What Remains

Eight years seems like a long time, but it speeds by when you ignore it. My mother had never revealed my father's true occupation to me, and I agree with her for the most part. I knew she feigned ignorance for my own safety, but, at least I would have understood why my brother was taken from us. Instead I was left with a mother who didn't love me, an empty villa and overgrown Tuscan countryside to tend. Until that, too, was snatched from me by death's cruel hand.

There was nothing left in that villa I wanted to keep, it all reminded me of what I'd lost; so I sold it, and that money took me to all corners of the world. Eventually, I was left stranded in Shanghai with little to my name but a fish knife and a few stray foreign coins – and although it was a beautiful city, I didn't enjoy the notion that I would be spending the night without a roof, or sustenance. Maybe I should have used the last money I owned on a letter to my Roman cousins; they may have at least felt some pity for my plight.

But no matter: I cannot alter the past; I simply have to find work, that way I may be able to find a Europe-bound ship and pay my way onto it. Simpler spoken than executed. However, in a foreign land, with little knowledge of the culture and language, finding currency was no easy task. After a day of wandering and questioning, I was given a position at an exotic pleasurehouse, who admired my fair skin and Mediterranean features. It wasn't ideal, but it was dry and warm. I was required, as well, to undergo a training period before I was 'open to men of status', so it would be some time before I gave myself away.

In this period, I learned the art of seduction and pleasure, along with a few of my fellow workers indulging me in lessons of society and speed, and after a week of exposure, I could hold a basic conversation in the dialect of Shanghai, and conduct myself politely and elegantly at tea parties and social gatherings. Though my training was still uncompleted, I was granted access to mingle with guests and dignitaries during the evenings, who would flock to me and my tales of the world. I soon had a list of men for when my training was ended, which would extend by the hour each night.

I grew to love the house that became my home, the men, despite the alcohol, were mostly gentle and courteous and those who opposed this disposition were guided to the courtyard and given instructions on respect. That was the house practice – as many of the girls were young and fragile. They all developed into my new family, whom I cherished and grew protective of. On more than one occasion, the house had hired assassins and spies against recreants and chauvinists. I was safe, for the time being.

I knew it would not last forever, but I had hoped it lasted longer than it did. Shortly after my 19th birthday, after 4 months of remaining in the house, one of my regular clients revealed to me, a thought. He arrived to the house manic from dread and suspicion – the girls fetched him wine and took him slowly to my room while I prepared behind a folding screen for his arrival. The man, Chen Gao, was a military general, and having recently been promoted I could somewhat understand his hysteria. He was young, and viewed as inexperienced; it would not be so strange for him to be killed in his juvenility.

Though he was shivering, and beads of sweat poured from his forehead – what had caused such anxiety. Suddenly, he sprang up, his hands holding my shoulders, his eyes searching my own.

"You must help me." He whispers, gripping me harder with each second passing. "They are coming." I blink, unable to understand. The best of my powers were to make a man smile; there was little else I was capable of. Just what did he expect of me? "Give this to my son…" Our conversation was ended then, by blood rising into and out of his mouth. They would have spilled onto me if I had not jumped away and allowed the body to fall limply before me. Before I was able to do anything else, a scream had ripped itself from my throat.

I had never seen a corpse before, and was certain I did not wish to see another as I watched his eyes roll to the back of his head. It was only at this point did I notice the cause of his death, as more blood flooded from a wound the size of my hand in the centre of his back. I kneeled beside him, took a stained envelope from his hand, and closed his eyelids. What a mess.

"They'll kill you for what I've done." A covered voice called out from the window, and I saw a masked figure sheath a dagger to their belt. They were tall, clad in black and hid away in the shadows. I had no response, but I could hear the sounds of both men and women moving to the stairs on the floor below me. "Come with me. Now."

"How can I…" The words seemed to slip from my throat before I could stop them; in my mind and heart, I knew I would not follow this figure. But before I could protest, they took my wrist, pulled me across the room and out of my window. It took longer than expected, but I was lowered to street level, and only then did I hear them speak again. It was just a simple apology, and did not atone for what they next did, as I was knocked unconscious and unknown to myself that night, but transported across Shanghai to a hideaway across the city.

There began yet another chapter of my life, and would trigger a memory I had forgotten long ago.