The Sing-song Girls of Shanghai Read online

  Lichee Zhuang excused himself and left. Rustic Zhang signaled Simplicity with his eyes, so the two also excused themselves. They bade farewell to Benevolence Hong and walked out of the House of Satisfaction.

  “Why did you want to leave? I know we just happened along, but we could have gone in and made the most of it!” Simplicity Zhao grumbled as he walked along.

  Rustic Zhang clucked his tongue and told him off. “They’ve got high-class courtesans in there. Imagine how humiliating it’d be if you’d gone and called some second-class ones.”

  Simplicity saw his point. After a moment of reflection, he said, “Lichee Zhuang is probably at Woodsy’s. Let’s go to Jewel’s, too, for a cup of tea, what d’you say?”

  Rustic sneered again. “He went on his own, so why go bothering him? You’d only be a nuisance!”

  “Then where shall we go?”

  Rustic sneered and then said with deliberation, “You’re not to blame. Being a first-timer in Shanghai, naturally you don’t know the rules of the game. If you ask me, you’d be well advised to stay away from the second-class houses, let alone the top ones. They’re all used to people making a splash. You can spend thirty or forty dollars on a girl, and it means nothing to her. Besides, Jewel is still a virgin. Can you afford several hundred dollars for her deflowering? It’ll definitely cost you more than a hundred. That’s just not worth it. If you want to have some fun, you’d better stick to the straightforward places.”

  “And where are these places?”

  “If you’re interested, I’ll take you there. They may be smaller than the best houses, but the girls are not much different.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Rustic stopped to get his bearings and found that they were right in front of the Galaxy Jewelry Store. “If you really want to go, it’s this way.” They walked southward across the Beaten Dog Bridge to the very end of New Street in the French concession, where the last house had a sooty glass lamp hanging over its door. Just beyond the threshold was a staircase. Simplicity walked up with Rustic and found there was only half a room upstairs. It was very narrow, with one end completely taken up by a large Cantonese lacquered bed. Facing the staircase was a makeshift opium divan, just some boards set up on a couple of benches. A pine dressing table stood by the window, with a high-back chair on each side. These simple furnishings were enough to give an air of exquisite clutter, it being so crowded.

  Seeing no one in the room, Simplicity whispered to Rustic, “Is this a second-class house?”

  “Not second-class, just Second,” Rustic said smiling.

  “Is Second cheaper than second-class?”

  Rustic smiled and made no reply. Suddenly, they heard someone shouting loudly downstairs, “Come over here, Second Miss.” The voice called out twice. Then they heard someone answer in the distance and come laughing and chattering in their direction.

  Simplicity still persisted with his questions, so Rustic told him hastily, “This is a flowered smoking den.”

  “Then why did you say Second?”

  “The girl’s name is Second Wang. Sit down, and hold your tongue.”

  Rustic’s voice had hardly died away when Second Wang came upstairs, so Simplicity kept quiet. The minute Second Wang saw Rustic, she leaped at him, crying, “You’re a fine one—you liar! You told me you were only going home for two or three months, but you’ve been away all this time! Two or three months, my foot! More like two or three years! I sent the maid to look for you several times at the inn. They said you hadn’t come back, but I didn’t believe it. Old Mrs. Filial Guo next door went searching for you, too, and was told you wouldn’t be coming back again. Fart mouth! D’you ever stick to your word? Mind you, I don’t forget it. If you hadn’t come, I’d have ferreted you out myself and dealt with you in my own way. See how you’d have liked that!”

  Rustic put on a smiling face and pleaded with her. “Don’t be angry. Let me tell you something.” He whispered into her ear.

  He had only said one or two things when she jumped up and pulled a long face. “Smart, aren’t you! You want to pass your wet shirt on to someone else and be well rid of it, is that it?”

  “No!” Rustic cried out anxiously. “Just hear me out.”

  So Second Wang again crawled into his arms to listen to whatever it was he was murmuring. He signaled with a jerk of his mouth, and she turned round to glance sideways at Simplicity. Rustic said something more.

  “And what about you?” she said.

  “Why, nothing changes as far as I’m concerned.”

