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Cecilia, John, and I walked into the club. Sitting at a table nearby, we noticed our old friend Charles. He was entertaining a group of local girls, surely hoping to bed one that night, by recounting his recent trip to Beijing. He was particularly enthusiastic while describing his experience at the opera, jingju 京剧 – the luscious valleys of the prima donnas figure, robbed in only the finest silks private admiration can buy. Charles insisted the thing only more beautiful than her silky dark hair was her sweet, soothing and quieting voice. “Completely unaware of her own appeal, she truly is the symbol of Chinese modesty! Forget Marlene Dietrich and Anna May Wong! You girls have nothing on Cai Yu’s singing beauties!” [Jack Mur & Loo Ching Ling 吕晶琳] |
