The Private Papers of Eastern Jewel

  Five weeks after first hearing from her she sent news with a trusted servant that she had money enough to pay for my escape. She said that she had contacts who would help me and that I must do exactly as she said. I should wait a week before going to her as her lover would be away on business in Canton then and our chances of success would be greater in his absence. I should come at night when the dark would better disguise me and she was longing to see me, her true friend. It hurt to hear her words of friendship and I wept like a child. I had been without affection for so long that I hardly knew what to do with the emotions her words had inspired in me. Kim, my loyal friend, had come to my aid; she was my hope, my compass, and I thanked the gods for her.

  But bad luck haunted me and on the morning of the day I was due to go to Kim, I woke suffering a violent stomach bug brought on by bad fish. I was vomiting every few minutes and the pains in my stomach were so bad that I couldn't stand. I decided that if I were not better by nightfall I would have to sleep one more night in the shack and leave the following evening. Faithful and Chou were poor nurses and left me alone with my sickness. They said they had to get word to Kim that I would be delayed and that they would return for the dusk meal at the usual time.

  I had sewn my emergency money into a pocket of my dress and had a bag packed with my few possessions ready at my feet. I longed to go but was too ill to move. My ribs ached with retching and, when I finally had nothing left to vomit, I slept. I had a dark dream where Mari and I shared the riverbed with strange ugly water creatures. They floated through our hair and nibbled at our bodies as we swayed with the rhythm of the current. Mari seemed oblivious to the creatures as she smiled a hollow smile.

  I woke in a panic and listened for the footsteps of Faithful and his brother, which I had trained myself to recognise. The night was still and I heard only the lapping of the water against the river's bank. The darkness that was beyond dusk had fallen while the air was cloyed with the wetness that was usual between midnight and dawn. The brothers' absence concerned me, but I felt too bad to do anything about it and fell once more into a deep sleep.

  I was woken by the sound of whispering outside the shack, then, before my eyes could adjust to the gloom, the door was kicked in and Chinese troops surrounded me. As I lay in the foetal position on the dirty bedding, a full sick bowl at my side, I was shouted at hysterically, pulled to my feet by my hair and dragged from the hovel. My own bodyguards, those fish-eating twins born in the Year of the Monkey, had betrayed me to Chiang's police. Not for money, as I later found out, but to ingratiate themselves with the new police force who were looking for recruits to keep law and order in Peking. I felt ashamed of how I was found and thought that the least I could have expected from the brothers, considering I had employed them at their time of need, was that they might have allowed me to be captured with some dignity. But I shouldn't have been surprised, for history is littered with such betrayals.

  During my first year of incarceration in Peking Number One Prison, the Soviet Red Army moved into Manchuria and Pu Yi abdicated as Emperor of Manchukuo. He fled to the Korean border from where he hoped to escape to Japan. Instead he was seized by the Russians and flown to Siberia.

  Wan Jung, abandoned yet again, was left terrified and fearful for her future. Yet I suspect that she was relieved that she no longer starred in the drama of the deposed Emperor's life.

  In that same year General Okamura Yasutsugu surrendered all Japanese armed forces in China to General Ho Ying-chin, completing Japan's humiliation, as well as my own.

  Three years have passed since that time and I am still in Number One Prison where I never know in what spirits I will wake. Sometimes, whatever the awful reality of my situation, I am filled with the certainty that all will be well, but mostly I am without optimism. I have adapted to my poor surroundings and these days I hardly notice the damp walls oozing lime or the drowned mice sometimes found floating in the urine of my night pot. There are times, though, when I am overwhelmed with rage. Caged like Miura's little canary, I have too much time to think of the past, to regret how many wrong roads I took in pursuit of an interesting life.

  I have used up what few possessions I had left to barter for cigarettes and sake, which for a while I thought I could not do without. Now, like my fellow inmates, I survive on the weak vegetable broth which is a constant in this place, and the dusty drinking water that is rarely insect free. My night guard Suk-Ping is kind and sometimes gives me cigarettes. He never leaves me without a pencil and paper and once he brought me a duck egg, which I ate raw, hoping to take the sting out of my dreams.