  Only then did she relent. She got up to trim the lamp wick and asked Simplicity’s last name, scrutinizing him from head to toe. Simplicity turned around, pretending to look at the scroll on the wall.

  A middle-aged maid came shuffling upstairs with a kettle of water in one hand and two boxes of opium paste in the other. Seeing Rustic, she also exclaimed, “Aiyo, it’s Mr. Zhang! We thought you were gone forever. It seems you do have a conscience after all!”

  “Tut-tut, if he has a conscience, dogs don’t eat shit,” said Second Wang.

  “I’m here now, and still I’m told I have no conscience,” Rustic said smiling. “Starting from tomorrow, I’ll never set foot in this house again!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Second Wang said smiling.

  While they were talking, the middle-aged maid had put the boxes of opium on the tray, lit the opium lamp, poured tea, and taken the kettle downstairs. Second Wang started to toast the opium, leaning against Rustic. Seeing Simplicity sitting by himself, she beckoned him over, “Come and make yourself comfortable on the couch.”

  He accepted the invitation with alacrity and lay down on the humbler side of the divan.2 He watched as she toasted and rolled a pellet of opium, fixed it on the pipe, and handed it to Rustic, who sucked it all in in one long soughing breath. She made another, and he finished that, too. At the third pipe, he said, “No more,” and she turned the pipe around and offered it to Simplicity. As Simplicity was not used to smoking, the opening on the pipe bowl got clogged before he was halfway through. She took the pipe and poked a needle through. He tried but got stuck again. She giggled. This fed the fire already kindled in him and made his heart itch more than ever. She cleared the hole in the pipe bowl, and as she held it for him over the flame, he took the opportunity to squeeze her wrist. She snatched her hand away and pinched him on the thigh with all her strength, so hard it ached and stung and tingled all at once. After Simplicity finished smoking, he stole a glance at Rustic. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be dozing.

  “Rustic,” he whispered twice. Rustic’s only response was to lift a hand and wave it from side to side, indicating he was not to be disturbed.

  “He’s stoned. Let him be,” Second said.

  Now she came over to Simplicity’s side, holding a long pick for toasting opium, and leaned against him. His heart was as hot as burning charcoal, but with Rustic in the way, he dared not make a move. He just stared at her snow-white face, pitch-black eyebrows, crystalline eyes, and blood-red lips. The more he looked, the more infatuated he became, and the greater his infatuation, the harder he stared.

  Seeing him like that, she asked with a smile, “What are you staring at?”

  He was about to reply and could not find the words, so he just grinned.

  She knew he was a boy who had not yet tasted meat, but that bashful air of his still exasperated her. Having filled the pipe, she pushed the mouthpiece to his lips, saying, “Here, be my guest.” She then stood up, took a cup of tea from the table, and sipped at it. When she turned around and saw that he was not smoking, she handed him her cup. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.

  Flustered, he sat up in a hurry and reached out for the cup with both hands. In so doing, he bumped right against her, splashing tea all over himself and nearly breaking the cup. She burst out laughing so loudly that even Rustic woke up, rubbing his eyes and asking, “What are you two laughing at?”

  Rustic’s daze
d look made Second double up with more laughter, and she clapped her hands in mirth. Simplicity started laughing, too.

  Rustic sat up and yawned, and then said to Simplicity, “Let’s go.”

  Simplicity knew Rustic was in a hurry to get back because this opium wasn’t doing anything for him, so he had to comply. Second Wang did some more whispering with Rustic, and then he went straight downstairs. Simplicity was about to follow when she clutched his sleeve, whispering, “Come on your own tomorrow.”

  He nodded and made haste to catch up with Rustic. They returned to the inn, went into their room, and lit the lamp. Rustic still needed another smoke. Simplicity went to bed first and lay there thinking there was much truth in what Rustic had said earlier. “Besides,” his thoughts continued, “Second seems to fancy me. This must be fate.” But he could not put Jewel out of his mind. When all was said and done, she was prettier than Second. He certainly wouldn’t have enough money for both of them. Thinking now of this girl, now of that one, he tossed and turned and was unable to sleep.

