The Private Papers of Eastern Jewel (30 page)

I was surprised that he did not ask me if I had slept with Doihara in Tientsin. At some level I believed that his displeasure with me had at its heart his jealousy of the Colonel. Yet he never mentioned Doihara's name and when I did, he feigned disinterest.

Tanaka frequently told me that I had gone beyond common sense in my indiscriminate behaviour, and that his association with me was holding up his promotion. I couldn't agree with him, as I felt myself an honoured daughter of Japan, who had achieved rank and was trusted with the highest matters of state. It was true that my reputation in Shanghai was such that everyone knew who I was, but I believed that was as much for my successes on behalf of Japan as it was for my sexual exploits. The position bestowed on me was a surprisingly modern one to have come from Japan's male hierarchy, but it confirmed my belief that any woman brave enough to take her own path in life could succeed. Most men, especially Japanese ones, have difficulty dealing with a woman's success, but I had imagined Tanaka to be above such sensitivities. In the past he had always encouraged me in my ambitions, and although I knew he was capable of jealousy, I did not like his new tendency to criticise and limit me.

Despite his ill temper, Tanaka presented me with a congratulatory gift of a divinely carved netsuke attached to a leather purse that held a rolled copy of a poem by Japan's seventeenth-century playwright Chikamatsu. The poem spoke of fidelity and honour and Tanaka's voice trembled as he read it to me.

Such a fine netsuke must have cost a great deal of money and, wanting to repay him for his generosity and to improve his mood, I told him that he was the best lover I had ever had. I also told him that, despite what he may have believed, I had not slept with Doihara.

'I know different, Yoshiko,' he responded curtly. 'I had you followed in Tientsin. In any case, do you think a man like Doihara would keep his mounting of a princess quiet when it adds so much to his reputation and takes so much from mine?'

'Why should it bother you, Tanaka?' I asked. 'Only you are important to me; he means nothing.'

He gave a bitter laugh and pulled me to him. 'I asked you not to lie with him,' he said severely. 'As far as Doihara is concerned, it was important to me that you were my princess, not his.'

Despite Tanaka's gift, which I knew was as near to a declaration of love as I would ever get from him, I could tell that he was not to be consoled by words. I put the poem into my writing case amongst the few sentimental things I felt the need to preserve. In an effort to rid him of his anger and assuage my guilt, I encouraged him towards cruelty in our lovemaking. Night after night I had bite marks down my back and on my thighs. There were purple bruises on my buttocks where he slapped me, thrusting so violently into me that I had to bathe in salt water twice a day. When his mood finally improved and he was returned to his old self, I felt like a child who had been chastised, her father appeased of his anger at last. I believe I enjoyed the releasing of his anger more than Tanaka did himself.

I could not, though, regret the presence of Doihara in my bed; it was his report on me that had secured me my rank and might achieve further promotion for me in the future. Everything worth having has its price, and sex with the Colonel was a small one to pay for such magnificent gains.

With Tanaka mollified, I was once more able to revel in the delights of Shanghai. I overspent on clothes and jewellery, continued to indulge in a varied love life and when dark days returned to me, I saw them off with sleep and opium dreams.

There are no dreams like opium dreams. Colours are like no colours you see in your waking hours, the food you eat is that of the gods and the sake you drink is smoother than the skin of seals. You are as one with tigers and those you have loved appear to you as uncritical as a twin. So seductive are the gifts of opium, that if I were not a stronger person than WanJung, I would have joined her in her addiction years ago.

Some months after I returned to Shanghai, Tanaka was called to a meeting with Colonel Doihara in Tientsin. He was apprehensive, thinking that he was being called to task for overspending, but he returned two days later in good spirits with news of our next assignment. Tanaka had been charged with the planning of a secret task which would, if successful, have enormous benefits for Japan. Colonel Doihara gave explicit instructions that I was to assist Tanaka and playa key part.

