The Girl In The Golden House

JOHN BIGGS THE GIRL IN THE GOLDEN HOUSE THE GIRL IN THE GOLDEN HOUSE JOHN BIGGS PANDANUS BOOKS Research School of ...

Author: John B. Biggs

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JOHN BIGGS

THE GIRL IN THE GOLDEN HOUSE

THE GIRL IN THE GOLDEN HOUSE JOHN BIGGS

PANDANUS BOOKS

Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies THE AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL UNIVERSITY

Cover: Street market, Kowloon, Hong Kong Photgraphy Bob Cooper © Pandanus Books 2003

www.pandanusbooks.com.au This book is copyright in all countries subscribing to the Berne convention. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher. Typeset in Bodoni Book 11pt on 12.5pt by Letter Press, telephone 02 6242 5948 and printed by CanPrint, Canberra, National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Biggs, John B. (John Burville) The girl in the golden house. ISBN 1 74076 033 6. I. Title A823.4

Editorial enquiries please contact Pandanus Books on 02 6125 3269 Published by Pandanus Books, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, The Australian National University, Canberra ACT 0200 Australia Pandanus Books are distributed by UNIREPS, University of New South Wales, Sydney NSW 2052 Telephone 02 9664 0999 Fax 02 9664 5420 Editor: Jan Borrie Production: Ian Templeman, Duncan Beard, Emily Brissenden

To Ah Mau

AUTHOR’S NOTE The story of my characters is interwoven with the real story of the Handover of Hong Kong to the People’s Republic of China. My characters are entirely fictional and have no basis in real persons alive or dead, but all the political events are real, as are the players I refer to in those events. The two court cases, on mistranslation and on the use of Cantonese in criminal trials, are based on real cases although the participants and the details are fictional.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I acknowledge my debt to various sources, including: Jonathon Dimbleby, The Last Governor (Little, Brown, 1997); Hong Kong Government, Hong Kong (Information Services Dept., 1997, 1999); Mark Roberti, The Fall of Hong Kong (Wiley, 1994); Stephen Vines, Hong Kong: China’s New Colony (Aurum, 1998). I am most grateful to Catherine Tang in particular for inside advice on Chinese traditions and ceremonies, and to Michael Wilkinson for straightening me out on matters of legal fact in Hong Kong. However, the responsibility for interpreting the facts, and for any misreporting of fact, is entirely mine. I am also grateful to Rosie Waitt and to an anonymous reader for their helpful suggestions. Finally, I must thank the editorial staff of Pandanus Books, all of whom were wonderfully speedy, efficient and supportive. Chapters 37, 38 and 39 formed the basis of a short story in Dimsum, Vol. 4, Summer, 2000, pp. 75–86.

I

CHAPTER 1

‘R

emember, Ah Yan, what the ancient scholars said: “In books there are golden houses and beautiful girls.” No beautiful girls for you, not yet. First, you must study with the utmost diligence. Then, your choices will be many. You may marry then, but only then.’ That is what my father said to me, three years ago, when I was fourteen. I nodded, ‘Yes, Ah Ba.’ I did not say: Sorry, Ah Ba, but it is too late already. Ah Ying may not have been beautiful, and that rotting boatshed was not a golden house, yet she put the taste of the apple in my mouth and I yearn to eat more. I do things to myself while I think of Ah Ying. However, nibbling the skin of the apple does not satisfy me. I am still hungry. But, of course, I did not say that.

My father runs a small bookshop in Western District. He sells mostly Chinese novels and history books, books about Hong Kong and English detective stories. You might think it strange that a Chinese bookshop would sell such English stories, but my father, traditional as he is, has a passion for these stories. Therefore he buys them in order to read them himself. When he has finished reading them, he puts them on the shelves for sale. Words have spread and elderly gwailos browse and poke around the dimly lit shelves always. They look for a Dorothy Sayers, a Rex Stout, an Agatha Christie, a Ngaio Marsh or a Naomi Mitchison they have not read yet. I know all the names because I like reading them, too. Not only are the stories interesting, but I read them for the purpose of improving my English. That is important, because I go to St Paul’s College, where they teach us in English. They even give me an English name. There, I am Chris Wong, and I become Chris Wong to the world. Only at home do I remain Ah Yan. But I was telling you about books and sex. I also like reading old Chinese stories, especially those like the Chin P’ing Mei, which does

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indeed contain golden houses and beautiful girls, like Gold Lotus and Spring Plum, whose amorous adventures excite this reader very much. You see, I am a scholar too, in my way, just as my father is a scholar in his way. Nevertheless, I read these books secretly. Unfortunately, Ah Ba caught me. It was then that he gave me another lecture on sex. ‘Reading books like the Chin P’ing Mei is like sex itself, Ah Yan. Sex is for continuing the line of our ancestors with a special person whom you love. It is not like mahjong. It is not a game you play with strangers, for pleasure. So it is with books. You read for the purpose of seeking the wisdom of our ancestors, not for the excitement of the moment.’ I nodded, ‘Yes, Ah Ba.’ I half-believed him. On the one hand, I thought Ah Ba was right about sex and the line of our ancestors. It must be with someone very special. Therefore, in the ancient days, our families would decide this for us. Today, it should be ‘love’ that would tell you when it is right. I know I shall have to wait a long time before I am told that. On the other hand, sex and love are two separate things. I learned that from Ah Ying, who was herself not very special, and who certainly did not love me. That is where Ah Ba is wrong, dare I say. But, of course, I did not tell him how I came to know that. It is not love that we St Paul’s boys are thinking about every morning, as we stand staring at the St Stephen’s girls as they walk past our school. It is about sex. Thanks again to Ah Ying, I now know, and can imagine so clearly, what lies hidden beneath the long, grey skirts and the swelling blouses of these girls. It is then my stomach lurches with what I call ‘the boatshed feeling’. Aiyaa, it is a blissful torture that we boys discuss long and often. I even tell them careful bits about the boatshed story, but not the whole truth of course. Their eyes grow wide as I tell them these things, as I shall tell you, in due course. And I will tell you the real story, not what I told them. Then, there are the gwai muis, as they wait with their stuck-up boyfriends across the road from us to catch their special bus to take them to the exclusive Island School. These would mostly be children of university teachers, who live in quarters up the hill behind the University of Hong Kong. The boys are loud and arrogant, the girls sophisticated and superior. They are about our age, but they do not look at us. I am sure they do not talk about us, as we talk about them. It is because we do not exist to them. Cheng is angry at this. He is angry at many things to do with the English. He will not even use his English given name.


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‘Pah! Those technicolour dogs think they are so much better than us. Look at them! Red hair, brown hair, yellow hair, black hair; and eyes all colours, like a bag full of marbles. Fat, skinny, short, tall, pointy, mottled — what a mess God made of the faan gwai. At least He knew what He was doing when He made us Chinese.’ Simon disagrees, ‘No, Cheng. That makes them more interesting. Like a stir-fry, more tasty than a bowl of noodles.’ ‘Well, I like them because they have bigger tits,’ Billy is a little jealous of my boatshed reputation maybe. ‘Their faces are pointy like men’s faces. That’s why they have big tits. To attract salty, wet creeps like Billy!’ Eric giggles, and pushes Billy on the shoulder. ‘It is not the physical things that worry me,’ I can afford to say this. ‘They think they’re so superior, but their behaviour is much worse than ours. They are hypocrites.’ I have heard Ah Ba say things like this. We interrupt each other with examples of gwailo wickedness. ‘They’re naughty in class, and lazy in their work.’ ‘I read in Ming Pao the police raided Island School and found drugs in their schoolbags!’ ‘There aren’t any virgins in Form Seven!’ We are discussing the sins of the children of our colonial masters a little too loudly. I break in, ‘Hey, quiet, la! They might hear us!’ Cheng snorts contemptuously. ‘No matter. Do you think any of those foreign devils would bother to learn Cantonese?’

CHAPTER 2

A

nother side to my life, apart from study and talking about sex, are my home duties. Because Ah Ba has made sacrifices to send me to St Paul’s, therefore it is my filial duty to help in the shop. I serve behind the counter after school most afternoons until dinner-time, and again on Saturday afternoons. That is when Ah Ba likes to play mahjong. I like Saturdays, because then I look after the shop all by myself. I gain much knowledge of books — particularly of the Chinese classics, as I have told you. I quickly recognize the regular customers. One is a very pretty, fairheaded gwai mui. She is not one of those from the bus stop. She is not only beautiful, she is friendly. She smiles at me and I smile back at her, but that is all. I am too shy to speak. She had come always with her mother and, once or twice maybe, they are joined by a tall, arrogant-looking, expat boy. He is taller than me, and I am not short. I do not like him. Today it is different. She is alone, and I am alone with her. I am alone with the sort of gwai mui all Chinese boys would dream about. Whatever they say in public, most of my friends — well, apart from Cheng and Eric now I think of it — admit they are fascinated by pretty, blonde Western girls. They are like angels. They are to be admired, but not to diu. That would not be in question! I find myself gazing at this angel in a different way, now we are alone. I am nervous. She is younger than me, fifteen years old maybe. She is slim and graceful, yet with full gwaipor breasts already. Her long hair frames her pretty, oval face in two silky, golden curtains. Freckles are sprinkled on her long straight nose, as if the dog in the moon had shaken himself dry while she slept in his light. And her eyes! They are large, blue crystals that float through you when she looks at you, as she is looking at me now. They make me think of a large scroll painting in Ah Ba’s office. It is of the West Lake at Hangzhou in autumn. Golden trees, blue water and, if you listen hard, a little wren sings. But I am missing what this little wren is singing.

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‘I am sorry. How may I help you?’ Aiyaa. My English is exposed in the glare of those blue headlights. She will now think me not only deaf, but stupid. She waves her hand over my eyes, but smiling so friendly. ‘Wakey! I said, “Ruth Rendel”.’ The little blue wren sings again, in a voice soft and high, an English wren. ‘My mother ordered A Demon in My View, by Ruth Rendell. Could you check to see if it has arrived yet? Please?’ ‘Certainly.’ I go to Ah Ba’s office. There on his desk is the book and stuck between the pages is a slip of paper, ‘For Mrs De Crespigny’. Wah, what a name! How do I pronounce that? I have an idea. I read the flyleaf and leave the book where it is. ‘No, I am so sorry. Next week, maybe.’ This way I will have the chance of speaking to her again. After a studious pause I go on, she must not think my English is bad. ‘A Demon in My View. Ah yes, now that won the 1976 Gold Dagger Award for Crime Fiction, did it not?’ ‘How would I know? Mummy reads these crime books, I don’t. Me, I like sizzling romance. Like, sizz-er-ling.’ Suddenly, she looks very naughty. ‘Jilly Cooper, now she’s really cool. Even Danielle Steele at a pinch.’ She wrinkles her nose. It makes her look very cute. ‘And how about you? What are your favourite books?’ ‘I like English detective stories. Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers —’ ‘Oh God, you’ve got to be kidding! They’re so ancient! Uncool! Nobody reads that stuff any more! Like nobody.’ She is laughing at me. I have made a fool of myself in a way I do not understand, and now she mocks me in this fashionable ‘hip’ talk. Why does she not just go and leave me to my old-fashioned ways? Then she can go and be ‘cool’ with that skinny, long-nosed boyfriend of hers. But no, she sits on a chair beside the counter where I am standing. She leans on the counter and cups her chin in both hands. She stares at me with marvellous eyes, not mocking eyes at all. ‘You know, you Chinese are so clever. There’s no way any of my English friends would ever read Chinese stories. Not in a fit. And yet we live here! Now you, you not only read English stories, you speak English so well.’ She sighs. ‘I wish I could speak Cantonese. They don’t even teach it at my school, would you believe?’ ‘If you would like to learn, I will teach you.’ Did I say that? Really, I did not mean to. ‘Truly? Would you really? Really truly?’ I nod. I am blushing.


