Shaman: A Tara Adventure

By Margaret Blair

That one country, albeit a very big one, should contain two such different cities as Peking (set in the remote past of the emperors) and Shanghai (cosmopolitan and ahead of its time) at the same time seems fascinating in itself. And here, they are both featured in one book.

Due to the financial losses and illness of her father, Arielle becomes a courtesan as the only support of her family. During training, Arielle witnesses a client’s frightening attack on a colleague. Under the instruction of Wu—a beautiful, mysterious shaman from Tibet—Arielle masters the art of self-defense and continues her training as a shaman: a person regarded as having access to good and evil spirits.

In this role, Arielle’s professional name is Tara, which has Buddhist significance, meaning “she who saves through virtuous and enlightened action.”

The 1937 murder of a young English girl in Peking propels Tara into a daring and dangerous mission to bring the vicious American murderer from Peking to justice under his own country’s law in the International Settlement of Shanghai.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781490795607

Margaret Blair

Margaret Blair MA, MBA has enjoyed three careers: as a teacher, social and financial marketing researcher, mother of three and grandmother of three. She is the author of two books on Shanghai of the 1930s and 1940s one a memoir and one a historical novel. Margaret is also the author of a book of essays set in rural Canada and another book set in Toronto in 1969/70. She lives with her husband, an emeritus professor of the University of Toronto, beside a stream, among Mennonite farms in southwest Ontario, Canada. Website: www.margaretblair.com

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Copyright 2019 Margaret Blair.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Front cover and maps designed by Margaret Blair

Front cover photograph from George Barbier Personnages de Comedie

(Paris: Chez Meynial, 1922) Courtesy of the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto

Maps executed, and internal Chinese character photograph, also front cover and spine and back cover author photograph by Gary Moon

1. Second World War (Pacific), 2. Old Shanghai, 3. Old Peking, 4. 1930s, 5. Crime, 6. Adventure, 7. Chinese Holocaust, 8. Japanese occupation of China, 9. Shamanism

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9558-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9560-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019907472

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Trafford rev. 07/17/2019

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CONTENTS

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part II

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part III

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part IV

Chapter 1

Historical Note

Notes

Acknowledgements

Q and A with the author

Suggested Discussion Guide for Book Clubs

For RSB

The other books by Margaret Blair set in 1930s China

Gudao, Lone Islet,The War Years in Shanghai,

a childhood memoir

Shanghai Scarlet

See also trailers for these books on YouTube

Gudao, Lone Islet, The War Years in Shanghai, a childhood memoir

Throughout her memoir Blair … details historical events … yet relates her story as a child. A well-written, moving perspective on imprisonment, World War II and the history of Shanghai. Recommended. Kirkus Indie Reviews

… important and riveting … this captivating book is a must for anyone wanting a fresh perspective on World War II. RECOMMENDED, US Review of Books

… a work that not only tells us about a specific time and place in history, but also provides … a timeless tale of humanity amidst loss and deprivation.

Peter Harmsen, Professor, Aarhus University, 20-year AFP Bureau Chief in Taiwan

Shanghai Scarlet

The world of 1930s Shanghai is vividly brought to life in Margaret Blair’s Shanghai Scarlet. Historical Novels Review

Richly crafted with nuance, this novel transports readers into the life and mind of characters … a world hidden in mystery and intrigue … this novel is an experience worth the journey." US Review of Books

This impressive historical novel … is a sensitive, thoughtful and poignant story. The ending is very effective. Poshek Fu, Professor, University of Illinois

… Shanghai in its fabled heyday … her novel is expertly written and characters precisely drawn, providing a stunning read of deep emotional impact.

Peter Harmsen, Professor, Aarhus University, 20-year Bureau Chief of AFP Taiwan

PART I

Shanghai, early 1931 to early 1938

Arielle’s early life and training as a courtesan, and later in self-defence by Wu. Information about the 1937 murder in Peking of Pamela Werner comes to Arielle and she involves the Shanghai Municipal Police (SMP)

MargaretBlairShamanWUonesymbol.jpgMargaretBlairMapEastChina.jpgMargaretBlairMapShanghaiV2.jpg

Chapter 1

T hat Saturday morning when I was fourteen and my life changed, the maid pulled back the blinds, and I woke to see the sunlight streaming in on a tranquil two-thousand-year-old statue of Kwan Yin, lovely goddess of compassion and mercy, sitting in the lotus position and cupping a plum flower in her hands. The statue had been there for as long as I could remember. My mother had died during my birth; in a way it seemed as though her spirit was watching over me.