  In my second year of captivity I was brought before one of Chiang Kaishek's military tribunals and tried for treason and espionage. The chief prosecutor said that I deserved death because I was a traitor, but most of all because I, a mere woman, had flown over my homeland in Japanese aircraft and looked down in contempt on the good earth of China. It was no surprise to me that the highest court found me guilty and sentenced me to death. China is run now by Chiang's so-called 'elite' who share his animosity towards anyone connected to the Qing dynasty. I expect no more from them, for how can those from rural farmlands understand the ties that bind the high-born together?

  I bore up well, I think. My captors have never seen me cry, but if they could share my dreams they would enjoy the torment I have endured. No matter how many times I have insisted that I am Japanese and cannot be considered a traitor to China, the court will have none of it. They refer to me as the 'Arch Traitor', as though I had no given name. As I do not trust the advocate the court has assigned to me, I have spent this third year of my imprisonment working on my appeal. If I can prove myself to be a Japanese citizen I will be returned to Japan and not have to suffer execution at the hands of the Chinese. With this in mind I wrote to Kawashima, asking him to send the documents of my adoption to the court. In his letter of reply he said that he did not consider me to be his daughter, that I had never officially been adopted by him and that there was no mention of me in his family's registration records. He added that I had come to live in his household at the age of eight and he supposed that, as the majority of my years had been spent in Japan, most people might regard me as Japanese. The county commissioner in Tokyo had stamped the letter officially as being true and correct. As it failed to prove that I was Japanese and only stated that I might be regarded as so, Kawashima's cold missive had signed my death warrant.

  I remembered clearly the day that Kawashima told me that he had adopted me and that I was now officially his and Japan's true daughter. I celebrated the occasion with Sorry by eating rice and red beans. We lit a starry firework and sent it to the heavens.

  It may be that Kawashima himself is afraid of being accused of war crimes. It is the case that many Japanese are under suspicion by the allied victors. I have heard that Tanaka is in Sugamo Prison in Tokyo accused of such transgressions. I cannot forgive Kawashima for his cowardice, though, and am finally convinced that I am less than nothing in his heart. Yet I can't quite expel him from my own.

  Amongst those who did speak up for me were my half-sisters Xian Qi and Xian Wo, whom I had not seen for many years and hardly knew. They said that I had always been clever, but that I was not capable of being a spy. Qi said that my beauty had been my downfall and that I had been corrupted by the Japanese. Wo said that I was not a bad person and that the tragedy of my life had been my adoption by Kawashima, which she remembered clearly my father, Prince Su, telling her about. I was grateful to them, although the court showed no interest in their opinions.

  It was a foregone conclusion that I would lose the appeal, as the Chinese had decided my fate long before allowing it. As I write I am waiting to be told the date of my execution. Strangely, although I do not welcome it, I am not sad at the thought of my death. I think I always knew that I would not die with old bones, that I am only capable of enjoying the world's beauty if I am myself beautiful. There is no mirror in my cell, but I can tell by my guards' and my fellow pr
isoners' reaction to me that I am no longer beautiful. They say that physical beauty is no currency in the new China, but while men live I will never believe that.

  It is odd, though, how everything in the world looks splendid to me now that my time in it may be limited. I see perfection in the simple cup of my rice bowl, the sweet symmetry of my rolled sleeping mat and the light, soft as moss, that filters through my cell window. These everyday sights touch my heart in a way I have never experienced before and bring me close to tears.

  I have noticed too that memory comes to me so clearly from the past that I hear voices and remember the smells from my childhood as though they were present in my cell. The tender music of my blood mother's voice is heard, I see the way her hair grew from the delicate peak of her forehead and remember the look in her eyes softening at the mention of my father's name. How lovely it would be to start my life again now that I know the path not to take. But I fear there is too much blood in my past for me to make amends, too much grief and pain to heal even myself.