Between us, Tanaka and I spent huge sums of money to finance our extravagant lifestyle and he was sure that sooner or later he would be called to account for it. We often joked about expense sheets that might include singsong girls, opium and an endless string of whores. So it was good to have a big job which would allow us generous expenses.

Japan, fed up with the Chinese and wanting to warn the world not to challenge us, had ordered that we set in motion an attack on Shanghai's Zhabei district and claim the territory for our own. We were granted unlimited funds from the Kwangtung Army coffers. We were also informed that waiting offshore was a Japanese invasion force ready to send in its troops. Under the pretext of protecting the Japanese community, supposedly under attack from the decadent Chinese, we would swat the world's criticism like a fly from our food.

The attack would have the added advantage of distracting attention from Japan's efforts to claim Manchuria, under the so-called independent leadership of the Emperor Pu Yi. I don't think that my task of encouraging Pu Yi to go to the north-east would have been so successful if he had known how fragile Japan's hold in that area was. Although Manchuria lay under the protection of the samurai sword, its supremacy was challenged by the Chinese, who hated their Japanese conquerors and fought back at them in a thousand little insurrections. Japan wanted to show the Chinese, once and for all, that they were the masters.

I felt sorry for Wan Jung, who I knew would be terrified every time the Japanese were challenged. Manchu have always felt superior to ordinary Chinese, but they are aware that they are hated and might become the victims of their more numerous countrymen's revenge.

My part in the plan was to employ the thugs Tanaka had introduced me to through Mother to disrupt the Japanese community in Shanghai. Mother's boys were to burgle their homes and businesses in order to give credence to the Japanese invasion force, and I was to make sure they did it. I was thorough with my briefing and Mother and her boys did their job enthusiastically, brutally beating our Japanese brothers, destroying their homes and terrifying their families. I would not have wished such misery on them, but as Harry used to say, 'you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs'. Sometimes citizenship comes with a high price.

I revelled in being part of Japan's ambitions for the future and how, within a few days, Shanghai became full of danger and excitement. My blood sang when the Japanese marines gathered in Zhabei, the rail station district, to set about the Chinese. I loved the feeling of knowing what was about to happen and the anticipation of success that went along with it. I was so besotted with the samurai nation that it never occurred to me that Japan would not achieve its aims, or that I would ever live to regret my part in its triumphs. I watched the little war progress and felt excited and alive. As our tanks advanced along Sichuan Road, the air filled with yellow fog from their exhausts and I felt the thunder of their rolling vibrate through my body. With our blood up, Tanaka and I made love everywhere, in his office, in the back of his car, in the toilets of restaurants and once actually up against one of our tanks.

Our troops were resisted briefly by what Tanaka said was a more disciplined style of Chinese soldier than had been seen before, but only briefly. We were invincible and had the factor of surprise on our side. Tanaka was in his element and loved being at the centre of events. We would sit in his office drinking little shots of sake, receiving news of how things were going in progress reports from our headquarters. We often took western and Japanese guests to the top-floor restaurant of the Park Hotel on Bubbling Well Road, from where you could view the war safely. There was a long waiting list for tables, but Tanaka was treated like royalty and had a table held permanently for him and his guests. We ate the Park's indifferent food, accompanied by the noise of our planes and the shelling from our warships.

It took a few brief weeks for Japan to devastate the Chinese city over the bridge, and to remind the world that we were a nation of warriors who would let nothing stand in our way.

We were flown over burning Shanghai in Japanese aircraft. We could see by the destruction of the city what a great success the attack had been. I am sorry now to say that I applauded it. Many of Shanghai's residents had died in the battle, but it seemed pointless to be sentimental about their loss. Shanghai was overpopulated and most of the inhabitants of the Chinese quarter were starving anyway. If it hadn't been by Japan's ambitions, they would have been seen off anyway by famine and disease. Zhabei was razed to the ground and its inhabitants made homeless. Like water from a tap, they poured into the International Settlement and the French concession.