My mother’s widowed sister Auntie Lo and Father were sleeping in as usual after the Western style meal we always had on Friday nights, using the unusual eating tools, so much heavier than chopsticks.

That morning, I poured water from the ewer left by the maid and carefully washed my hands and face. In front of the long mirror I brushed my hair then put on my dressing gown, stopping to make sure it was tidily wrapped around me. Then I padded in bare feet through the house, with its austere furniture of antiques (an interest of Father’s) into the welcoming sunlit kitchen to have breakfast with dear Ah Ling. She had been my mother’s amah and now helped our cook.

Father never spoke of Mother and it was left to Ah Ling to tell me about her. Sitting beside her at the kitchen table as Ah Ling chopped vegetables, or sometimes on her ample lap, from an early age I heard that my mother had the fine bones and beauty of the women of her family. With a faraway look in her eyes, Ah Ling once said that as a child Mother was never noisy or dirtying herself.

You know your mother, dear Lingyu, played the pipa beautifully. Ah, if only you could have heard her … And Ah Ling’s eyes had clouded over with tears … but then you are learning to play so well," she had continued, in a more businesslike tone.

The calm voice and comforting scent of Ah Ling, the scent of mint and cinnamon when she was in the cosy kitchen of our family house, gave me a sense of being mothered that I never had from my mother’s childless sister, Auntie Lo, who ran the household.

This morning, Ah Ling took me on her knee (at fourteen I was still not too big for that) and fed me delicious fried bread and savoury pancakes, with pieces of dim sum. We had just finished eating, and Ah Ling was telling me another tale about Mother, when the maid who had gone to waken Father screamed. She ran to Auntie Lo’s room, then came downstairs.

The Master, he is awake but cannot move, she said.

Soon, our Doctor MacDonald came. Then as usual, my tutor Mr. Wei also arrived. In our panic we had forgotten about him. Auntie Lo said: While Doctor MacDonald and I decide what to do for Xinren (my father’s given name), you will take your regular lessons in calligraphy and poetry from Mr. Wei.

I was distraught: Father had his eyes open, but as the maid said, he neither moved nor said anything. Auntie Lo took the teacher aside and explained the situation to him.

Mr. Wei was always impeccably dressed following the old Chinese way, in a long black garment with frog closings and the black silk domed hat worn by elderly gentlemen. With him, Mr. Wei always brought a little singer to entertain me as I worked. It was his pet cricket. As with everything else relating to my teacher, the insect’s cage was beautiful, intricately woven in thin polished bamboo. I found Mr. Wei rather intimidating–goodness knows why, as he was very gentle, and my work was good. I think it was his seemingly great age and fragility that created the awe I felt.

As usual, we sat at a big table in Father’s study. First, Mr. Wei took out some flash cards, pictographs for memorization. They were stylish characters, beautifully drawn by the teacher’s long-fingered and elegant hands. He sat very upright and patiently explained how each one resembled a stylised version of what it said, for instance a bridge or a bird. "If you remember what it looks like, what it means, then it will be easier for you to read and write it."

This Saturday, Mr. Wei was not strict with me about how I was to position myself and hold the brush, held vertically in my fingers, the palm also held vertically. He decided on an easier lesson than usual. Today, Mr. Wei quickly turned from calligraphy to the classical Chinese poetry he also taught me, and to the ninth century female poet, Yu Hsuan-chi.

From what we know of her life, she was a very well-educated, independent young woman who decided for herself what she would do in her life. Exactly the modern kind of woman Father wants for me to copy in my life, I thought.

‘In Yu Hsuan-chi’s time though, to make enough money to determine her own life’s direction, Yu had to become first a concubine of a wealthy official, Adept-Serene, and then a courtesan.

By then I knew that a courtesan was very well educated and provided entertainment at private social events. Yu Hsuan-chi also occasionally gave sexual favours, but only as she wished.

I read the poem Yu Hsuan-chi sent Adept-Serene, titled Gazing out in Grief, with its melancholy images of autumn and evening, and her verbal picture of the never-ending longing she felt for Adept-Serene. I wondered how, after receiving such a poem, he could continue to abandon Yu Hsuan-chi. Although there were still concubines and courtesans in Canton, I knew that such things would not happen to me: this was the twentieth century, and my wealthy father had other plans for me.