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She jumps up and claps her hands. ‘Goodie! What say after school Thursdays, 4 at o’clock my place? Oh, my name’s Felicity de Crespigny, but my friends call me Flic, like a French policeman. Number 12 Felix Villas, you know?’ I know. They are the senior staff quarters for the university along Victoria Road near Mt Davis. So her father is a professor then. Duhkrep-pin-yee, Pro-fess-or Duh-krep-pin-yee. I better know how to say that. He might even be teaching me one day! ‘Come on, then, what’s your name? And don’t leave me in suspenders! Can you come?’ ‘Chris, Chris Wong. And yes, I would be honour to come.’ This most beautiful of God’s creatures gives me a lovely smile and waves bye-bye as she leaves the shop. Oh, I could die of happiness. Her house! Thursday! Wah! I tell Ah Bah I have a job teaching Cantonese to an expat, the child of a professor, who might one day be my professor. Because he cannot deny the possible long-term advantage of this, therefore he allows me to leave my shop duties. It is 16.00.01 hours on my new digital watch. I ring the front-door bell. She opens the door at 16.00.05. She is dressed in her school uniform. I had not realized what a lovely blue the Island School uniform is until I see it matched now with the blue of her eyes. But how short her uniform is! It is a mini-skirt. Chinese schoolgirls wear thick darkcoloured pleated skirts that go down to the bulge of their calves. Her golden legs dare me to look at them. I dare not. Instead, I look at her feet. I discover she is wearing only sandals, a little plastic flower between her big toe and her other toes. ‘Chris! Come in, don’t be shy!’ She leads me into a large hallway decorated with Chinese vases and wall hangings. It is light, airy and beautiful. The living room is huge, with a wonderful view of the South Lamma Channel. What a beautiful room in which to teach my beautiful student! As I begin to sit, a loud voice commands, ‘Felicity! Take that Chinese boy into the back room. I don’t want you messing up the lounge. There’s a good girl.’ I liked her mother when I saw her at the shop. She, too, is fairheaded and has a nice face, but it is too strong. Her skin is brown, like she has been in the sun a lot. But now she stands in the hall like a statue of the grim Empress Dowager, her straight arm pointing towards the further end of the house. I can smell her from where I stand. I remember

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Ah Ma’s disdainful comment: ‘Gwaipors, pah! They stink like a rotting rose garden, with all their flowery jup.’ Felicity shrugs and pulls an I’m-sorry face at me. She doesn’t introduce me to her mother. We walk through the lounge, through another room and into a small room near the kitchen. It looks back to Mt Davis Road. I cannot see the sea from here. We sit at a table. ‘Don’t mind Mummy.’ She leans towards me and whispers loudly, so close her sweet breath makes me feel drunk. ‘She means well, but she can be an awful pain in the you-know-what!’ She covers her mouth with a little, curled fist and giggles. Everything about this girl is perfect! How can I be sitting with her at the same table? Then I remember the books. ‘Felicity, I — ’ ‘I told you. Flic, to my friends. Please!’ So I am a friend! ‘Flic. I brought you a little present. Nothing much, but it’s for your, for our, lessons.’ ‘Oh Chris, no! You shouldn’t.’ She takes the two volumes of Sidney Lau’s Elementary Cantonese from the plastic bag I give her. She turns to the back cover. ‘Oh! $22 and, er, $19, that’s, um, that’s $43, no, $41 I owe you.’ ‘No, Flic, please. They are an unclaimed order,’ I lie. ‘No problem.’ ‘How sweet you are, Chris.’ Suddenly she is business-like. ‘Now, Teacher, teach me!’ I am so glad I bought her the Sidney Lau. I needn’t think at all, while I sit beside this most desirable girl in the world, soaking her presence into my skin. And she thinks I am the one who is giving to her! No, I am the lucky one in this deal. I am in heaven. I am also seized with a strange confidence. We start at page 7, and I talk to her about the ten tones (I thought there were eight, but Lau should know). I sing the tones to her, as my love song. I repeat dozens of words in as many glorious tonal songs as each word has. I am still singing when she interrupts. ‘Chris! Most of these tones sound the same to me! Oh, this is so difficult! Can’t we do something more interesting?’ She pleads, big eyes searching mine, her pretty lips pouting. While I have been soaring to the music of my mother tongue, my little wren is grounded, chirping plaintively. ‘Just say something to me. Let’s talk real talk, not this silly grammar and stuff.’


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So I read aloud and she follows me. I show her how to read Cantonese in English writing so she can follow Lau. I give her some exercises to do. But I soon see that Lau is not a good text. I cannot find the words she must learn: ‘boyfriend’, ‘girlfriend’, ‘kiss’, ‘love’, ‘darling’. Oh yes, Flic, I would make a list of such words for you to learn! My thoughts are interrupted. Police Mother yells down the hallway, ‘Felicity! You must do some homework before dinner. And when are you going to take Horrie for his walk?’ ‘We’re just finishing, Mummy,’ she calls back ‘I’ll walk Horrie now.’ She sighs. ‘Come on, Chris.’ We go out the back door. A little, black, hairy dog jumps all over her, a Scottish terrier I think. She clips a dog lead on to his collar. ‘Meet Horrie. Horrie this is Chris. Come on. Let’s walk him down Victoria Road, we can talk further then.’ ‘Leng gau tsai. What a pretty little dog!’ I tell her. As we walk up the drive to Mt Davis Road, I notice her mother’s imperial face watching us. ‘Say it, Flic. “Horrie hai leng gau tsai.” ’ We walk along Victoria Road as far as the village where the track goes up Mor Sing Leng. (And where on the other side is an old rotting boatshed!). Then she stops. ‘Oh well, this is going to be Horrie’s lot for today. Thank you so much, Chris. Next Thursday. Don’t be late! I’ll do my homework. Promise.’ She tosses her lovely hair away from her face. Then she stands on tiptoe and kisses me lightly on the cheek. I stand there, stunned. The hot spot on my cheek pours happiness into me all night. After school on Monday I am in the shop, helping Ah Ba. A shadow crosses the door and a bolt of lightning strikes me. It is she! She, she and only she. ‘Hello Chris. Thought I’d drop in to see if Mummy’s book has arrived.’ I collect myself. So, the two people I love most are now to meet! ‘Ah Ba. Please meet my friend. This is Felicity de Crespigny. I am teaching her Chinese!’ I feel so proud as I say this. Now he will know who my student is. He will surely love her, as I love her. ‘I am honour to meet you, Missee.’ He bows, hands clasped in front of him, smiling over his half-moon glasses. ‘Ah, de Crespigny, did you say? Wait one moment.’ He disappears inside his office. My heart stops. ‘This must be your mother’s book, ah?’ He is holding Demon in My View high in his right hand. ‘It has been waiting two weeks already. Please to take it.’

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‘Two weeks?’ She looks at me in surprise. Her eyes become narrow cuts. ‘You — said — . Oh, never mind! Thank you, Mr Wong.’ She takes the book, gives me a terrible look and stalks out of the shop. I rush after her. I catch her as she walks towards the bus stop in Victoria Road, her head in the air, swinging the book in her hand. Suddenly she stops.‘Well? Please explain.’ I tell her the truth. I flood her with Cantonese. Then I translate. ‘I did it so you would come back again. You make our poor little shop look as beautiful as the Summer Palace. You make me feel as rich as Emperor Ming Ti, as powerful as Wong Fei Hung. You want to learn to talk real talk. Good. So I shall teach you!’ I feel like I have put all my savings on one horse with long odds. My horse wins, for her laugh is like a small temple bell. ‘Chris, you are so sweet! I don’t know about Emperor Ming Ti, or Wong Fei Hung. But they sound really cool. So teach me, Teacher!’ She links her arm in mine. ‘And walk me home while you do it.’ We reach the village off Victoria Road and the track to Mor Sing Leng, my playground from childhood. ‘Let’s go up Mt Davis!’ She says suddenly. So she knows Mt Davis, too. I love her more for that. ‘The Cantonese name more better. Mor Sing Leng, the mountain range touching stars!’ My English deserts me in my excitement. But I do not mind, because her eyes are shining at me like two stars that have also been touched by my beloved mountain. I let her climb ahead of me. As she ascends, I look up. I find myself looking right up her miniskirt. Her lovely, golden legs join at a white patch of lacy underwear. I am amazed to find I don’t feel the surging lust that such a sight on any other girl would create in me. Instead I have a feeling of awe. She is sacred. That feeling is precious. To see her private parts would be a terrible invasion. I look away. After twenty minutes or so, we come to a clearing, the site of a deserted fort. We can see Green Island and beyond to Lantau. We sit down. I will teach her the list of words I have prepared. ‘Ngor jungyi Heung Gong. I like Hong Kong.’ ‘Ngor jungyi Heung Gong.’ ‘Ngor jungyi lei. I like you.’ ‘Ngor douh jungyi lei.’ What? She likes me too? ‘How did you learn to say “douh” like that?’ ‘I did my homework.’ ‘You are so clever. I was about to teach you that!’


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Yes, I was. Because now I can put her to the test! Heart thudding, I start the drill again. ‘Ngor oi Horrie. I love Horrie.’ ‘Ngor oi Horrie.’ ‘Ngor oi lei.’ ‘Ngor douh oi lei.’ She knows exactly what she is saying! I am overwhelmed. I look down. The low afternoon sun is picking up the tiny, golden hairs on her bare thigh. The sight stirs me deeply. So exquisite, so intimate and yet so pure. My heart is so loud and so fast I am sure she can hear it. Then she explains. ‘Chris, isn’t it funny how when you say things in a foreign language you can just, like, say them? So easily? I couldn’t say that in English, you know.’ My heart slows. The sun is less bright. The air is cooler. It is time to go home. When I return, Ah Ba is unusually stern. ‘You didn’t finish packing those orders.’ ‘I am sorry, Ah Ba. I had to explain something to Miss Felicity.’ ‘She is very pretty for a gwai mui. Such girls are like the Fox Demon, the Wu Lei Jing. Be careful. A Chinese girl more better for you.’

