‘Hypocrite,’ laughed Jones. ‘You yourself actually prefer Western suits to Japanese clothes. You also prefer to live in a bungalow rather than a traditional house. You always order macaroni instead of udon. And you prefer Brazilian coffee to Japanese tea …’
Ryūnosuke shook his head and said, ‘No, no. For example, I admit that the Westerners’ cemetery on Temple Street isn’t so bad …’
‘It’s nice enough,’ said Jones. ‘But, personally, I would prefer to be buried under a Buddhist swastika than a Christian crucifix. I don’t want angels and whatnot leering over me in my grave, grimacing and proselytising. You just mean you are disappointed by Shanghai and are not interested in the Western things here …’
‘On the contrary, I’m very interested. But as you said, in one sense Shanghai is the West. And so, for better or for worse, it’s fun to be able to see the West. Particularly because I’ve never laid eyes on the “real” West. I’m just saying, even to my ignorant eyes, the West seems out of place here.’
‘Really,’ said Jones, feigning disbelief. ‘I actually think it’s a match made in Heaven. Or should I say Hell …?’
This City of Evil, this Demon City Shanghai. Ryūnosuke had heard the horror stories of rickshaw pullers turning bandit by night, slicing off women’s ears for their earrings –
‘The worst are the Chaibai Gang,’ whispered Jones. ‘Luring women into automobiles, stealing their diamond rings, and then strangling them, inspired by the movies. Those cloak-and-dagger ones that are all the rage here …’
At sunset, outside the Green Lotus teahouse, the Wild Pheasants flocked. Surrounding both Ryūnosuke and Jones, speaking both Japanese and English. Other girls hanging around in rickshaws, waiting for fresh crumbs, all wearing dark round glasses –
‘All the rage,’ said Jones, again.
Inside a building, an opium den. In the stark white light of a bare electric bulb, a bleached, lone prostitute lay puffing ‘Western Medicine’ on a long pipe with a foreign customer.
Ryūnosuke had seen so many strange foreigners in Shanghai, male and female, many of whom seemed to have migrated from Siberia. Even in the Public Garden, a Russian beggar had kept haranguing Ryūnosuke and Jones. ‘It’s not so bad really,’ Jones had said. ‘The Municipal Council is actually very strict these days. Such shady cafés as the El Dorado and the Palermo have disappeared from the Western parts of the town. Now you have to go out to the suburbs, to places like the Del Monte …’
In the opium den, under the harsh light. Ryūnosuke shook his head again and said again, ‘But this is Shanghai –
‘Not China, Young China …’
7
Ryūnosuke and Murata were on their way to meet Li Renjie. Li was twenty-eight years old, a representative of ‘Young China’ and a socialist. Through the windows of the trolley, the avenues of verdant trees, summer was on its way. But Ryūnosuke and Murata were not talking about the foliage or the seasons. In low voices, they were discussing Chinese public opinion concerning Japan and the formation of the new foreign consortium. A strange thing had happened to Ryūnosuke: he had succumbed to a weird fever in which all he ever thought and talked about was politics, and never art. Ryūnosuke blamed Shanghai: the peculiar atmosphere of this peculiar city which had nurtured twenty years of problems to think and talk about.
A servant led Ryūnosuke and Murata into a drawing room of several Western-style chairs before a rectangular table with a bowl of porcelain fruit. These humble imitations of apples, grapes and pears were the only decorations in the room, a pleasing simplicity filling the empty room. In the furthest corner, a ladder came down from above, a pair of Chinese shoes now coming down the rungs of the ladder –
A rather small man, in a grey full-length gown, with long hair and a slim face, intelligent-looking eyes, very quick nerves and an extremely serious disposition, Li Renjie made a good first impression. He sat down across the table from Ryūnosuke.
Li had studied at a university in Tokyo, his Japanese fluent, and Ryūnosuke was further impressed by his detailed reasoning:
‘What shall we do with contemporary China? The resolution of the problem lies not in a republic or a monarchical restoration. Political revolutions have been useless in improving China. This has been proven in the past and is now being proven again in the present. Thus, what we are trying to bring about is a “social revolution” …
‘And so if we are to bring about such a revolution, we have to rely on propaganda. Therefore, we write things. Enlightened Chinese scholars are not indifferent to new learning. In fact, we are starving for knowledge. But what shall we do about our lack of books and magazines to satiate our hunger? At this moment, our immediate duty is to write.’
Ryūnosuke nodded and said, ‘I have become disappointed in the Chinese arts. Neither the novels nor the paintings I have seen so far are worthy of discussion. Nonetheless, judging from the present situation in China, to expect a revival of the arts – or, perhaps I should say, to expect the revival of anything – might be a mistake …’
‘I have a seed in my hand,’ said Li. ‘But I am afraid the land is only wilderness for ten thousand miles. Nothing but a wilderness. And there is nothing we can do about it. That is the reason I have no choice but to be depressed about whether or not our body is strong enough to endure …’
Ryūnosuke nodded again and said, ‘But other than as a means of propaganda, can you afford to even worry about the arts?’
‘Virtually not at all,’ said Li. ‘What we must really pay attention to now is the power of Chinese banks. It is not a question of the power behind them, rather it is their tendency to influence
