Farewell, Shanghai by Angel Wagenstein

Author:Angel Wagenstein [Wagenstein, Angel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2023-04-25T00:00:00+00:00

36

he had been walking behind Hilde for almost an hour already trying to remain unnoticed. This, by the way, wasn’t difficult—to hide and remain unnoticed in the colorful crowd that nearly around the clock flooded the brightly illuminated streets of the International Concession’s commercial and business center. Hilde had apparently already finished the workday because she wasn’t hurrying anywhere, but rather window-shopping and rummaging through outside displays of clothes and trinkets without buying anything. She entered a perfumery and hesitated a long time before choosing a lipstick. Then she wandered a bit around the French bookstore, opened and skimmed through a volume, then another one, paid for a fashion magazine, and walked out again.

Nankin Road is a terribly long and tiresome boulevard; after hesitating, she finally entered a small Viennese pastry shop in order to sit and have a bite to eat. It’s hard to believe but there one could order an almost real Sacher torte or a warm fruit strudel no worse than those that had been served on Kärtnerstrasse during the good years.

He stayed outside where young prostitutes tried to attract foreign sailors by grabbing their shirts:

“Sailor, sailor-man! Short time two dollars, long time five dollars! Sailor!”

“Sailor” was the accepted term for addressing foreign sailors, and, judging by the official exchange rate, nailed at six Shanghai dollars to one American, the offer was more than attractive: for a “short” encounter, two Shanghai dollars, for a full assortment of services—five. Afterward, when the deal had been struck, the action was transferred to the courtyards behind the solid stone buildings of the boulevard. There you would find the houses of the Chinese who serviced the huge city. The courtyards, surrounded by two-story residential buildings, most of them wooden, and some of them also burned in the Japanese bombings, swarmed with children. Old women would cook on the wooden terraces and an intolerable smell of fried onions and burnt peanut oil floated under the lines of laundry hung out to dry. There were also dens of vice where one could get a pipe of opium, cheap contraband alcohol, or love for a “short” or “long” time. These dark and stinking bordellos were officially prohibited and hounded by the police, but one could often encounter as clients or partners in this forbidden business these very same keepers of the law.

The young man who was following Hilde by secretly looking through shop windows in order not to lose sight of her was familiar to her. In fact an old acquaintance. She had once known him as Vladek. At least that’s how, under this obviously invented name, he had introduced himself in Paris, which now seemed as long ago and far away as a dream. He had been in Shanghai three months already and during this time he had been torn by contradictory feelings: on the one hand to look for her and find out the whole truth about her; on the other to slap her twice in the face, turn around, and disappear from her life forever.

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