CHAPTER 3

A

Chinese girl? Ah Ying? Not likely. It happened like this. I was with my friend Ah Fat. We were walking through the bushes just off Victoria Road, at the part nearest Green Island. He found the old boatshed first. Although not far from the road, it was well hidden in the bushes, nearly at the water’s edge. He pressed his face to a hole in the wall. He turned and grinned back at me. He said in a loud whisper, ‘Ah Yan, come here. Take a look. Wah!’ He pushed his face back to the wall, his large body moving regularly. It looked like he was playing with himself. Curious, I pushed through the thick bushes and peered through another crack. I was right. He was playing with himself. Because inside I saw two girls, older than us maybe — and they were taking off their school uniforms! One was in the shadows, her back to me. She was stepping into a bathing suit. The second girl walked into the centre of the shed, facing the wall through which we were peeping. She was completely naked! I clearly saw her swelling breasts, dark nipples like plums on sweet dao fu. She had thick thighs, and between — aiyaa, the first time I ever saw this — a dense black patch! It was like being punched in the stomach, then wanting to be punched again. I was so excited I wanted to vomit. She had a large, round face, full, thick lips, straight hair shaped like a rice bowl, and small, sharp eyes. She seemed to look straight at me! Could she see me? I felt very bad. I thought we should leave. But I was unspeakably excited. So I stayed. But Ah Fat was making too much noise, squirming, breathing heavily. I was afraid we would be caught, so I did leave, as quickly and as quietly as I could. I climbed the track back to Victoria Road. A minute later Ah Fat joined me. He was panting and his eyes were like glass. There was a splash on his trousers. ‘See? What did I tell you? I knew they would be there.’ The track we were on crossed Victoria Road. It then ascended Mor Sing Leng, where, at the top, the British had built the Mt Davis forts.

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They were built to keep the Japanese away but the guns pointed in the wrong direction. It was like Ah Fat himself. He was my friend, but I think he, too, pointed in the wrong direction. I looked back to the boatshed. I saw the girls emerge in black bathing suits. They picked their way over the rocks to the edge of the water, as cautious as kittens on their bare feet. Then, in the water where caution was unnecessary, the bigger one who was on full display turned and waved in our direction. Then giggling, she chased the other one into the sea, splashing her. Both were shrieking with laughter. Ah Fat was thoughtful. ‘They come here mostly at this time. I have been watching. I think the one with the hairy hai likes being watched. Don’t you think so? Next time we get down to business maybe.’ My father did not approve at all that I associated with Ah Fat. We went to different schools, he to the Chinese Middle School, where he was taught in Chinese, very different from St Paul’s. I clearly awared such differences between me and Ah Fat, but I liked him. He was my neighbour, and very good-hearted. Besides, he was worldly and showed me things I would not otherwise see and hear, like those girls there in the water. Yet, Ah Ba could have been right. Ah Fat could have been the bad company that would blast my life. Boys are sometimes expelled from St Paul’s for doing naughty things. Yet we went back to the shed a few days later. You would have expected that. How could a normal boy refuse? Carefully we moved up to the wall and pressed our hungry eyes to the splits in the woodwork. Yes, they were there. Then Ah Fat stamped on a stick that snapped. The older girl had just put on her bathing suit. She heard the snap! and looked up. She smiled. She rolled up the top of her suit to cover her breasts and whispered something to the other girl. They both snickered. Suddenly, from behind us: ‘Wei! What you want, ah?’ Ah Fat stood up, swaggering, his thumbs in his belt. ‘What you think, ah?’ ‘Hand job, ah? Okay. Five dollar. Come inside, la.’ It was the bigger one who spoke. The four of us went into the shed, me with much trepidation, but with much curiosity, too. I did not expect what happened next. Ah Fat undid his belt and dropped his trousers. His dick was standing to attention! The big girl put her hand on it. ‘No, you do something I cannot do myself’ he said, ‘Like a head job, ha? Only five dollar still.’ What self-assurance! I did not believe what I saw next. She knelt in front of him. She put his dick in her mouth! I was disgusted. I had


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no idea people did such things! But that was then, when I was thirteen. I know better now. Anyway, she soon stopped. She sat back on her haunches, palms cupped and outstretched, like a begging dog. ‘Ten dollar. You do what you like.’ I was excited in a sense but by then I really wanted to leave. I turned to the door, but the other girl said, ‘Don’t go yet. Come over here and talk to me. Just to talk.’ I looked at her for the first time really. She had two coiled pigtails in red ribbons and crooked teeth. But her nose was little and cute, and her eyes were warm, pretty eyes, big and round, which crinkled at the edge when she smiled. I liked her and I wanted her to like me. But I felt very shy. I was out of my depth. I was drowning. She moved further down the shed, away from the other two, and sat on the floor. She flapped her hand downwards, telling me to sit beside her. ‘What is your name?’ ‘Ah Yan. And you?’ ‘Ah Ying.’ Wah, Ying and Yan! All we needed was the golden house. After much study, maybe. ‘You’ve never done it before, have you?’ ‘No. I think I should wait until I marry. That is what my father says.’ She giggled at that. ‘What about kissing then?’ ‘Er, I don’t know. I haven’t really kissed anyone, not yet.’ I looked at her pretty little mouth, all pursed up. I thought, yes, I would like to kiss her. Very much. ‘I like you, Ah Yan,’ she said. ‘I would like you to kiss me. Very much!’ Wah, my own thoughts exactly! I put my arms around her and put my lips on her lips. Suddenly a soft thing slipped between my lips. It was her tongue. So thrilling! I was learning so much that day! With one hand, she slipped the shoulder straps of her bathers down and pressed herself against me. She put her hand inside my shorts. An electric current shuddered through me. I felt I might burst already. ‘Feel my tits if you like.’ She pulled her bathers down to her waist. Her body was slim, her breasts two mounds, wide apart. Her wonderful eyes were shining at me. Bolder now, and so excited, I covered one breast with my hand. That excited me even more. With her other hand, she pulled her bathing suit lower and outwards. ‘Go on, touch me there, too.’ I put my finger where she said. The excitement was so intense! Her hand pulled at me rhythmically. I felt breathless all of a sudden. I tried to control myself. I couldn’t.

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I shot my stuffs. But her hand was there! Immediately, I felt ashamed and dirty. Very dirty indeed. I mumbled that I had to go, but Ah Ying tugged my arm to stay, as she wiped her other hand on her bathers. She pulled a pretty little face and smiled so warmly. She didn’t even seem to mind that I had squirted my stuffs on her hand! She rolled her bathers back up and said in a very friendly voice, ‘Wait a while, Ah Yan. Don’t be upset. You kiss very well.’ I looked for the others. The other girl was naked, on her back, her thick, brown calves waggling in the air. In between lay Ah Fat, like he was doing quick press-ups. He suddenly shouted something I did not understand and rolled off her. He stood up, grinning and panting, his dick sticking out, all shiny. ‘See, Ah Yan? Just as I said! Haiyaaaaa!’ He punched his fist into the air. Because he wanted to stay and talk with the girls, therefore I felt obliged to wait. He and his girl did most of the talking. It turned out that she was an amateur gai already. She said she had been fucked by many boys, and even by grown men. I looked at Ah Ying with widened eyes. I realized I had not yet asked her what she had asked me. ‘And you, have you done that?’ She shook her head, her beautiful eyes gazing at me. I was so relieved. But then her soft voice was suddenly rich with treachery. ‘No. I prefer to pull boys off. It is so funny. They go red in the face and grunt like pigs. They look so stupid!’ It was some weeks after that before I saw Ah Fat again. He was feeling sorry for himself. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, Ah Yan. I have been pissing boiling water. That bitch gave me the clap.’ We did not go back to the boatshed ever again. I felt very bad about the whole business. I felt sorry for Ah Fat, but he is older than me and he should have known what he was doing. Worse, for me, was that Ah Ying had betrayed me. I had liked her so much and so wanted to be liked by her. Yet she had seen me only as her toy pig. So you see why I say that sex and love are so different. There was plenty of sex in that boatshed, sex that thrills me still in memory, now that the shame has died down. But there was no love. I wonder how Ah Ba could be so wrong about that?

CHAPTER 4

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hursday is our day for lessons. But I am not comfortable when Flic’s mother is around. I have a clever idea. We go on ‘field excursions’. We go to Park ’N’ Shop, to the wet markets in Kennedy Town and Sai Ying Pun. I point to objects and name them. We pretend to buy and give change. In the Chinese areas, away from prying gwailo eyes, we walk hand in hand, even kiss quickly, deliciously, in convenient alleyways. We are soon conversing in Cantonese. Then, one Thursday, she tells me to come straight to Felix Villas. I soon found out why. ‘Everyone’s out,’ she says. ‘Mummy’s gone to some faculty wives thingee, so let’s go to my bedroom. It’s nicer there.’ Her room is the prettiest room I have ever seen. She has big, colourful posters on the wall, scatter rugs and bean-bags on the floor, a bed with a bright, sky-blue and yellow doona. A big yellow teddy bear sits on her pillow. Yes, I was right. Her colours are blue and yellow. Through a glass door is a balcony looking out to sea, with a little round table and two chairs. She motions me to sit beside her at the table. As she talks she keeps touching me, a mannerism of hers, but now her hand is on my arm always. Something is going to happen. I feel excited, but I am anxious, too. A breeze riffles her silky golden hair. She flicks it and a golden strand rests on my face an instant. She turns to me. ‘Chris.’ I can barely hear her. ‘Kiss me properly this time, Chris.’ I think of Ah Ying’s tongue and how it led me to taste shame. But Flic is as different from Ah Ying as it is possible to be. It is time I learn that proper kissing is about love, not shame. I turn to meet her, my hands behind her back, drawing her close. I brush her lips with mine. I open my eyes. There, an inch away, are her black eyelashes, her eyes looking down at the moon-dust on her nose. This is right! Then my hands on her back tell me something. She is not wearing a bra. This is not right.

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I am now confused. Is this sex or is this love? My feelings for Flic were so pure, and now we seem to be getting towards the sort of experience I had with Ah Ying, after which I felt so dirty. Flic turns slightly, so that my wrist is pressing the soft bulge of her breast. This is maybe not the sort of experience I want with Flic. She murmurs, ‘Chris, oh Chris.’ ‘Flic,’ I whisper. I can’t stop now. I slip my tongue between her lips. A door bangs. ‘Miss Felicity, are you home?’ A Filipino accent calls up the stairs. She starts back. ‘Oh — fuck!’ she hisses. ‘Bloody Maria’s back.’ I am shocked at the ugliness of her sound and at what she says. It must sound even worse if I was English. She gets up and walks loudly, talks loudly. ‘Yes, this is my room, Chris. Lovely view, don’t you think? YES MARIA, we’re just coming down.’ We walk downstairs to the small room where the books of Sidney Lau await us. Passing Maria on the way she says, ‘Just showing Chris the house before we start our Chinese lesson. This is Maria, Chris.’ I nod at the maid, a pleasant-looking girl. Safely in our lesson room, Flic reassures me. ‘She’s okay. I’ve got a thing or two on her she doesn’t want Mummy to know about. She won’t say anything.’ As Flic lets me out, I notice that her eyes are bright, like stars again, and her cheeks are pink. ‘That was probably just as well, Chris. I think I know now what you feel about me. I know what I feel about you. And I would never have believed it!’ I, too. cannot believe it. A Chinese boy, a perfect English angel, and the impossible has happened. Their love is mutual. The next Saturday, Ah Ba asks me to take some orders to a customer in Central. I walk down the steps from Wyndham Street to Lan Kwai Fong. The expats are taking over this part of Central. Coffee bars are everywhere, some spilling on to the pavement. I am walking past one group of Western teenagers, when I hear a familiar laugh. I look up. Yes, it is she! She is sitting at a table with two boys and a girl. She is wearing a tank-top, too daring for my liking, exposing her shoulders and even the tops of her breasts. She is sitting beside that tall boy, who had been to the shop with her. I look at him more closely. He looks so arrogant in that English way, with his fair hair flopping over one eye, head tilted back, looking at the world down his long nose, long even for a Westerner. I am shocked to see that his arm is around her shoulder, a long finger trailing suggestively towards the visible parting