  Presently, Rustic had smoked his fill, cleaned out the ashes, washed his hands, and was ready for bed. Simplicity, however, draped some clothes over his shoulders and sat up again. He took a few puffs on the water pipe and then lay down once more, and before he knew it he was fast asleep.

  At six the next morning, he was already up and called the hotel attendant for hot water to wash his face. He decided to go out for breakfast and take the opportunity to amuse himself a little. Rustic was still snoring away, so he closed the door and walked alone down Treasured Merit Street. He had a bowl of stewed pork noodles for twenty-eight copper coins at the Fountainhead Restaurant on the corner of Pebble Road. From there, he turned onto Fourth Avenue, peering around him before setting off again with a long leisurely stride. He happened to come across the garbage carts making their way along the street. Several workers were shoveling up garbage and tossing it into the carts, with some of it spraying in all directions. Afraid his clothes would get soiled, he was about to turn back, when he saw that Generosity Alley was just up ahead. He had heard this was where the sing-song houses of the two highest categories were located, so he went in to look around. He saw that every house in the alley had a slip of red paper pasted on the door, with the courtesan’s name written on it. One of the houses had a carved stone gateway and a black lacquered signboard. The gilt characters read “Residence of Sunset Wei, minstrel.”3

  Simplicity stood at the door and looked in. He saw maids with uncombed hair washing and starching clothes in the courtyard and menservants sitting cross-legged in the parlor cleaning all kinds of foreign glass lamps. A servant girl of fourteen or fifteen rushed out of the front door muttering and ran straight into his arms. Before Simplicity could tell her off, the girl started cursing him, “You’d bump into your mother and kill her, wouldn’t you? Haven’t you got eyes in your head?” The minute he heard the piping voice, his anger melted away. Then he saw her handsome looks and dainty figure, and he grinned instead. The girl brushed him aside, turned around, and ran down the street. Just then an old woman came running out the door, shouting the name Clever and beckoning, “Come back.” At this, the servant girl retraced her steps slowly, pouting and muttering to herself.

  The old woman was about to go in when she saw Simplicity. A little taken aback, she stood there, trying to make him out. Embarrassed, he sheepishly retreated out of the alley. The garbage carts had moved on, so he went to the Splendid Assembly Teahouse and ordered some tea upstairs. He sat there drinking seven or eight refills and did not return to the inn till it was almost noon.

  By then, Rustic was up. The hotel attendant brought lunch, and after they had finished eating, they washed their faces. Simplicity wanted to go to the Hall of Beauties for a cup of tea.

  “At this hour, the courtesans are still in bed. What d’you want to go there for?” Rustic asked smiling.

  There was nothing Simplicity could do. Rustic set out his opium tray and lay down to smoke. Simplicity lay down, too. He stared blankly at the top of his bed curtains, his thoughts working up and down like creaking pulleys. He pushed his right hand against his front teeth and bit his nails. A while later, he got up and started pacing up and down the room, goodness knows how many hundred times. Rustic had only had one pellet of opium, so he could not very well hurry him just then. He sighed and lay down again. Chuckling to himself, Rustic ignored him.

  Simplicity could not help urging Rustic to hurry four or five times before Rustic had finally smoked his fill. Rather unwillingly, Rustic went out with Simplicity, heading straight for the Hall of Beauties. They found two menservants playing mah-jongg with the maids in the parlor. One of them quickly left his tiles to shout up the stairs, “Guests coming up.”

  Simplicity, taking several steps in one stride, had already got to the top of the stairs. Rustic followed him into Jewel’s room and saw her seated at the table by the window in front of a mirror box of purple cedar, getting her hair done. Mama Yeung, who was standing behind her, was attending to it with a fine-toothed comb while the servant girl cleared away the fallen hairs. Rustic and Simplicity sat down on the high-back chairs on either side of the table.

  “Have you had lunch?” Jewel asked smiling.

  “Yes, a while ago,” said Rustic.

  “So early?” she said.

  “They’re always like that at the inns,” Mama Yeung broke in. “They like to serve lunch at midday. Not like us here in the sing-song houses, no telling how late we’d be!”