It was weeks before Shanghai returned to something like normal. It taught the Chinese their place, showed Pu Yi the determination of his Japanese allies and unsettled the world for a bit. But Shanghai, like the good whore she was, adapted herself to her new masters and once again prospered. We eventually withdrew our troops when the world complained, but not before our allies had used our attack as an excuse to enlarge their own settlements in Shanghai. If I didn't already know it, their opportunism taught me how to manoeuvre according to circumstance.

When the shelling had stopped and we had secured the area, I walked through what was left of the Chinese quarter in the company of some senior Japanese officers. I should not have done that, for the pity of it comes to me to this day in flashes of selfdisgust. From the sky the destruction had looked like a successful clearing of the slums, but from the ground I was aware of the price humanity had paid for my country's ambitions. We had to step over the bodies of the dead and cover our mouths against the black smoke from the fires that smouldered on for months. The smell of burning flesh was disgusting and I had to avert my eyes from the human limbs that littered the streets. The little city within a city was eerily quiet, the dogs had disappeared from the streets and I missed the sound of mah-jong.

The few Chinese remaining in the district bowed low to us as we passed, but could not look us in the face. I saw an old woman raking pathetically through a pile of debris. She reminded me of Sorry and that was when the first shock of what had taken place hit me. Circumstances such as those in the devastated Chinese quarter made it hard for me to forget that my blood was Chinese. Even though my heart was so much for Japan then, I could not deny my Chinese inheritance on that day and was overcome by the misery I had helped to inflict on my countrymen. I wanted to hold on to someone, to feel the forgiving touch of a human hand, but the exultant Japanese officers would have thought me mad and the Chinese would have cringed at my touch.

After that victory there were more beggars on the streets and the price of opium rose, but the city itself seemed to retain its essence. In Mother's life, though, much had changed, for she had lost some of her boys, who had unwittingly got caught up in the battle, and was reduced to living in her one remaining half-destroyed house. To stop her whining, Tanaka arranged for her to be given enough money to help her rebuild her business, but life was never the same for her again. There were younger and stronger gangsters, who, taking advantage of the damage she had sustained, stepped in. She continued to make a living, but she had lost her prime position. There were bigger fish in her pond, it's true, but at least she still swam in the same water.

After our success in claiming the Chapei district for Japan my blood hummed expectantly for days, as though I could not believe that it was all over. I discovered what it felt like to shake the world a little, which is a disturbing combination of elation and fear. Yet despite my misgivings I believed then that the whole of my life had been a preparation for that time and that I had found my true place in the world in service to Japan. Conversely, just as I finally felt accepted by Japan, I began to experience nightmares so bad that I started to fear sleep.

In the months following what became known as the 'fake war', I lost Valerie's friendship. She said that my indifference to the suffering of my own people, by which she meant the Chinese, was so cold-hearted that it was as though she had never truly known me. I suppose I could have told her that she was wrong in that, but I think that Valerie had come to her own crossroads, and I would have lost touch with her eventually anyway. She had more of the martyr in her make-up than me and our friendship was not destined to last. It seemed that was the case with most of the women in my life, but I could not mourn too deeply for Valerie; she was no Natsuko, no Mai or Tamura to me. After our sharp parting, I would sometimes see her at the Sanjiaodi fruit market looking for bargains. She had given up the idea of catching a rich husband and had joined a French Catholic mission dedicated to feeding and educating the orphaned children of Shanghai's streets. Her pearls had gone and she no longer dressed in white, but there was a purpose in her manner that I had never noticed before. Perhaps she too had found her true reason for being in Shanghai. It didn't occur to me then, but now I see that Valerie reacted to the world she found herself in out of the goodness in her nature, while I avoided what was left of it in mine. Given the choice, I am not sure that I would choose a good heart over a selfish one: there would be too many things in life to trouble it.