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of her breasts. I hate to say this, but there she is, looking like so many other Western girls look — common. All those stories about the girls at Island School come to me. No Flic, not you! Surely not you? Our eyes meet. I try hard to remove the distaste from my face and smile pleasantly. Her eyes are blank, but a tiny head movement tells me: Don’t let on you know me! I am devastated. I lower my head and start walking down Lan Kwai Fong. Then I am angry. Very angry indeed. Flic, with whom I had nearly been intimate! Who as good as said she loved me only a few days ago. So, why is she denying my existence? Is it because all the time she had this other boyfriend and she doesn’t want him to know about me? Or is it simply that she thinks she is too superior, in front of her smart Western friends, to acknowledge that her Chinese boyfriend even exists. I exist, Flic, and they shall know it! I walk back. I lean over the little low fence separating the coffee drinkers from the pavement. ‘Hello, Flic. Don’t you recognize me?’ I am barely able to control my rage, but I try hard to look relaxed and friendly. She looks startled. She colours up. ‘Oh sorry, er, er, Chris. No, I didn’t see you.’ Her face is bright scarlet, distress written all over it. ‘Um, meet my friends. Jeremy, Lucy and Donald. This is Chris Wong.’ I nod to each, they nod coolly back, and I immediately withdraw. I have made my point. But I walk only a couple of steps, when I hear a superior British voice: ‘Well, well, Flic. You should see your face! I didn’t know you had a Chinese boyfriend. Where did you drag him up from?’ ‘He’s not a boyfriend. He’s only my Chinese teacher.’ Her voice is low and urgent. Although she speaks quietly, those words are so loud they keep me awake all night. Somehow I crawl out of bed and dress for school. I have been in agony all night, quite unable to sleep. I have to make up my mind between two possibilities. There are only two. Either this Jeremy has been her real boyfriend all the time, or she refused to recognize me because I am Chinese. One or other must be true. Which? Ah Ma is unsuccessful in finding out why I look so dreadful and why I won’t eat breakfast. Ah Ba is too wise to press me, but he has no need to do so. He understands the ways of the Wu Lei Jing. I step outside on to the pavement. I hear my name whispered. ‘Chris.’

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She moves away from the wall where she has been waiting for me. She comes up to me and puts her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes are as tired and bloodshot as mine, but there is a difference. Hers are swimming with tears. ‘Chris, oh Chris, what can I say? I did the most terrible thing. I’m so sorry, so sorry.’ She buries her head in my shirt and cries her foxy, little heart away. I hold her tightly. I find I love her more than ever, but I will not let her know this. Not yet. ‘It is okay. Don’t cry, Flic.’ It is strange. Now I feel in charge of her. It has been the other way round before. Now I surge with longing, a fierce, physical longing. This is something I have never felt before with Flic. This is both sex and love! I am more urgent than I was even with Ah Ying. I want Flic to feel my longing, as she presses against me. But not yet. I need to know something first. ‘But why, Flic? Why?’ She is silent, her head bowed. Tears drop. ‘This Jeremy. Tell me about him.’ I lift her chin with my finger and force her streaming eyes to meet mine. ‘Oh, er, Jeremy’s more like a family friend. And he’s a prefect, and, well, everyone thinks that he and I are just so suitable! They should have asked little me! No, he’s okay, but not in that way.’ She lowers her eyes and a little smile appears. ‘It’s you, Chris. I did mean it when I said it. Really I did. Ngor oi lei.’ I pull her tightly to me. Now her body may feel how hard I am. See, Flic, this is how you make me feel for you! I whisper, ‘In English, Flic. Say it in English.’ ‘I love you.’ All the pain, the heaviness, drain with a rush into the cracks in the pavement. I kiss her fiercely, in broad daylight, hard and proud, outside Ah Ba’s little bookshop in Sai Ying Pun. And now I know. It was the other reason. It was because I am Chinese. But that was then and now is now. The now when we discover that sex and love are one. Nothing will separate us now. ‘You’ll be late for school, Flic. You better hurry. The Island bus went long ago.’ ‘M’ganiu! Is that right?’ she asks shyly. I press her hand to confirm that, yes, that is right. It is not important. She smiles, looking as happy as I am feeling. ‘I’ll walk with you to St Paul’s. I’ll catch a 28 minibus to Island.’


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She then stops walking. She steps in front of me, her hands again on my shoulders, her lovely, blue eyes stare straight into mine. ‘I want to make up for everything, Chris. Can you come to dinner at home next Saturday? I’ve already asked Mummy and Daddy! Aren’t I naughty? And they said they would be happy to meet you.’ I dress very carefully. Do I wear a coat and tie? No, the de Crespignys seem informal. No tie then? No, that might show lack of respect to a professor. I compromise with a tie and no coat. I am very nervous when I ring the front-door bell. Flic opens the door. She grins at me, a big grin, full of delight and mischief. She shrugs, screwing her eyes tightly shut. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? You can now meet my parents properly. Come in!’ She throws her arms around me. She shows me into the living room where her father is reading The South China Morning Post. He puts it down and rises to greet me, his hand out, his face a courteous smile. He is tall, handsome, with long grey hair covering his ears in the new style. His voice is very English, very cultivated. I see immediately I am overdressed. He is dressed casually, in jeans and an open-neck shirt. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Chris. We’ve heard such a lot about you. We’re delighted Flic is taking Chinese lessons. We expats are usually so terribly slack in that department, you know.’ We shake hands. He is a Professor of Law, but he knows how to talk to students without being patronizing. Flic touches me on the arm and whispers, ’Scuse me a sec,’ and leaves us. Professor de Crespigny wants to know my career plans. ‘I want to go to university. Something on the Arts side, but possibly Law.’ Really, I had been thinking of Chinese Literature, but I don’t mention that. Then her mother comes in. ‘Ah Chris, so we meet at last!’ On seeing the puzzled look on my face, she adds, ‘But then I’ve seen you around in your father’s shop, and when you were giving Felicity her lessons.’ She is wearing a simple blouse and skirt, but with expensive jewellery, and her hair is formally made up. And she reeks of gwaipor jup. At least she is trying to be pleasant. Maybe she now realizes that Flic is serious about me and I about her. That I am not just an uppity Chinese on the make. Flic returns from the next room. She seems bewildered. ‘Mummy? Why has Maria set five places for dinner? Who — ’

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She is interrupted by the door bell. Mrs de Crespigny calls, ‘Maria, the door!’ ‘Mummy? What’s going on? I thought we were eating just with Chris?’ Flic is now looking disturbed. ‘Oh yes, dear. I thought it would be lovely for Chris to meet an English boy his own age. It would make him feel more — ’ Professor looks up in surprise. A tall youth enters the room. It is Jeremy, looking cool and self-assured. He is wearing a brightly coloured shirt and jeans. ‘Hello there, Flic. Good to see you again Peter, Marjorie.’ He then turns to me. ‘Ah, yes. Didn’t we meet the other day? Chris, isn’t it? The Chinese teacher? Hmmm?’ I am dumb struck. This is certainly not what Flic had led me to expect. I look at her. Her face is a picture of outrage. She turns to her mother in a white-hot fury. But then she seems to realize the impossibility of her situation. Whatever she says, whatever she does, that scheming fox of a mother of hers has trapped her. And me. She is the Fox Demon, not my dearest Flic. Without saying another word, Flic sweeps out of the room. I hear her climbing the stairs to her bedroom. When her door clicks shut, we hear an enraged scream, then a thump, followed by smashing glass. Her mother looks at the Professor in exasperation. I have never seen anyone looking so embarrassed, avoiding her eyes and my eyes. Jeremy looks startled at first, then I see he is trying not to laugh! I must withdraw, with as much dignity as I can. ‘I’m delighted to meet you again, Jeremy. But I now find I have done the unforgivable. I have just remembered that my mother would arrange a special family banquet tonight for the Mid Autumn Festival. I am sure you know what family obligations are to us Chinese. I was just about to explain when you arrived Jeremy. Forgive me, Professor, Mrs de Crespigny, but I must take my leave.’ I bow to each parent and let myself out. My rage and humiliation are like a runaway horse, carrying me at high speed. I am nearly home, sweating, panting, when I see another, slower, horse waiting for me. It is a black, plodding horse that will carry me to a terrible, desolate place. It is called Finality. Now I see it. I see what my father foresaw. These rich gwailos would never let their only daughter have a humble Chinese for a boyfriend. Even Flic, dearest Flic, would soon think their way. Her instinctive words spoke the lethal truth. ‘He’s not a boyfriend. He’s only my Chinese teacher.’


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By the time I reach home, I have the reins of the first horse in my hand. I am nearly in control. But I do not see how I can ever control that other, black horse, which relentlessly plods on to that place where there is no joy. Ah Ba and Ah Ma have just finished eating. They look up in surprise as I enter the room. ‘How stupid I am!’ I say, brightly and loudly ‘I mistook the night. Anything left for me?’ Ah Ma nods. ‘Good. I prefer Chinese to Western anyway. You were right about that, Ah Ba. Chinese more better.’ Ah Ba replies with a look of understanding so deep it drowns my remaining rage, a smile of love so pointed it punctures my control. I rise from the table and go to the privacy of my room. I carefully close the door. Here, I discover what Finality means. I cry like I have not done for many years.

CHAPTER 5

T

he letter bringing my ‘A’ Level results causes much happiness in our house. It is now certain I would be accepted at the university. Ah Ma is in loud raptures, Ah Ba smiles quietly. He would like me to do an Arts course, Chinese Literature perhaps. Philosophy! That would be even better. ‘No! Ah Ba, you are a dreamer. Where is the security, the fortune, in such wishy-washy subjects? Literature, philosophy — water-skin. Pah! Ah Yan must become a professional. A doctor! That would be worthy.’ My results are not good enough for medicine. Besides, I have no wish to poke around in people’s insides. My friend Martin Lam wants to be a lawyer, so I decide to study law, too. I have discussed this with Martin already. Because the New Territories are leased to the British until 1997, only fifteen years away, he says Hong Kong’s future would be closely linked with China’s. ‘Think of it, Chris. The New Territories under Chinese law and Hong Kong and Kowloon up to Boundary Street under British law. It will be a lawyer’s paradise! Let us say I own a shop on the north side of Boundary Street and you, living on the south side, owe me money. Under which jurisdiction shall I sue you? To what jurisdiction shall you appeal if you lose? Chaos! The only people who could make money out of such a mess will be lawyers. Fortunes for the taking!’ That is good enough for me. It satisfies both my father’s sense of history and my mother’s insistence on financial security. Martin’s predictions turn out to be correct, except for one thing. The Joint Declaration does not stop, as legally it should, at Boundary Street. Mrs Thatcher gives the whole lot back to China, from Sha Tau Kok (half of it, the other half is already in China) and Ping Chau in the north, to the Po Toi Islands in the south. The whole lot! We cannot believe it. Some say that Deng Xiaoping forced it on her. ‘If you do not agree to hand all Hong Kong over, we shall take it. We simply turn the water off. Or the People’s Liberation Army will march in. Either way, it will be over in twenty minutes.’

