Tales from Old Shanghai 01

I'd shrugged, then giggled. "He didn't rub his jade stalk against me, at least."

Hua giggled. "He was funny," she said. "I liked him, even if he did do that."

"You'll get in trouble, Hua," I said, and we looked at each other and then we both giggled.

Hua had gone with me to the Saturday matinee the following weekend. Martin had already been there, waiting. He'd already bought the tickets. I'd sat next to him with Hua beside me. We held hands right through the movie. Nothing else. He'd just held my hand in the darkness and I didn't remember a thing about the movie. I couldn't even remember what movie it was. Just his hand, holding mine, our fingers, intertwined, moving, touching, for two hours. Just his hand and mine, nothing else and I was helpless.

"Next Saturday?" he'd asked as we'd left, and he was blushing.

"We come to the matinee every Saturday," I said, glancing at Hua. I was blushing.

"I'll see you here," he said, and then he was gone.

"You're asking for trouble," Hua said, after he was out of sight.

"Don't tell anyone," I said.

"I won't," she said. "But someone will find out. Someone always does."

"Yes, I know," I say. "But he's different, Hua. I have to meet him."

"I'll come with you, she said, squeezing my hand. "You're my friend, Chuntao."

Next Saturday, he was there, before the matinee started, waiting for us again, tickets in hand.

"I'll sit over there somewhere," Hua said, with a glance at me that brought a pink tinge to my cheeks.

Martin led me to two seats off to one side, right at the end of the row, separated by a pillar from the other seats and with an abysmal view of the screen. I didn't care, because as soon as the lights dimmed and the movie stared, he did more than hold my hand.

One arm slid behind me, resting softly on the back of my neck and my shoulders, the other brushed my cheek, turning my face towards his before caressing my neck, very delicately, very gently and I sighed. I rested my head against his arm and looked up into his eyes in the flickering light of the screen and just drank him in.

That face, that pale skin, that blonde hair, those round eyes. So strange and yet so handsome and he didn't smell at all like other foreigners smelt. Mrs. Innes, the foreign teachers, he smelt nothing like them. A male smell, slightly sweaty, exciting, a faint whiff of cologne, and that freshly laundered scent from his white shirt and the light silk jacket he wore.

"Chuntao," he breathed, his face almost buried in my hair. "You're so beautiful. I've never met anyone as beautiful as you."

"I'm not," I said. "Not like Marjory." Tall, with large breasts and hips and blonde hair and everyone, all the men, they looked at her. Not at Hua or me or even Emily. They looked at Marjory, and to me, she looked like one of those European actresses in the movies.

"You're far more beautiful, Chuntao," Martin said, and his nose brushed mine. "I love you," he added, out of nowhere and his lips brushed mine and I wasn't sure what to do but he'd said he loved me and I looked at his face and I knew.

I knew I loved him and I wanted him to kiss me as the white people kiss. Chinese men didn't kiss, not that I'd ever been anywhere with a Chinese man, or even a Chinese boy. I'd watched movies though, I'd seen westerners kiss in the movies and I was sure that was what he wanted, but really, I didn't know how.

It didn't matter. He lowered his head and he kissed my neck where his fingers had been stroking me and his lips and tongue on my neck send shivering electric thrills right through me. His free hand stroked my arm, the skin of my arm because my top was short-sleeved, a western-style top that went with the western style skirt I wore. His lips sucked lightly at my neck. One of my hands brushed the back of his neck and now I felt him shudder against me.

"Chuntao." He breathed my name, lifted his head; looked into my eyes. His nose brushed mine, his lips found mine and he kissed me and his tongue edged and slipped and pushed against my closed lips.

He lifted his mouth from mine. "Open your mouth a little, Chuntao," he whispered, before his lips found mine again and I wondered why but I did, I separated my lips, opened my mouth a little and I found out why.

His lips sealed themselves to mine, guiding my lips further apart, his tongue slipped into my mouth and came alive, like some beautiful snake flicking and pushing and sliding against my tongue, the roof of my mouth, the insides of my lips, everywhere and then, without lifting his lips from mine, he withdrew his tongue from my mouth and there was a sudden moment of shock as he sucked my tongue deep into his mouth.