  As Japan had seen fit to give me a military rank I requested of the court that I be granted the military honour of a firing squad. My request was denied and I know that I face beheading by the sword. I am more scared of the sword than of the gun but I try to put the thought of it from my mind. It comes to me, though, in dreams, where I have been beheaded on numerous occasions. In those dark imaginings I am always dressed as Shimako was on the night that she hung herself above the Buddha shelf in the shrine by the carp pool. I am afraid in the dreams, and sometimes I wake crying to find the gentle guard Suk-Ping at my side comforting me.

  Suk-Ping brought me a letter from Kim, which by its delivery into my hands put his job, if not his life, at risk. It was simply signed 'your true friend' but I knew it was from her. She had scented it with her rose perfume, which was as good as her signature. She said she was working on my behalf and that all was not lost, that I should be brave and not give up hope. I am amazed that despite the danger to herself, Kim has been the most loyal of friends and thinks of me as a sister. If our situations were reversed would I have been so true to her? I have experienced most of love's repertoire and only now know that loyalty is the most precious thing. Her constancy and Suk-Ping's unexpected kindness have restored my faith in friendship.

  I could not think of anything that Kim might do that would save my situation, but in her second letter she said that, with the help of a trusted friend, she had bribed the poverty-striken parents of a consumptive daughter to let the girl take my place at my execution. Kim said that I should not feel guilty because the girl was so ill that she would die soon anyway and was happy to know that her parents would not starve.

  Suk-Ping knew a way to smuggle the consumptive girl into my cell, which he would do on the night before my execution. He would escape along with me and be well paid for his part in my rescue. Kim said that although he was scared he was determined to do it, and that I should trust him. I knew that Suk-Ping harboured a bitter grudge against Chiang Kai-shek, whom he held responsible for his wife's and child's death. They had died when, without warning to the locals, the Kuomintang had blown up the dykes on the Yellow River. Suk-Ping's village had been flooded, and with nothing but earth to eat his wife and daughter had died of starvation.

  Kim wrote that my escape would be such a loss of face to China's new leaders that they would never let it be known that I had evaded their retribution. They would go ahead with the execution and it would be said that a false daughter of China had met a just end. After I had read the second letter Suk-Ping set fire to it with a lit cigarette, crushing the ashes into the floor with his heavy boots until nothing remained of it. I would not let him do the same to the first note, because I wanted to keep it as a talisman. I promised him that if things didn't work out I would eat the letter before my accusers could get their hands on it.

  'Our plan will work and we shall leave this place together, Eastern Jewel,' he said, touching my cheek with his rough hand. 'You were not meant for such a cruel end. I could not save my family but I will save you.'

  Despite the horror of the means of my would-be escape, I was at first elated at the thought that I might fly Number One Prison. Under a new name I could go to America, find Jack and seek out my dear friend Tamura Hidari. I reasoned that the girl would die anyway, that the sword might be a more merciful end than the consumptive drowning that I have seen to be truly terrible.

  I could still have a long life ahead of me to enjoy all the things I have been deprived of in the last three years. The thought of freedom seems suddenly to be a realistic one, and I do so long for freedom. I long for more than a yard of sky above my head, long to live without the low moan of fear that hums through my body in the dark reaches of the night.

  In the north of China they say that 'he who emerges with his life from great perils will have a happy and prosperous future'. I admit that the thought is appealing, but waiting each day as I do for news of my execution date, I cannot settle to a decision. Despite what I have done in the past I find myself turning away from this latest and most ugly path. Is it possible to take such a path and live happily? I fear the frail face of the consumptive girl that I picture in my mind will haunt me and spoil what I have left of life anyway. Her death by my sword would confirm the supremacy of the darkness in my nature.