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Others say that Thatcher was an arrogant sei bac por who cared nothing about the Hong Kong people. What she wanted was trade with China, which was becoming a huge market for British companies already. Whatever Deng asked for was okay by her, just as long as trade remained open. After all, it was free trade — trade in opium — that had established Hong Kong in the first place. Thatcher was the mistress of free trade. She would see it as fitting that free trade should destroy Hong Kong when free trade made Hong Kong. Fitting for her, but not fitting for the Hong Kong people. We felt that she betrayed us. We had not been consulted in the matter at all. Therefore we were both happy and apprehensive when, two years later, she fell down the steps in Bejing after the signing of the Joint Declaration between Britain and China. Happy that she had fallen on her arse in such an undignified way, apprehensive that her fall might be an omen for the future of Hong Kong. But Martin remains optimistic. ‘I do not think it will be so bad for Hong Kong. We are all Chinese, and I would rather be ruled by the descendants of my own ancestors than by foreigners trying to make money out of me. Besides, it will be good for lawyers still. It will be a legal mess, Chris, and people like us will have a good future. Just select your elective subjects to include as much Chinese law as possible.’ So I enrol in the Faculty of Law. It then occurs to me that I will have to take subjects taught by Professor de Crespigny. I hope that will not be embarrassing for me. University is an easy step. I simply cross the road from St Paul’s. Many of my friends cross that road with me. Martin, like me, is studying Law, Billy is studying Engineering and Eric is studying Chinese History and Literature (I secretly envy him for that). Cheng, as you might expect, prefers to travel all the way to Sha Tin to the Chinese University, where he will be taught in his mother tongue, not in a barbarian language, as he puts it. The expats who teach at the University of Hong Kong come in two kinds. There are the old ‘colonial’ types, with very proper voices. Then there are the younger ones, who speak in what I imagine is a common way. I prefer the former. They have been here longer and, despite their superior ways, they are kind and many speak good Cantonese to us. We like that very much. It is like they respect us and our language. Some have even married Chinese ladies. Many of the younger ones, on the other hand, are stern. They remind us always that we must speak English not Cantonese, we must hand in our assignments punctually, we must do this, we must do that. Especially they


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want us to chaat hai, to brush their shoes, as we would say, or to lick their arse, as they would say. They seem to think that the less Chinese we are, the more successful we shall be. Mr Wherrett is like that. He teaches us case law in ‘The English Legal System’, which seems odd to me, considering we are being trained to practice in the Hong Kong legal system. Our Chinese teachers are stern, too, but it is because they care about us and want us to learn. They often take us to lunch and even invite us to their homes from time to time. The Chinese see teacher and student as having a special bond, which makes them firm inside class, and our friends outside it. The young expats see teaching as something they have to do in order to earn their huge salaries and their travel and housing benefits. They never have lunch with us. They do not even mix with their Chinese colleagues as far as we can see. Some of them mix with Chinese, but that is at night, in Wanchai. That is a different matter, and I shall be saying more about that later. Professor de Crespigny is not as old as most ‘colonials’, but he is polite to his students and a good teacher. And a bad father, I have to add, but that, too, is a different matter. Martin is bubbling with joy. He tells us that last night he was wandering along Lockhart Road in Wanchai, not looking where he was going, when he collided with Mr Wherrett. He, too, was not looking where he was going. It was because he was gazing into the eyes of a pretty Chinese girl clinging to his arm. She was dressed like a gai, Martin noticed, and it looked like they were going to enter one of those seedy little ‘love hotels’ along Lockhart Road. ‘He pretended he didn’t recognize me, so I deliberately said, “Why hello, Mr Wherrett. What a pleasant surprise seeing you here! Do you come here often?”’ Martin prides himself on his grasp of English manners, when he is as incorruptibly Chinese as could be. ‘But Martin,’ I say. ‘Surely that is asking for trouble? Wherrett is a vindictive little bastard. He would get you for that.’ ‘He dare not. In any case, he already hates my guts because, remember, I questioned his interpretation of Regina v. Crofton in the tute last week? He returned my paper on that tute with a D–. He had scrawled on it “You’d do better if you listened more and talked less”. I’m keeping it in a dossier on him. You see, I also saw him in Central a few weeks ago. He was with company then, too. But his companion that time was a rather plain little gwaipor. She was with a rat-faced

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school-kid, the image of Wherrett, and he was carrying an even rattier looking infant. All very useful information, don’t you think? I certainly do.’ Martin’s eyes shine behind his glasses. He looks very confident and even dangerous in a sense. He is tall and thin and he laughs often and loudly as he talks. What a formidable barrister he will make some day. Martin knows something of the Flic affaire. He focused on the detail that I had dinner with Professor de Crespigny. I could see that he was both impressed and irritated. I was happy to leave him with that misapprehension. I did not explain how that tragic episode ended. Eric is a good friend, too. I envy him his course of studies in Arts, but I don’t envy him in other ways. Gentle, hatchet-faced Eric, his eyes blinking like those of a timid but mischievous mouse. Yet this mouse wants to teach in our harsh government schools. Band Five students would kill him. He must have an inner strength somewhere, to want to do that. He gives me the impression that he is sitting on something. I think things like this in class, especially when Wherrett lectures in his inharmonious English. He is so ugly with his sandy hair, square little Hitler moustache and florid face. My eyes and my thoughts wander so easily at this sight and sound. It seems that today I am not alone in having this problem. My eyes meet another pair of eyes, sitting across the aisle. These are the soft eyes of Lai Siu Ling. I like Siu Ling, although I hardly know her. She is beautiful in her way, yet so unlike the beautiful Flic. Siu Ling has a perfectly chiselled little face, her hair caught in a neat ponytail. She has a tiny waist and her back is very erect. She is so cute, so compact. But the thing about Siu Ling is her lively personality. That is where her beauty lies, more like an inner beauty. She smiles and laughs always. She is so gentle, so nice. I have never heard her say a nasty word about anyone. How someone like that could ever become a lawyer in Hong Kong’s shark pool seems a puzzle, but I think she is like Eric. She seems so soft, but underneath there lies something else that would give her strength and determination. These thoughts are punctured by Wherrett’s high-pitched whine: ‘So when it comes to down to it, it’s the precedents what counts. So just you be on top of case law, you lot.’ His pale, blue eyes glare around the class, daring someone to question him. Someone does. It is Martin. ‘But what case law are you referring to, Mr Wherrett? You have been discussing Regina v. Rice-Davies, which took place in London. That case raises some very interesting issues, to do


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with prostitution and national security. But that is British case law. How are such loaded and specific issues pertinent to Hong Kong case law?’ Wherrett flushes even more deeply and looks ready to jump on Martin. But Martin is entirely cool. He continues, ‘For example, in Hong Kong, unlike in the United Kingdom as I understand it, there is a tolerance for prostitution, as long as it is confined to designated areas. Such as Wanchai.’ He stares through his glasses with wide-eyed innocence at Wherrett. ‘Er, well, yes, thank you, Mr Lam. Precisely. Just as I was saying.’ Wherrett looks as if he is suffering great pain. I have an idea. I will amuse Siu Ling. On a scrap of paper, I draw a grinning sheep with spectacles. It has pinned a rat under its front foot, a rat with a silly moustache like Wherrett’s. The rat’s face is contorted. Underneath I write, ‘Lam v. Rat. No contest.’ I pass it to Siu Ling. She looks at it. Her laugh is loud and high-pitched. Wherrett stops in mid-sentence. I fear for her, the silly girl. She claps her hand over her mouth, but she cannot stop giggling. Her giggles can be heard across the class. Now the rest of the class laughs. The laughing is itself the cause for more laughing, yet only Siu Ling knows what is funny. Wherrett glares wildly around the room. I can read his pointy little face. It is clear what he is thinking. He thinks Martin has told her and everyone in the class about his visit to the Wanchai brothels. She, and now the whole class, are laughing at him! His face is a picture of shock, then uncontrollable anger takes over. He marches slowly to Siu Ling’s desk. ‘Miss Lai, aren’t you off your beat? Weren’t we talkin’ about business in — Wanchai?’ He leans over her desk, his hands on his hips, his chin pointing at her like a weapon. The class is deathly quiet. Siu Ling sits upright, rigid, staring straight ahead, avoiding Wherrett’s eyes. I see her in profile. She is pale, her chin puckering, her lips white and thin. A tear trickles slowly down her cheek. Her ponytail quivers, the veins on her neck are purple and throbbing. She is crying, but not in shame. I am astonished that this gentle girl would display such rage. But Wherrett is satisfied. He walks back to the front and continues his lecture. A soft hissing starts. I started it. Then others join in, around the class: ssssss, ssssss. Wherrett jerks to attention, his ratty little face twitching from side to side. He raises his voice, his immediate reaction to this astonishing challenge. But it becomes louder: SSSSSSSS, SSSSSSSS. Then — I have never heard this happen in a classroom before — some students start drumming with their hands on their desk-tops. We all join in. The noise becomes deafening. Wherrett has to stop. He is out

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of control, screaming for a silence that does not come. Suddenly, he grabs his books and storms out of the room. I leap over to Siu Ling. ‘Siu Ling, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.’ I put my arm around her. I want to comfort her for that insult. Other students swarm round her desk. ‘Report the bastard!’ ‘We’re all behind you!’ ‘Wei! What’s this? Was it this, then? Is this what made you laugh?’ My drawing is now public property. It is passed round the students. They are yelling with laughter. I am suddenly a hero. Then Martin takes control. ‘Comrades! Quiet, please.’ He stands at the front of the class and we move towards our seats. His authority is amazing. ‘This could be serious. I have never known students at this university to defy their teacher before. I am the real cause of Wherrett’s anger, I have contradicted him in public more than once before, as indeed a good lawyer should do! Nevertheless, what he said to Siu Ling was unforgivable. I think we had all better leave now. I shall speak to the Professor about this — ’ ‘A good idea, Mr Lam.’ We had not noticed Professor de Crespigny enter. ‘I have heard one side of the story, briefly. Now, perhaps, I might hear what you have to say before I take any action. As you so correctly say, Mr Lam, this is a very serious matter indeed. Please, take your seats, all of you.’ He gestures to the class. ‘Mr Lam, I understand you were provocative, rudely contradicting Mr Wherrett on a point.’ ‘That is not how I would have put it, Professor. I — ’ Professor interrupts him. ‘And that Miss Lai — who is Miss Lai?’ Siu Ling slowly raises her hand. ‘Ah yes, thank you. I believe you jeered Mr Wherrett. Do you understand what I mean, Miss Lai? And would you agree that that is also provocative?’ ‘No, Sir. I was laughing at something else —’ Siu Ling’s voice is very quiet. It is time for me to shift the attention from her. ‘She was laughing at this, Sir, not at Mr Wherrett. Mr Wherrett was quite mistaken. It is my fault. Here.’ I stand up and walk to the front. I give my drawing to Professor de Crespigny. ‘I drew it.’ ‘Hello! You’re Chris Wong, aren’t you?’ He looks at me closely and blinks, as if put out. I am afraid he will say something that I would prefer the class not to know. But to my enormous relief, he returns to the matter in hand. He looks at my drawing and his manner changes. He is trying not to laugh!


