The Painter of Shanghai by Jennifer Cody Epstein Read Free Book Online

and out of view in the breeze.
    As Xiuqing gazes, a moment comes to her unbidden: not just the sight, but the sounds and smell of summer. It was a morning two years back, maybe three. Hot and white like this one, the crickets sawing out a rasping chorus. She’d been scouring the courtyard jasmine trees for beetles with iridescent shells. She captured close to a dozen and then tried something she’d once heard of: tying linen threads around the insects’ hairy hind legs, flagging the threads with slips of paper, and adding porcelainshards from a broken teacup for ballast. Then she released them on their leashes.
    Weighed down by the shards, marked by fluttering confetti, the beetles flew in circles around her. She’d been thrilled with herself, thrilled with her power. She could make blizzards, she thought. Put nature on a leash… But by the third day all the beetles were dead. They lay like luminous beads on the dirt, their little legs crabbed and still. Xiuqing buried them in a mass grave in the back courtyard.
    They reach the fancy door. Woman Zheng raps on it sharply. It opens. ‘It’s me,’ the woman says. ‘I’ve brought a harbor lily. A nice one this time. Well-shaped nose and chin. Fine hands.’ She doesn’t, Xiuqing notes, mention the feet.
    The manservant looks her up and down without apparent interest. His hair looks like it’s been cut with a knife.
    ‘Welcome,’ he says.

PART THREE
The Hall
Don woman’s skirt and hairpin
Bright purple flowers open
Heart takes fire
Peony flowers open
Study stringed instruments, singing ah!
Chinese folk song

4
    Xiuqing sits in the courtyard as Zheng niangyi discusses her contract with a fat woman in makeup heavy for so early. They smoke and haggle, cackle, argue. Then the broker departs, without so much as a backward glance at her former charge.
    The fat lady turns to Xiuqing. ‘Well, that’s settled. That white ant certainly drives a hard bargain. I only hope you are worth it.’ She waddles in a small circle around Xiuqing as she speaks, looking at her. ‘Up,’ she adds, pleasantly enough. ‘I’ll adopt you officially next week. For now, though, you may call me Ganma.’ Godmother? Xiuqing thinks.
    When she neither rises nor responds, the woman steps closer. ‘Really, there’s no shame in what we do here. Lots of girls like you do it.’ She steps back, taps her tiny foot. Xiuqing hugs her knees harder.
    ‘It’s the virtuous thing,’ Godmother says, wheedling. ‘You’re just doing what any honorable daughter would do for her family.’ Xiuqing studies some ants at her feet: little creatures with shiny, tiny bodies. Not white, but tar black. They tug and pull at a flesh-colored worm as Godmother’s voice rises in agitation. ‘I’ve no time for this, you little cunt. I’m a businesswoman. Stand up. ’
    But Xiuqing keeps her eyes on the worm. It is, she observes, half flattened, presumably from where someonestepped on it. The ants’ efforts make it shudder as though it were still alive.
    It’s only after the woman leaves that Xiuqing dares to lift her eyes. One of the shutters from the second floor has swung open a little. Inside, she makes out a woman standing by a looking glass. She is brushing and brushing her long hair. Her red lips move; she appears to be counting the strokes. Absently, Xiuqing counts with her: One. Two. Three.
    By ten, Godmother is back with a leather whip. She beats Xiuqing – mostly on her back, although she takes one well-aimed swing at her feet. The blows are less painful than faintly sickening, and Xiuqing stays where she is.
    Eventually Godmother shrills something and the manservant appears. ‘The little cunt is supposed to be a boar,’ she grumbles. ‘In truth she’s as obstinate as a horse. That’s probably why he got rid of her – no one marries a horse.’
    ‘Some men like them stubborn,’ the servant replies. ‘As they say, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory.’ He picks Xiuqing up –