The Spoilers by Matt Braun

had been retained to teach her English and the art of conversation, and still another mentor had trained her in music and song. A woman of great wisdom had instructed her in lovemaking and the many exotic acts pleasurable to man. At age fourteen she had been accorded a great honor. Fung, her master and patron, had himself taken her virginity.
    With a note of pride, she observed that since that time she had lived the life of a courtesan. She entertained those men, both Chinese and American, who were of special interest to her master. In return, she had been given her own quarters and the freedom to travel Little China as she pleased. Over the years many wealthy men had attempted to buy her, offering thousands of dollars above the price normally paid for even the most beautiful virgin. Yet, declaring her beyond value, her master had refused in each instance. That refusal had bestowed great honor on her, and wherever she went the people of Little China treated her with the respect reserved for one of position and rank. Few slave girls rose so high, and she considered herself the most fortunate
of women. Not yet twenty, she had found serenity and purpose in life. She existed to serve her master, and her days were filled with happiness. She was content.
    Starbuck believed her. She was a slave, and whether she called herself courtesan or whore, she would live out her days in bondage. All the same, she was happier than any white whore he’d ever known. She was at peace with herself and her world, and the serenity she spoke of was no act. Her voice, the expression in her eyes, told the story. She had found something in life that few people attain. Her mirror reflected the worth of her own esteem.
    May Ling smiled and sang him another song. He lay back on the pillows, sipping whiskey and puffing his cigar. After a time, she put the zither away and held out her hand. He climbed to his feet, all but bewitched by her loveliness, and allowed himself to be led to her bedchamber. There she undressed him, and after stepping out of her kimono, she let him gaze a moment upon the golden swell of her breasts.
    Then she showed him that Chinese girls were, after all, no different from white women. Some were simply better than others, and she skillfully persuaded him that she was the best.
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    May Ling never questioned her master’s orders, or his motives. To her, a man’s body was like a zither, an instrument to be strummed and caressed. Several times during the night, using her own body to strike responsive chords, she had taught Starbuck exquisite
harmonies known only to a trained courtesan. Early the next morning, she undertook the balance of her assignment.
    After a late breakfast, she suggested a personally conducted tour of Little China. Starbuck was feeling a bit frazzled, his juices sapped by her arduous and sometimes gymnastic lovemaking. Under normal circumstances he might have hesitated, but his brain was muzzy and he suspected nothing. Chinatown was Fung’s domain, and seeing it through May Ling’s eyes seemed very much in order. He immediately approved the idea.
    On the street, she took his arm and guided him toward the center of Little China. As they walked, she chattered on gaily, explaining that the district was the largest Chinese settlement outside the Orient. Within a dozen square blocks, some thirty thousand people lived and worked, rarely ever setting foot in the white sections of San Francisco.
    The Chinese, May Ling noted proudly, were an industrious people. Some twisted cigars for a living, others worked in clothing and shoe factories, and many served in white homes as cooks and houseboys. For the most part, they were frugal, followed the ancient religious rites, and kept very much to themselves. Yet they were not the simple peasants, ignorant and humble, so commonly portrayed by whites. Almost all were fanatic gamblers, playing the lottery and fan-tan, and even a variation of poker. Opium smoking was