33

‘I think I get the picture, as it were. Class, you may go, but I would like the two ringleaders to remain behind. Mr Wong and Mr Lam, please remain.’ As she leaves, Siu Ling comes over and squeezes my arm, her eyes so sweet. ‘Thank you, Chris. You were wonderful!’ Martin again takes over. ‘I think, Professor de Crespigny, that I had better begin at the beginning. Please understand, Sir, that I am not trying to create trouble for anyone, but now that things have come to this, you should know the whole story. In confidence.’ ‘In that case, I think I, too, had better go.’ I am relieved to have this excuse. I start to leave. ‘No, Chris, er, Mr Wong, I’d prefer that you stay. You are a witness. Still something to learn about verbal evidence, eh?’ Professor de Crespigny smiles at me uneasily. It is very clear to me that he is responding to me from a background that has nothing to do with the present matter. I am now wishing more than ever that I had studied Arts instead of Law. Martin tells him everything. His near-failed tutorial paper and the comment Wherrett wrote on it, the Wanchai sighting, the exchange in today’s class and Wherrett’s unforgivable insult to Siu Ling, ‘the nicest, the most innocent girl in the class’, as he so correctly describes her. ‘Sir, if I may say, I do not see how Mr Wherrett can in future be allowed to teach this class. We do not trust his judgement, his motives or, most important, the fairness of his marking.’ The Professor looks increasingly grim. ‘I think that is my decision, Mr Lam. You have made some serious allegations about one of my staff, in front of a witness. Now leave, both of you.’ We go to the Swire café to meet the other students. Martin is amazingly calm. I interpret that last comment to mean that Martin is the one who is in trouble, not Wherrett. He would surely be protected by the expat’s unspoken code of loyalty. I say so. Others agree with me. Martin smiles confidently. ‘I do not think so. Prof is a fair person and he knows that I have twenty witnesses that will corroborate my account, and one witness to my telling that account to him. In other words, he knows that we know that he knows. And so does Wherrett. No, he was only saving face, playing the stern but fair judge. I will bet ten dollars Wherrett’s teaching load will be adjusted. Next week we will have someone else to teach us his section of “The English Legal System”. Any takers?’ There are none. Fortunately for them, because Wherrett does not teach our year ever again.

CHAPTER 6

I

was so glad that the Professor did not give anything away in class. I still dreaded meeting him in private. My abrupt departure from his dinner table would surely be seen as extremely rude. Certainly, a Chinese in his position would see it that way, although I must say that this little Chinese, in his position, still thinks it was the only thing he could possibly have done. Then, today, we pass each other on the Sun Yat Sen staircase. He is going down, I am going up. We catch each other’s eyes and he makes as if to stop. My heart races. But he only mutters a faint, ‘er, Chris’, and continues down. I climb a few steps further and look back. He is standing near the door of the Knowles Building, looking at me, as if he is trying to make up his mind about something. He hurries inside when he sees I am watching him. I am sure he wanted to say something to me, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. What a surprise to discover that such a learned and scholarly man could be as shy and as uncomfortable as one of his first-year students! It seems like he was the guilty one, the one who had wronged me, not me the one who had been rude to him. He must be a sensitive, nice man. This strange encounter makes familiar tears come to my eyes, as I realize with a new poignancy what I have missed. How easily I could love the Professor as my father-in-law! How wonderful that would have been! I thought I had recovered from the loss of Flic, but after this encounter, I am suddenly overcome with love and with loss. My throat hurts and I find my eyes are wet. I abandon my plan to visit the Old Halls. Instead, I continue up University Drive to Hatton Road. I walk some distance up towards the Peak. I find a secluded spot, where I can weep unobserved. I review my love for Flic, my last meeting with her. It wrings my heart dry.

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Neither Flic nor her mother came to the shop after that humiliating dinner. What I would have said or done if they had done so, I do not know. It would have been very difficult for both of us. Yet how I longed to see her! I wondered if I should ask her to have dinner at my house, if we could not at hers, but what could come of it? Her parents were fiercely opposed to our friendship. Ah Ba was opposed too, in his gentle but equally relentless way. The way he looked at me that terrible night: I am so sorry you are hurting, my dearest son, but it must be this way. There is no other way. Not in Hong Kong. Many afternoons, after finishing in the shop early, I walked along Victoria Road. Up Mor Sing Leng, past Felix Villas. I hoped I might meet her. Surely, I would meet her while she was walking Horrie. Just to see her, to watch her while I remained hidden, that would do. The ache in my heart was terrible. It was an indigestible mixture of my blocked love for Flic and my corrosive anger. Anger that her parents could think so little of me, just because I am Chinese. And yet he teaches Chinese students! How could he be such a hypocrite? In a strange way, my anger only made me want her more. She and I were the innocent victims of evil, plotting parents. We would support each other. Our love would win in the end. Night after night I lay awake, trying hard to drain my desire for her. But that pool remained bottomless. I walked the places that were special to us, the trail to Mt Davis and up the steep stairs, where I was once so innocent I would not even look up her legs. Later, the image of her legs was one I eagerly recreated. Not only her legs, but her whole body, from head to toe. It was a banquet of many courses, which I served to my hungry mind’s eye to drool over, for my hand to dispose of. I went to the place where we had our first conversation in Cantonese. Her meaning was blunted by the remove of translation, but she had said it! ‘Ngor douh oi lei.’ Later, her meaning was quite sharp. She did love me. I was sure of that. And one day she was there. She arrived before me. She was gazing out to Green Island. Had she chosen to go there for the same reason as I? I walked slowly, not sure how to approach her. I studied her from behind. Horrie saw me and barked. She slowly turned. When she saw me, the edges of her lips curled up in a little smile. The smile did not match her woeful eyes. ‘Chris.’ Her voice was hollow. ‘Chris, so you came too. I — ’ I held out my arms to her, but I held her only too briefly. She placed her palm on my chest, pushing me gently away.


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‘No, Chris, it’s no good. It’s over. I’ve just had the most God-awful, blazing row with Mummy. She says I’m not to see “that Chinese boy” ever again. I just hate her!’ She stopped, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glaring. She took a deep breath. ‘Daddy didn’t know what she had planned. He was so upset. Yet, once it was done, he tried to be reasonable, to argue her case like he was her barrister.’ She deepened her voice. “Chris is a fine young chap, I’m sure, but it just wouldn’t work, Flic. Pet! You’ll see that one day.” Then he pats me on the shoulder and gives me a cuddle. Daddy’s okay, but he’s weak. He won’t stand up to her.’ ‘Flic! I love you more than ever.’ Again, I tried to hold her. ‘Don’t, Chris, I couldn’t bear it.’ She turned her head away and down. The ground was her audience. She whispered to it. ‘I fly to England at the end of term. I’m going to boarding school in Gloucester, near where we used to live.’ She then looked up at me, her voice louder, those blue, blue eyes smiling cold water. ‘So it’s goodbye, my Chinese darling. I’ll never forget you.’ ‘Bye-bye.’ My throat was full of stones. I could not speak any more. I squeezed her hand and turned quickly, so that she would not see my wet, twitching face. I ran down the trail. Halfway down, I howled out loud. I felt like a wolf, caught in a spring trap.

CHAPTER 7

A

fter the Wherrett affair, our class feels like a team that has beaten a strong opponent. It was clear that Professor de Crespigny had seen the justice of our cause. And now, other teachers even treat us with caution! Best of all, Siu Ling and I become close friends. It is like I have found the sister I have never had. We share a warmth and openness. We joke as completely equal companions do, not as a sort of wrestling match as Flic and I did, with either she, or more recently I, on top. I also learn what I had suspected. Siu Ling is tough. Her father is dead. He was a prison officer and was killed on duty. The way she tells me hints that no-one spent much time mourning him. Her family had little money beyond his pension. She was able to go to the exclusive St Stephen’s only because she won a scholarship. Wah, she must be very bright! I wonder, with such a sad and apparently difficult home life, how she could be so cheerful. I do so want to find out more about her, but I will not probe too obviously. I remember how we used to ogle those St Stephen’s girls as they walked past St Paul’s. I realize now we might have been mentally undressing our now friends: Edith, Oi Mei, Winnie, even Siu Ling herself. Now that we know them, this seems unthinkably bad of us. Except for Billy, who I believe would mentally undress his own sister. We St Paul’s boys and St Stephen’s girls now have lunch together, and we reserve a corner of the library. Here, we study together, compare lecture notes, tell companions of important things we have read. Or we just play card games. There are two outsiders in our group. Fanny is only a semi-outsider. She went to St Stephen’s up to her HKCEE examinations, but finished high school in the United States, in Boulder, Colorado. Those two years made her quite Westernised, it seems to us. Then there is Alex. He is a student from the American International School, with whom Eric has made friends. Alex is an ABC, an Americanborn Chinese. He has spiky hair, a round smiling face, and a weight-

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lifter’s body. He speaks English, with only a few words of Cantonese, which he says in a strong American accent. He doesn’t always understand what we are saying. But he is very gentle and nice, and Eric translates for him when necessary. So he too becomes part of our group. You might think it odd that such close mixing of boys and girls does not result in romances. It is like I have said with Siu Ling and I: we are more like brothers and sisters. Except for Martin, who is more and more like our father. And except for Billy, maybe, who I don’t think sees any girl as his sister. Not even his sister. We decide to walk the new trail that crosses the New Territories from Sai Kung Peninsula in the East to Tuen Mun in the West. It is named after Governor Maclehose and it is more than sixty miles long. Every year there is a race from one end to the other called ‘Trailwalker’. Alex and a team of crazy gwailo kids from his school entered last year. They took thirty-six hours, Alex said, but the Gurkha team who won took only thirteen hours. Eric is horrified. ‘Alex, you are mad! I could not possibly do that!’ Alex explains in his stir-fry of English and Chinese. ‘Not in one hit, for Christ’s sake! Not like Trailwalker. We’ll do it in stages. Like we’ll take tents and camp along the trail, hai ma? The first stage is easy. We haang saan from Pak Tam Chung in a circle to Kei Ling Ha.’ I look at Alex’s map carefully. ‘Aiyaa! That’s over two mountains! We’ll die!’ At that, several drop out, leaving only Siu Ling, Alex, Eric, Fanny, Billy and me. We plan an easy first day. We will take the bus to the start at Pak Tam Chung, then walk the nine miles or so to Sai Wan, where we will set up camp. Up early the next day, we will tackle the fourteen miles to the main road at Kei Ling Ha, where there are plenty of buses to take us home. It is as well we made Saturday an easy day. Fanny is late, disorganised as usual. Then the bus connections are poor, so we do not reach Pak Tam Chung until after 11am. In the bus, Eric and Alex sit together, and the remaining four of us sit opposite on a double seat, the boys on one side, the girls on the other. I study them as we talk. Fanny is like a large, pretty doll, her round face framed in a polished fringe, her long, glossy black hair streaming down her back. She is dressed in expensive shorts and blouse. Siu Ling is by contrast so petite, her little face a smiling light under a red baseball cap. Her pack has furry animals dangling from it. She is