Now it was my turn and my lips were sealed to his, his hand at the back of my head, holding me in place. My tongue explored, tentatively, tasting him, sliding against his, tasting him and he was holding me closer and I wanted that closeness, I wanted everything and when his hand cupped my breast and his tongue pushed back into my mouth I instinctively opened my mouth wider to him, turning a little, shuddering as his hand moved, cupped my breast through my thin cotton top and my bra and I was pushing my breast against his hand, wanting that pressure, wanting his hand touching me there, wanting his kiss, wanting that closeness.

We kissed, on and on and on, his lips locked to mine, his tongue in my mouth, mine in his, backwards and forwards and I became more daring. He didn't need to suck my tongue into his mouth. My tongue took the initiative now, timidly exploring, tasting, sliding into his mouth and then I was sucking his tongue into my mouth and he was taking control, strong and yet so gentle and we kissed on and on and I wished he could hold me in his arms the way he had when we'd been dancing.

I wished I could feel his jade stalk rubbing against me.

I didn't remember a thing about that movie either.

"Next Saturday," he'd said when we parted.

"Next Saturday," I'd agreed breathlessly.

I wanted him to kiss me again soon.

I wanted him to hold me so tight.

My jade gate was so moist.

He was a foreigner.

I didn't care.

Hua is reading on her bed after dinner. She studies all the time, like me. Our families have invested in us. A western education, and I know my father has placed great hope in me. Father has decided his daughters must be educated in the western style and I am the oldest. It is to me to set the example and do well. Not just do well. I must excel. I've studied hard all the years I have been here at this American School.

Hua is reading on her bed and I'm thinking. I'm thinking about Martin. About meeting him at the Cathay Cinema. We've met twice there now. He's held my hand. He's kissed me. Not just one kiss. We kissed for the entire movie. We did almost nothing but kiss and I know my father would be angry and upset with my behavior. He'd tell me I'm bringing shame on the family. I'm betraying his hopes and his faith in me. This school is so expensive. My father is well off, but we're not one of those really wealthy families that girls like those Modeng girls in their western-style clothes and aping western hairstyles and behavior come from.

Sending me here is a huge commitment for my family. Especially I'm a girl. I have little brothers, two of them, the youngest was a baby when I left home. He must be six now, the other must be eight. They've grown up without ever knowing their big sister, and my two little sisters, I know they remember me, they wrote me a short letter that was with my mother's last letter to me and I miss them. I do, the oldest must be twelve now, almost as old as I was when I was sent to school here five years ago.

I was thirteen when I left my home and my family. Five years of study. Five years without seeing my family, only letters exchanged between my mother and I, and the occasional short note from my father in his usual style, extolling me to study hard, to reward my father's faith in me. To do well. In those five years I have changed. I am eighteen. I am a young woman, not a child. I have been on my own here all that time. In all that time, Hua has been my constant friend and companion, my only Chinese friend.

All my other classmates, all the other girls who board here, they are American or English girls. Friends, but not friends. We know each other, but we come from entirely different worlds and at times they seem to alien to me. Strange creatures from another planet, aliens with pale skin and large round eyes whose thoughts are so different from ours. But now, now there is Martin with his blonde hair, his pale skin, his blue eyes and he is alien too, but alien or not, westerner or not, picturing him in my mind has my heart fluttering and I am torn. So torn.

Torn between duty and loyalty to my family and how I feel about Martin.

He said he loved me and we kissed, his hand was on my breast and I think, I really do think that perhaps I do love him and I'm eighteen. I'm a women. Many of the girls I know back in Nanking, I'm sure they are already married now and their husbands have made women of them. Probably almost all of them are married and I'm lucky. So lucky to have escaped that fate. So fortunate that my parents are modern parents, that they trust me with this new future.

They trust me, and Martin has kissed me and I have kissed him back, and not just once. Many times.

I am seeing him again tomorrow. I hope I will be seeing him again tomorrow and for many other tomorrows and I hope he wants to kiss me again. If he does, I know I will permit him to kiss me. I will do as I did last Saturday and surrender my mouth to him, I will be held in his arms and I am torn. Torn between what I feel for Martin, for this Englishman whom I should not love but whom I am unable to resist, torn between what I feel for him and the duty I owe my family.

I don't know what to do.

I know what my father would say. He would forbid this. But he is not here and I have been on my own for over four years now. I know what I should do, and I know what I am going to do.

I am going to go to the Cathay Cinema tomorrow.