  As they talked, the servant girl lit the opium lamp, gave Simplicity the water pipe, and filled it for him. Jewel invited Rustic to smoke on the divan, and he lay down with the opium pipe. A manservant brought a kettle to make tea, and Mama Yeung prepared some hot towels. Simplicity watched as Jewel finished her coiffure, took off her blue cotton shawl, and replaced it with a black crinkled crepe sleeveless jacket. She then walked over to the foreign mirror on the wall to look herself over. Suddenly, they heard someone calling for Mama Yeung next door. It was Woodsy’s voice. Mama Yeung quickly folded up the mirror and went over to Woodsy’s room.

  “Is Young Mr. Zhuang here?” Rustic asked.

  Jewel nodded in the affirmative, and Simplicity immediately expressed a wish to go and greet him, but Rustic emphatically forbade him to do so. Jewel also pulled him back by the sleeve, saying, “Sit still.” He took the opportunity to sit down on the rattan chair in front of the bed. Jewel sat on his knees and whispered something in his ear. He looked bewildered. She whispered again, but he still could not make out what she was saying.

  Exasperated, she said between clenched teeth, “You!” After a moment’s reflection, she pulled him up to his feet and said, “Come over here, and I’ll tell you.”

  The two of them lay down on the bed with their backs to Rustic, and only then was communication gradually established between them. After a while, Jewel suddenly giggled, “Aiyo! Stop it!” In another moment came a cry of distress, “Aiyo! Come quick, Mama Yeung!” followed by continuous cries of “Aiyoyo.” Mama Yeung ran over from the next room, laughing and scolding, “Stop it, Young Mr. Zhao.” Simplicity had to let go, and Jewel got up to smooth her sidelocks. Mama Yeung picked up a silver filigree butterfly by the pillow and put it in Jewel’s hair, saying, “How Young Mr. Zhao can horse around! But our Miss Jewel is a virgin courtesan!”

  Simplicity just grinned and went and lay down opposite Rustic on the humbler side of the divan. He whispered, “Jewel asked me to give a drinking party for her.”

  “So?” Rustic said.

  “I promised.”

  Rustic sneered and, after a long pause, said, “Don’t you realize that Jewel is a virgin courtesan?”

  Jewel broke in, “What about it? Aren’t virgin courtesans allowed to have drinking parties?”

  Rustic laughed. “So, they can have drinking parties but no horsing around. What viragoes!”

  “Young Mr. Zhang,” said Jewel. “Don’t take any notice of what Mama Yeung says. Y
ou’re Young Mr. Zhao’s friend, and we hope you’ll be our friend, too. You don’t want to make Young Mr. Zhao pick on us, do you? That’s surely beneath a young gentleman like you.”

  “I didn’t say anything wrong when I asked Young Mr. Zhao to stop horsing around,” said Mama Yeung. “And if I did say something that offended Young Mr. Zhao, the young sir has the gift of the gab. He doesn’t need anyone to prompt him.”

  “Lucky for us that our Young Mr. Zhao is understanding,” said Jewel. “A fine state of affairs it would be if he listened to his friends.”

  She had scarcely finished speaking when a shout came from downstairs: “Mama Yeung, Young Mr. Hong coming up.”

  Jewel quieted down, and Mama Yeung hurried out to welcome the new guest. Simplicity also got to his feet. But the footsteps that came up the stairs went into Lichee Zhuang’s room next door.

  ::

  1. Ordering a basic menu involved just setting the number of dishes for each category of food and leaving it to the chef to make up the menu.

  2. [The right-hand side was considered the honored side and the left the humble side. E.H.]

  3. [Storytelling in a musical rhythm, which was a type of minstrelsy, originally had male and female performers, but only the latter caught on in Shanghai. When these women turned into prostitutes, they kept the proud title of “minstrel” and ranked above the first-class courtesans. For more information, see “The World of the Shanghai Courtesans,” p. 540. E.H.]

  CHAPTER 3 :: A professional name links the new girl to the belles of the family, and etiquette places a young man in the seat of honor