  And what would be the views of those that I have set up as my true judges? My mother would rather I join her than sentence this girl to such an end. Natsuko might urge me to go against my nature for once and choose kindness to another over myself. Sorry would not judge me, no matter which way I chose, but Jack, I think, would find the whole dark business unbearable. I am sad to discover that I do not know if he would urge me to redeem myself and go to the end that has been prescribed for me, or whether he longs for me enough to encourage my flight.

  Soon the light through my window will turn to the colour of sea glass. A short twilight will come before the darkness that in this prison is the blackest I have ever experienced. I will unroll my sleeping mat and lie with my back against the wall in the habit I have carried with me since childhood. I do not know whether I will grasp my freedom and live a stolen life or go to a clean end, accepting my fate.

  I will sleep, and if I wake with an urgent need for life then the decision is made. We are only animals, after all, and the instinct to live is paramount in us.

  If I wake full of pity I will accept the sword and ask Kim to give the money to the consumptive girl's family anyway, in the hope that my last act may gain me approval in the next life. There is no more to be said, dawn will come, the decision will be made and either way I will be free.

  The following report was published in the Peking Daily on the 26th of March 1948. 'At 6:40 on the evening of the 25th of March 1948, the woman known as Eastern Jewel was executed in Peking Number One Prison. Eastern Jewel was the fourteenth daughter of Su Qin Wang, a direct descendant of the younger brother of the first Qing Emperor of the Qing dynasty.'

  Acknowledgements

  So many thanks to Rob Herman for getting the book launched and to the wonderful Stevie Lee for helping it on its way. A heartfelt thank you to the brilliant Robert Caskie, who is all that an agent should be and more. To Clive Lindley for so many things, but in particular for his fearless corrections and enthusiastic wielding of the red pen. Huge thanks to my editor Alexandra Pringle and her great Bloomsbury team who make things happen. Thank you, too, to Melanie Silgardo for her astuteness and her inspired touch. And to Julia Gregson, friend and writer thank you for tough love and for kick-starting me when I wobbled. Also thanks to Tom Kinninmont for giving me that first most necessary flush of confidence. I am truly indebted to Jenny Parrott, for all the handholding and support she gave me along the new-to-me paths of publishing. And thank you to all my dear friends in the shed's club who sustained me with their interest and fine dinners - you know who you are. And a very special thank you to my gifted reader Richard Gregson.

  The World of Eastern Jewel


  1906: German neurologist Alzheimer identifies a new brain disorder.

  1906: Eastern Jewel is born a Manchu princess, the fourteenth daughter to Prince Su and his fourth concubine. Prince Su was one of the eight princes of the Iron Helmet in the old Imperial Court of Peking, a direct descendant of the younger brother of the first Qing Emperor of the great Qing dynasty.

  1912: The Titanic sinks.

  1912: Empress Dowager Longyu issues an imperial edict bringing about the abdication of Emperor Pu Yi and the end to the almost three-centuries-old Qing dynasty. Eastern Jewel's distant cousin Pu Yi loses his throne and China becomes a republic. Pu Yi is confined to the Forbidden City where he plays Emperor.

  1914: The First World War breaks out.

  1914: Eastern Jewel is caught spying on her father, Prince Su, and is banished to Japan to live with Prince Su's blood brother Kawashima Naniwa.

  1919: America adds an 18th amendment to its constitution, outlawing alcohol. This leads to bootlegging and the meteoric rise of the American Mafia.

  1919: Eastern Jewel is adopted by Kawashima and renamed Yoshiko.

  1921: Einstein receives the Nobel Prize.

  1921: Eastern Jewel is seduced by her adoptive grandfather, Teshima.

  1922: james joyce writes Ulysses.

  1922: Eastern Jewel is seduced by her adoptive father, Kawashima.

  1925: Pu Yi flees the Forbidden City under the protection of the japanese.

  1925: Eastern Jewel married off to Mongolian prince.

  1926: Laurence Olivier makes his acting debut at the Birmingham Repertory Company.

  1926: Eastern Jewel escapes Mongolia and arrives in Japan en route to Shanghai.