I hope Martin will be there, but really, I'm not sure that he will be. I'm Chinese. He's English. A westerner. He said he loved me, but what does love for a Chinese girl mean to an Englishman? I'm not a sing-song girl, I'm not one of those girls in the street a man pays for. I have kissed Martin, I have permitted him to kiss me and to hold me but more than that? No. I do know my duty to my family and I will not bring shame on my family, even though these feelings for Martin dominate my thoughts.

A tap on our door distracts me and I welcome that distraction, slide off my bed; walk to the door, open it. It is one the servants that looks after this floor. She cleans our room, washes our laundry, scrubs and dusts. Her name is Suyin, she's from the countryside. She's our age, perhaps a little older.

"A letter for Miss Hua," she says, and it is. A real letter, a letter written in English so it cannot be from her parents. I think that's the first thought of both of us. Her parents, and her eyes light up.

The door closes as Suyin leaves. I hand the letter to Hua, unbearably curious, seeing the puzzlement on her face as she opens the envelope, eases out the single sheet of paper inside, unfolds it, begins to read.

"It's from Mr. Cunningham," she says, glancing up. "Marjory's father. Why is he writing to me?"

"Why?" I say, giggling. "He wants to dance with you again."

"No," she says, wrinkling her brow. "He says he enjoyed talking to me very much at the Dinner Party and he apologizes for his wife's impoliteness." We both giggle. "He says a dear friend of his whose daughter is at this school will invite us both to a family dinner party and gathering the weekend after this and while we do not know her, he hopes we will both accept and he looks forward to seeing both of us there." She giggles. "Especially me."

"You have an admirer," I say, smiling.

"Yes," she says, and she's looking thoughtful.

"Will you go if you're invited?" I ask.

"Will you come with me?" she says.

"If we are invited," I say. "And if Mrs. Innes says we can go. Yes, I will. Maybe Martin will be there too." Now it is my turn to smile.

Hua frowns. "Martin is English, Chuntao, not American."

"Not like Mr. Cunningham." I giggle.

"No, not like Mr. Cunningham." Hua doesn't giggle. "You shouldn't encourage Martin, Chuntao. You know what the English are like. They're not relaxed about it like the Americans are. That hong he works for, Jardine Matheson's, they're even worse than most of them, that's what I heard from Emily and you know what they think of Englishmen and Chinese girls. If he gets serious with you, he'll lose his job. Besides, everyone's going to think you're a sing-song girl or a taxi dancer when they see you with him."

That's not what I want to hear and I am sure my face tells her that.

"Chuntao," she says, patiently, and I know she wants to persuade me not to see him. "This is not one of those romance stories you like. He's English. He's a foreigner. He's Emily's brother. You know she won't like you seeing him. If she finds out, she'll talk to Mrs. Innes and he'll get into trouble as well and we won't be allowed out, we'll have our privileges revoked."

"She won't find out," I say, flatly. "Martin knows not to tell anyone."

He does, and he asked me not to tell any of the English or American girls either. None of the girls at School would dare go to the Cathay Cinema either. It's far too Chinese for them. They'd be scared. For Martin it's alright. There are always some white men there, often with Chinese girls. Sing-song girls. Taxi dancers. Those kind of girls. Nobody thinks twice about it.

Maybe Hua is right.

Maybe other people will think I'm a sing-song girl if they see me there with him but it doesn't matter. It won't be anyone Martin or I know and Martin knows I'm not a sing-song girl. Martin knows that and he loves me and that's all that's important and we have to meet somewhere. We have too. I couldn't bear not to see him, not now, not after we've met. Not after we've kissed.

Not after he's said he loves me.

Hua's reading the note again. She's thinking about something, I know she is and I should study, I know. but I'm too distracted by my thoughts, by those memories of Martin's kisses, his hand on my breast, by my anticipation of more of those kisses.

"Chuntao," Hua says, and when I glance across at her, her cheeks are pink.

"Yes," I say.

"When you kiss Martin, do you really share saliva?"

"Aiyaaah," I say. "It's... I don't know how to explain. It's hard to describe. He puts his tongue in my mouth but that's different from describing it." I hesitate. "Why do you want to know?"

Hua blushes. "I want to know," she says. "I was watching you and Martin at the movie."

"Hua!" I say, blushing. I never even noticed, but then, it was a crowded movie theatre. She probably wasn't the only one watching us. There were lots of other couples.

