffling, her lethargic gaze replaced by the discerning calm I loved to see. “The treatments were horrible. I still curse you.”
“Does Sinmay know you’re leaving?”
She pulled the hat lower. “No.”
Love was a conundrum. Emily loved Sinmay, yet she decided to leave him; I wanted to see Ernest, yet I had to stay away.
Tears were threatening, so I gave Emily a red-cloth pouch from my purse; inside was a jade leaf, custom made by the best jeweler in Shanghai, a symbol of me, a jade leaf grown on a gold branch.
“Is that your name on the leaf? How precious. I shall cherish this. You know, I have one regret. I wish I had written an article about you, the first woman entrepreneur in China. You’ve done extraordinary things, hiring women and foreigners. Are you still in love with the pianist?”
Still? As if love were a glass of wine that you should empty easily.
“I don’t remember what I told you, Aiyi. I hope I didn’t tell you anything disastrous. You know this better than me: You two won’t work. You’ll end up alone. Like me. Kicked out of Shanghai. Rejected by two sides.” Her voice was sad, hollow.
“But . . .”
“It’s for your own good. Chinese have these suffocating customs and traditions. You’re better off without him. You’re still young. You’ll get over it.” There came a blast of the horn and a shout in Cantonese. The gangplank would be drawn up and the steamer would cast off. Emily picked up her suitcase.
“Emily . . .”
“I’ve grown rather fond of you, Aiyi. I wish we had bonded years ago. You’re a friend I’d love to keep. But don’t cry. I came to Shanghai with a broken heart. I don’t want to leave with tears in my eyes.” She walked up the gangplank and boarded the ship. A moment later, she appeared at the railing at the bow, where she turned to face the city and raised her hand to brush something on her cheek.
The horn blasted and the steamer belched, a cloud of smoke ascending. Then it chugged away from the wharf.
It dawned on me that in the river of life, people came and went like boats. Full of steam and noise, they docked, and all would be blown by a wind that you couldn’t predict. The boat of Emily had sailed away. We never had the tea at Kiessling’s after all, and we might never see each other again. Would Ernest, like Emily, depart from my life as well?