41

wearing a T-shirt with a large panda on her chest. Her shorts reveal neat little-girl legs. I wonder how they will handle tomorrow’s hard walking. Billy is my height, but heavily built, smiling, ever helpful. With he and Alex to support us, I guess we’ll be okay. We alight at Pak Tam Chung. There is a crowd of other walkers who pile into the shop and toilets, the last for a long time. We buy water and things to chew. We set out, a long boring walk along the bitumen road for an hour or so, then we take the trail that leads to High Island Reservoir, where hundreds of boat people from Vietnam are imprisoned. We look down at the boat people in the huge, dusty yard. They are just sitting around, staring at the barbed wire on the high fences that surround them. ‘Aiyaa! So many little children there.’ Siu Ling’s voice is sad. She looks at me with moist eyes. I think it is strange that she is so upset, when her father had been a correctional services officer. She must know what prisons are like. I take her hand. ‘Come. We can’t do anything.’ She looks up at me, her eyes now sparking anger. ‘That, Chris, is what I mean. That’s the problem.’ I shrug at what the solution might be. I give myself over to the scenery, which after High Island is glorious. Up a hill, and there below is Long Ke, a lovely white beach, a couple of pleasure junks anchored in the bay. The water is so clear and blue. It is wonderful to see that there are Brahmin cows on the beach, with three cute little calves. They are tame and let us pat them. Siu Ling is still angry about the boat people. ‘It does not seem fair that these rich gwailos and their children can come here in their expensive junks to enjoy all this, to swim in the sea. The Vietnamese are only an hour’s walk away, yet their children swim only in dust.’ ‘The Vietnamese are here illegally. You’re the lawyer, you should know that.’ Fanny is tougher than her doll’s face suggests. ‘Hey, there,’ Alex chides in his gentle way. ‘Perhaps Siu Ling has something. Like, “The quality of mercy is not strain’d; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.” De da de da. You know. Like strict justice isn’t justice. Stuff like that.’ ‘What’s that from?’ I ask in English, feeling I should know. ‘Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice. Portia was pointing out that the strict letter of the law may not only be inhumane, but pretty fucking chon.’ He pats Siu Ling on the thigh. ‘You’ll make a wonderful lawyer, honey. You’ve got what it takes.’ She is obviously pleased. But I think I have missed something.

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There is a cluster of small buildings back from the beach and a dai pai dong, where we buy some water and fried noodles. As we eat, we watch the brilliant blue sea, creamy waves lapping on the shore, our backs to a curtain of green hills. I am sure Ah Ba has never seen a Hong Kong like this. I would love to bring him here, only a few hours from Central, but I doubt I ever shall. It is a steep climb from Long Ke, with more fabulous views at the top of the next mountain. Then, a little further on, is Sai Wan, a pretty bay, similar to Long Ke. A clear fresh-water stream turns sharp corners, then splinters into a spreading delta on the beach. A small village, with a wonderfully crowded shop that sells everything, is a hundred yards from the beach, on the trail leading into the hills. There are several other walkers here. There is a camping site close to the beach, but it is crowded already. We walk through the village, up a small plateau overlooking the beach. Here, we find a secluded glade beside a free-flowing stream. Upstream, a hundred yards or so, a fallen tree has formed a dam. Over the years, sticks, stones, earth and debris have banked up behind it so that a pool is formed, clear and lovely, large enough for bathing. This is the place to camp. We set up the tents. Eric and Alex take one, Billy and I another, and the girls have their own. We decide to go to the beach to swim and clean up, but Fanny in her disorganised haste did not bring her bathers. ‘Mou mantai. No problem, right? Wear your panties and bra. They’ll dry overnight. Hai ma?’ Alex’s Chinglish makes everyone laugh, except Fanny. ‘No! I’ll look stupid in my underwear.’ ‘You’d look pretty damn good to me,’ Billy says. ‘Let’s bathe in that pool here. First us girls, then you boys’’ Siu Ling suggests sensibly. You see we are modest in front of each other. The girls go off while we wait. We hear their shrieking and splashing, but like true gentlemen all we do is check the trail to make sure no other walkers would surprise them. Then it is our turn. We don’t worry about wearing bathers. Alex strips and runs into the water, turns, and splashes Eric who is standing on the shore, his back shyly towards us. Then we are all in. It is surprisingly cold, the waters having drained from the hills behind. In a few minutes I’ve had enough. I leave the pool and towel myself dry. Billy joins me. ‘You guys go back and light the fire. We’ll join you later,’ Alex calls. The girls have changed. Only Siu Ling’s bathers are hanging on a guy rope to dry. Fanny did not wear her underclothes, after all. We pump up


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the fuel stove and start sorting out cans of food, when I realize I’ve left my watch beside the pool. I walk back. It is where I had taken it off, behind a tree. I pick it up and realize Alex and Eric are being unusually quiet for swimmers. They are not in the water. Then I see them, standing on the far side of the pool under a tree. They are both naked, facing each other. Christ Almighty, each has one hand on the other’s erect cock, their other hand behind each other’s neck, and they are kissing! All of a sudden I feel sick. They must not know I have seen this. I stop to think before going back to camp. My first reaction is revulsion. Yet I have known them both well and like them both. Eric has been my friend for many years, but I did wonder what it was he was trying to hide. Now I know. Yet what has changed? They are the same people. They are my friends. Do they cease to become so now? Another question. What does this mean for us, for our group? They have broken our family code. Our brothers are having an affaire! But then, does it matter? I reach camp, all these questions unanswered. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!’ Siu Ling says. ‘What’s up?’ ‘Nothing.’ Billy is impatient. ‘We’re nearly ready to eat. Bugger those two. I’ll go back and hurry them up.’ ‘No!’ I speak too sharply. ‘Don’t go. Er, they’ll be back in a minute!’ Fanny looks at me curiously, her head to one side. She is calculating. She arrives at an answer, a knowing smile on her lips. ‘Ha! I have an idea. Billy?’ She jerks her head in the direction of the pool and holds her hand out for him to drag her to her feet. They disappear up the path. Siu Ling is curious. ‘What did you really see, Chris?’ ‘Oh, nothing. They were getting ready to come back, I suppose.’ ‘Chris, you’re blushing.’ I meet her eyes and smile wanly. Dear Siu Ling, I can’t tell you what I saw! You would be dreadfully shocked. She is smiling, head ducked, looking up at me. She pats my face. ‘I think I can guess. It’s okay. Fanny and I have been talking about them and we did wonder.’ Wah, this innocent little girl is less innocent than I! And then we hear the four of them walking back to the camp, laughing. They arrive in two couples, hand in hand. We eat a fairly bad meal, but the others are in good spirits, which I soon catch. We light a proper camp-fire and sit around it, watching the flames, drinking tea. While nothing is said about my carnal discovery,

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everybody knows that we all know. The cover-up is gone. Alex and Eric sit closer together than they did before, they openly touch each other, they smile more frequently, more directly, the way lovers do. Billy and Fanny are also sitting closer together, their knees touching, his arm around her waist. I decide that they, too, are now just being more open about what they have been doing for some time. Fanny’s large eyes, fire-lit, are framed in the composite black of the night and of her hair. They peer at Billy in a way that is unmistakable. Taboos are being broken, desire is whispering. Then Alex announces, ‘Bedtime. We have a long trek in the morning.’ Without a word, Eric throws out the dregs from his tea mug and joins him. Billy is whispering into Fanny’s ear. Her eyes shine, but she is frowning in our direction. Siu Ling is noticing something, she seems a little uneasy. I, too, am uneasy. ‘Chris, Siu Ling,’ Billy sounds embarrassed. ‘Fanny and I are wondering if, er.’ Fanny is looking hard into the fire, avoiding eye contact with us. ‘If, er, Siu Ling and I, could change tents tonight.’ He finishes in a rush of words. Aiyaa, where does this leave Siu Ling and I? I am sure she is, like me, a virgin. I am also sure she would like to remain one. I like her very much, but to agree to this would change everything. What can I say? ‘We’ll have to talk it over.’ Siu Ling and I walk out of the firelight. I whisper, ‘What do you think?’ ‘What are you proposing?’ she challenges. ‘Oh, only that we share the same tent, you in your sleeping bag, me in mine. We are doing it for them, not for us.’ As I say it, it seems almost an insult. Yet surely she doesn’t want me to want her? ‘Well, if that is all, I do not see that there is a problem.’ We definitely agree that that is all. I am so relieved. No insult intended, none perceived. Just as it should be within the family. We return. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but none of the others back at Uni must know about this. They would misunderstand. It could destroy our group.’ ‘We understand that. Thanks a bunch. We’ll remember it.’ Billy grins wickedly at us and turns to kiss Fanny. Siu Ling undresses in her sleeping bag. Very discreetly. She slips on a T-shirt to sleep in before taking off her bra. As her hand reaches out of the bag holding her bra, I am shocked at the rush that I experience.


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I too undress in my bag, my excitement hidden. I leave on my underpants and a T-shirt. I zip up my bag and there we are, faces inches apart, two thick layers of down separating us. We are soon chattering, as we always do, only this is nicer, more intimate. Very quickly I subside and things are back to normal, only cosier than usual. It is still early, so we talk on. I ask her a question that had puzzled me. Today’s incident at High Island Camp and Alex’s comment about her being a lawyer reminded me. ‘Why did you decide to study law, Siu Ling?’ ‘I hate bullies, Chris. Law is our only protection against bullying, particularly when it’s done by people in authority.’ ‘Like Wherrett.’ ‘Like Wherrett. And like my father — ’ ‘Your father?’ ‘Yes. But that’s a long story. Let’s not spoil tonight by talking about it. Some other time, maybe.’ Yes, I remember her neck veins, pulsing with rage at Wherrett. Maybe he reminded her of her father. How awful it must be to hate your own father! Back to more neutral ground. ‘How can a lawyer stop bullying?’ ‘Oh, Chris, don’t be naïve! Think of those poor boat people! Only a lawyer can help them; one who’s prepared to work for minimal fees, or for Legal Aid. Alex saw that’s what I meant this morning at High Island.’ ‘Maybe queers see things that we straight people don’t see.’ ‘Maybe they do. Maybe they are more sensitive. But I tell you, I felt much more comfortable with him patting my leg than if you or Billy had.’ ‘Hmmph.’ I feel rebuked. I change the subject. ‘It’s cold. And it was so hot during the day.’ ‘Well it is December, Chris.’ She surprises me by patting my face with her hand. Like she’s making up for hurting my feelings. ‘Your face is cold. I’m cold, too.’ ‘We could zip our bags together. Then we would warm each other.’ Mollified, I suggest this in all innocence, before I realize how ambiguous it is in our present situation. ‘Chris!’ She sounds wary, warning me. I add, ‘After all, we are still dressed.’ She is silent for a while. ‘Remember what we agreed. Sharing a tent, that is all.’ ‘Sharing a tent, sharing a bag, same thing.’