Mr. Wei told me that as well as her artistic and social skills, Yu Hsuan-chi’s beauty was legendary. I thought it amazing, but also right, that she was still remembered eleven hundred years later. As he left, Mr. Wei said kindly, You may keep the book of poems.

After a light lunch, Auntie Lo still kept me away from Father and told me to have a nap, during which I lay on the bed in my room with Yu Hsuan-chi’s book and read her sad poems, some about her rage at not having her scholarly achievements recognized because she was a woman.

I myself vowed to work even harder at my studies and become an independent young woman capable of choosing my own husband, as Father had promised. Already I was receiving high praise for my work in school and also read widely beyond what my teachers required, borrowing freely from the excellent school library, which had many translations into English of works by major European writers.

On Saturday afternoons, I usually sat in the garden and played my pipa, savouring the views through the moon gates. Auntie Lo was delighted when at the age of eight, instead of the piano I asked to learn how to play that ancient wooden pear-shaped instrument, with four strings played by plucking, which I held in my arms balanced on my knee. I liked the idea of creating each note myself, and the nuances involved in playing on strings, which required more meticulous attention to detail than the piano, where all you did was to hit a predetermined note.

The pipa appealed to Auntie’s traditional tastes, but what she did not know was that I knew it was the instrument played by my mother. Like our father, Auntie Lo never spoke of Mother: the loss of that beloved person seemed a subject they both still could not bear to talk about. The nearest she came to telling me about my mother was one afternoon when Auntie Lo came out to the garden where I was playing the pipa. You are a real lady. You take after our side of the family, then with a quick nod of approval she was gone.

However, this particular Saturday it was more appropriate to stay out of the way and read my poetry, do homework for the coming school week, and spend time with dear, comforting Ah Ling. When I was in the kitchen, there was a great deal of banging going on upstairs. This was the moving of Father’s antique wedding bed out of his room and its ordinary, modern replacement being installed from one of the other bedrooms.

Father’s carved wood bed was over two hundred years old. Surrounding three sides it had a wood canopy with a dragon and phoenix silhouetted across the bed’s top. Once when I was about twelve, Auntie Lo had said rather vaguely, They’re the Yang and Yin … about the balance in the marriage. … But you’ll find out … Since his marriage to our mother, Father had slept in no other bed, but Doctor MacDonald said it was too awkward for nurses to manage in their round-the-clock care of him. I grieved for poor Father, who may not have been able to say anything. However, I knew he would feel sad about the move.

Looking back on my father in better times, he had always been the kind of person who embraced life with both arms and wanted me to do the same. Father looked the part, as when he was enjoying himself, his broad, expressive face lit up with pleasure, and his many gold teeth shone. Whenever he saw me he’d put out his arms offering an embrace. Auntie Lo frowned upon his spontaneity.

You must not throw yourself into your father’s arms. Indeed we must not throw ourselves around at all, but should try to maintain a ladylike demeanour.

But then I would see her rather austere and narrow face bursting into a smile at my father’s jokes and easy-going good humour. I possessed the longer face, fine bones and small stature of my mother’s family. Ah Ling said I was growing to look more and more like my mother. In the poignant look my father gave me sometimes, I could see that even though he never mentioned her, I reminded Father of Lingyu.

I had always understood my father was very rich with family money. He was interested in reading which he did in Mandarin and in many modern languages such as French and English. It was from a British author, Shakespeare, that he chose my name: Arielle (Ariel with a French twist).

Father may have inherited a fortune, but he was also a thoughtful man with many interests, who believed in giving me more freedom than girls of my class usually had, and also believed in educating me widely. From private tutors I learned to write Mandarin, which we spoke at home, and to play the pipa. There was also a full education at a local British school where I read, wrote and spoke European languages: English and French, also ancient Latin and Greek.

Between school and parties and taking part in the local events like the June Dragon Boat Festival, I had a varied life. Father always took me to see the races on the Pearl River. He usually smiled his golden smile and said, Only for fun, I’ll bet a few dollars for you on whatever boat you choose. So we would choose a boat and cheer it on to win.

I could hardly wait for all the exciting things that would take place when I was older. Some of them came sooner than I had thought. When I was thirteen I began to accompany Auntie Lo to see interesting parts of Canton. My favourite place was the Sun Company Building. The sight of the four elevators, and all the luxury foreign goods on display, was exciting. The first time we went, I