"I was reading about it," she says, putting the letter from Mr. Cunningham down, picking up the book she was reading, holding it up. The "Romance of Genuine Cultivation." It has a long and detailed description of kissing. There's a lot of emphasis on tongues and saliva and it's hard to relate it to how Martin and I kissed.

"It's not like the book at all," I say.

"Oh," she says.

"I'm meeting Martin tomorrow at the matinee. Can you come with me?" I ask, after a pause.

"Sorry, what was that?" Hua is reading her book again.

"I'm meeting Martin at the matinee. Can you come with me again?"

We're not allowed out on our own. Mrs. Innes is strict about that. Very strict. Us senior boarders, in our last two years, we're allowed out after school and on Saturdays and Sundays, in pairs and Hua's come with me so far but I should ask her. We're not allowed out singly and not to meet boys and we have to be back by the curfew. If we're seen with a boy, privileges are revoked. It's happened once or twice, not very often. And that's English or American girls.

A Chinese girl meeting an Englishman? I know why Hua is concerned.

I'd probably be expelled and she knows I can't afford that.

But I know I can't not see Martin either.

Hua agrees to come with me.

"I can show you how he kisses me," I say, and my cheeks are a little pink.

"How can you do that?" Hua is puzzled.

I smile now, and I stand up and it's hard to explain what happens next because I'm not really thinking. It is as if something draws me from my bed across the room to Hua's, and she watches me as I lie down beside her on her bed. We'd done this often, lain together on our beds. When we were younger, in our first year here, sometimes we'd even sleep together the way each of us used to at home, with our sisters, all sharing the same bed and we'd missed that companionship.

This is different and as I lie beside her, propped up on one elbow, our eyes meet and we both realize that and something inside me twists and churns and tightens.

"Turn over," I say, "and lie on your back."

Hua looks at me and turns over without a word, lying on her back, looking up at me and her cheeks are pink.

"Like this," I say. "He kisses me like this."

"Chuntao?" she says, and her voice is high-pitched, nervous, but she doesn't move. She stays still, her eyes looking up into mine as I run my tongue over my lips, as I lower my face towards hers, as my lips brush across hers the way Martin brushs his lips over mine.

"Open your mouth a little," I whisper, my heart pounding, and she does and I kiss her the way Martin kisses me. My lips seal themselves to Hua's, my tongue slides between her lips, she tastes faintly of cherries and my lips guide her mouth open as Martin does with me, my tongue finds hers, dances with her inside her mouth and then I suck her tongue into my mouth and we're actually kissing and I can't help doing what I do next.

I move closer to her, my body pressing against hers, one of my legs over hers and one arm is under her the way Martin's arms slide around my shoulder and my other hand is on her arm as I kiss her again and again and we're both in our pajamas. School regulation cotton pajama pants and a buttoned top and that's all, because it's the end of summer and it's still hot and my breasts press against her and without any thought, my hand cups her breast.

I lift my mouth from hers, my hand remains on her, cupping her breast, large and firm under her thin cotton top and we look at each other and we're both panting. "That's what he does," I whisper.

"This too?" Hua asks, one of her hands moving to rest on mine.

"That too," I say, and I do what I would like Martin to do to me. I squeeze her nipple.

"Oh," she gasps, her back arching. "Oh my god... oh my god... Chuntao... do that again. Please."

Is it that good? I do and she squeals and her body moves and I'm moving against her, rubbing myself against her thigh and my knee is almost between her legs now and I'm wet and hot and so sensitive and the friction as I move is delicious and I moan softly myself and Hua half turns towards me and he's moving against me and she's wet. I'm wet. The thin cotton of our pajama's is wet, wet through.

"Is this... is this what it's like with Martin?" she gasps.

"Ohhh," I sob, my hips moving and I want to rub and rub and rub myself against her, I can't stop and I'm thinking of those books, the illustrations in them and those descriptions and so is Hua, and her memory, she remembers everything. She is quoting from that book, The one she was reading.

"When man and a woman are making love for the first time, their bodies touch and their lips press against each other. The man sucks the woman's lower lip and the woman suck's the man's upper one. When sucking, they savor each other's saliva. Now the woman's left hand should hold the man's jade stalk. The man will use his tight hand to caress the woman's jade gate."