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‘As long as it is.’ I hear her unzip her bag. I do the same. I switch on the torch. ‘Look, put the lug of your zip here, into the start of mine. Now vice versa.’ The torch-light dances across her face and down her little-girl legs. She looks like a cuddly soft toy. A teddybear, with a sweet Chinese face. All teddy-bears should look like that! ‘There.’ We lie beside each other, our bare legs touching. On impulse, I lean over, kiss her cheek, then settle back. ‘Now, where were we?’ We talk on, about Alex and Eric. She puts it so simply. ‘They are our friends. We like them, they like us. What they do when they are alone together is their business.’ ‘I can’t argue with that. There, thanks for straightening it out.’ I kiss her again. ‘Chris,’ she growls playfully, putting a warning finger on my lips. I am now highly aroused, well over the threshold imposed by group taboos. I turn on my side, so that I am pressing against her side. She must feel it. What is she thinking? I place my right arm under her neck. I kiss her lightly, yet again. She remains still. There is no mistaking the direction in which this ship is now sailing. I fold her over to me; she makes no response. So the ship sails on. I place my left palm on her right breast. Underneath my hand, I feel her heart thumping wildly. She must be as excited as I am! Unless she is terribly afraid, but that is silly. She turns away, on to her back. She does not push my hand away, but a little voice says, ‘I am a virgin, Chris. I will remain one until I am married. That is certain.’ ‘Me too.’ It seems a dumb thing to say, but it is all I can think of. Then, as if to make a liar of myself, I take her hand and slip it into my underpants. She is holding me, but her hand remains motionless. The feeling is excruciating. ‘Are you lying to me, Chris?’ ‘I promise I won’t do anything against your will. Anything we do must be mutually agreed beforehand. Duk m’duk ah?’ ‘Duk! No sex tonight then. Please, Chris.’ ‘Not the whole way, Siu Ling, of course not. Let’s just touch each other.’ ‘We already are.’ She gives a little laugh and slowly moves her hand. I lift her T-shirt and cover her left nipple with my lips. My left index finger is gently seeking her. I move my finger, she moves her hand. I flick my tongue, she shivers. Now she is becoming moist and, guided by her reactions, I move my finger where I think it will please her.


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I teach her how to caress me. We move into a rhythmic dance, each a remote control for the other. Soon we are writhing with excitement, to the ultimate point I would never have dreamed possible, not with Siu Ling. She is transported. ‘Chris, I had no idea such things could happen! I thought it was — oh, never mind.’ I am surprised. ‘Have you not done that, like to yourself?’ She grins her little monkey grin, shaking her head, burying it in my face. I hold her close, scarcely breathing. Her innocence, her tenderness, overwhelm me. I have made a mess. I unzip the bag, and switch on the torch searching for the tissue pack. I then turn the torch over her body, holding my breath at her wonderful fragility, conjoining at her small, silky, black centre. She then takes the torch and the tissue pack from me. She wipes up my mess. She takes her time, shining the torch over me. It is like she has never seen a naked man before, never seen his lifecreating exudate. She seems fascinated. What curious looking things testicles must be to someone who has never seen any before! She shines the torch on them, her face peering close, grinning back to me from time to time. She is so unselfconscious, so innocent still! I love her very much for that. We are now cold, so we zip up the two bags and, naked, we huddle together for warmth. And that is how we go to sleep. I wake to see her little monkey face, two inches from mine, studying me. Her lips curl in a little smile, as her fingertips trace the outline of my face. ‘You know something, Chris? You have such nice, long eyelashes. I like your nose and your hair is soft and wavy.’ ‘You make me sound like a leng tsai, like Eric,’ I laugh and kiss her. She returns my kiss, but her voice is serious. ‘I learned something last night. Something very good and important.’ She whispers, ‘But back to normal now.’ She feels in the bag for her bikini briefs and pulls them on inside the bag. She sits up, her back to me while she puts on her bra and her panda T-shirt. Brother and sister dress in proper, modest fashion. Last night was a dream. At breakfast next morning, it seems that we are all dreaming the same dream. Each one of us talks mostly to our partner, scarcely at all to the others. On our trek back, while the walk is still easy, couples straggle out, each in deep, personal conversations.

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I tell Siu Ling — because she asks — about my experiences with other girls. The boatshed story makes her clap her hands and laugh out loud with delight. ‘So that is where you learned how to place my hand!’ She hits me in the ribs with an elbow. It hurts. I think she even meant it to. I start to tell her about this pretty gwai mui who visited the shop and who asked me to give her Cantonese lessons. She interrupts. ‘Felix Villas, you say? Her father must be at Hong Kong U then! What was her name?’ ‘Er, Felicity.’ ‘No! Her surname, chon geme.’ I am afraid of that question. I hesitate, but I have to say it. ‘De Crespigny. But,’ I rush on at the expression on her face, ‘please keep that to yourself. I don’t want the others to know! Martin knows a little bit, and now you — ’ ‘Of course I will!’ She smiles up at me and squeezes my arm. ‘Wah! What an advantage you have over us!’ ‘Oh, no. Exactly the opposite, la! Wait until I tell you the full story.’ As I tell her about the only-my-Chinese-teacher incident in Lan Kwai Fong, she interrupts. ‘Aiyaaa, did a rooster crow, ah?’ I tell her about the final, terrible, dinner scene. She now knows I didn’t have dinner with the Professor, even if Martin doesn’t. She is angry, at the Professor in particular. ‘I never thought he would agree to such a shabby trick! He’s not like that with us.’ ‘He didn’t know about it. He was as surprised as we were. His bloody wife arranged it all.’ I tell her about the incident on the Sun Yat Sen stairs. ‘He was so embarrassed he couldn’t talk to me about it. I suppose he could hardly apologise to a student for his wife’s behaviour.’ We walk in silence for a while, then she asks, ‘Where is she now?’ ‘In Gloucester, I guess. I’ll never see her again.’ ‘Do you want to?’ I think hard and answer truthfully. ‘No, I don’t believe I do.’ I think further and make a discovery. ‘Not now. Not after last night.’ I stop walking and face her. ‘You know, I’m completely over her. She means nothing to me any more.’ She throws her arms around me and cuddles me hard, pushing her little face into mine, such an endearing gesture of hers. If this is dreaming, may we never wake up.


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As I had guessed, she has had little experience with boys before. Mild flirting, holding hands, a fleeting kiss. Nothing more. She seems so innocent, but I am learning that she is more worldly wise than I am. That is strange. We arrive at Cheung Sheung, a big, untidy camping area, thronged with people, dogs and tinny little radios squawking Cantopop. We lunch here, chat with other walkers, throw food to the scavenging dogs. We don’t notice the clouds building up. We start to climb soon after leaving Cheung Sheung. The steep track becomes treacherous as the weather changes. The remaining few miles to Kei Ling Ha are hell. The top of Kai Kung Shan is windy and bitterly cold. Then it rains. After all the exertion of climbing and then this cold, miserable, wet weather, we are in bad shape. Siu Ling’s poor little legs can hardly support her. Eric, too, is in trouble. I say to Billy, ‘Isn’t Alex amazingly strong! He’s almost carrying Eric and he’s not the slightest bit out of breath.’ ‘I’ll bet he was out of breath last night! I certainly was. Good training, la! How about you, ah?’ I stare coldly back. I’m not discussing Siu Ling with him. He shrugs. This is one reason why having affaires within the group is bad. We create things that are not to be shared and sharing is what our group used to do so well. Billy is certainly in good condition, which is as well, for Fanny, too, is soon struggling. She is not used to mountain climbing in clinging, wet clothes. But it makes her look very sexy! I would not have thought that yesterday, but in the past twenty-four hours I have added an extra lens to the spectacles that I use to view my sisters. It is like we have finally eaten the apple, in that Garden of Eden behind Sai Wan. Our days of innocence are over.

CHAPTER 8

S

iu Ling is excited. She is hiding something from me. Her hands behind her back, she is squirming from left to right, right to left, the way little girls do. ‘I’ve decided something. Something we agreed. At Sai Wan — ’ I pause a moment. I get it. We say together, ‘Must be mutually agreed beforehand.’ I am flooded with joy, but so deliriously puzzled! ‘But Siu Ling, what made you change your mind so suddenly?’ ‘That’s a secret. I’ll tell you one day. Promise.’ What can I say? I hug her. ‘Where?’ she breathes into my ear. ‘We could go camping again.’ ‘Somewhere we don’t have to walk far, please.’ ‘Preferably by ourselves.’ ‘No, we should go in company in case of problems. Billy and Fanny would understand.’ Billy and Fanny do not know that Siu Ling and I are shortly to give each other something that has been extremely precious, at least to her. They would assume that we have done that already. But we are like most students, virgins still. Billy and Fanny are the exceptions. And Alex and Eric, of course. They are very exceptional. Billy knows of a suitable camping site on South Lantau. ‘You catch the bus to Shek Pik and then it’s only an hour or so around the Fan Lau Peninsula. Alex told me about it. It’s very private, your own private beach! If you want to, you can ruin yourselves walking all the way up to Po Lin monastery. Or you can sit on the beach and enjoy the wonderful gifts of nature. Such as eating the fruits of love!’ He leers at Siu Ling, who giggles. Lantau is big, rugged and unspoiled. The ferry ride from Central is just wonderful. Billy races outside on the stern deck to bag some seats. And there we sit, drinking San Mig, men of the world. ‘Ah Fat with brains,’ I mutter to myself.

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‘Huh?’ ‘Just talking to myself.’ The girls then join us. Fanny turns heads as she walks on the slightly rolling deck, balancing a Styrofoam cup of tea in one hand and her backpack in the other. She has developed suddenly in the past year. Her curves are now solid, not puppy fat, her legs full and brown, her bosom is one rarely found on Chinese girls. As if to make sure this point does not remain unnoticed, the first two buttons of her blouse are undone, inches of cleavage on show. She looks more like a gai than a university student. But that only highlights the fresh innocence of my Siu Ling. Sweet, almost child-like, she may look, but she ravishes me far more than Fanny’s voluptuousness. How I ever saw Siu Ling in a platonic light I can not now imagine. I just want to hold her in my arms and die the little death, over and over again. I am in heaven. The company, my Siu Ling, the boat, Pokfulam receding in the distance, the brilliant sun on the waters, the warmth of San Mig spreading inside me, I just couldn’t be happier. Yet I know I will be happier. Tonight, in Siu Ling’s arms. We are the only ones to alight from the bus at the Shek Pik stop, I’m glad to discover. We heft our packs and follow the map Alex has lent us. We take our time, but we are there by lunch-time already. We set up the tents, boil up some instant noodle soup and think about what to do next. ‘Sun bathe,’ Fanny says decisively. This time she has brought her swim suit, a tiny purple bikini, which she puts on after walking around their tent, only partly concealing herself as she changes. I carefully look away, whereas Billy watches openly, with enthusiastic commentary. Siu Ling changes inside our tent, and emerges a minute later in a frilly little, bright-red bikini, with black splodges. I am so proud of her. The beach is protected on three sides by a low cliff and thick trees, and to the east is Hong Kong Island in the distance. We lay down on our towels. Billy takes out the sun-tan lotion, undoes Fanny’s bra and massages her back. ‘Please. You do my back, too,’ Siu Ling holds out her bottle. It is very sensual, as we massage each other’s backs with the oil. ‘My front, darling. You don’t mind, do you?’ Fanny asks as she rolls over, exposing her breasts clearly. ‘You do what you like,’ Siu Ling sounds cross. I am, too. ‘We’ll find our own place.’ I do not want to sound rude so I say, ‘The sun is too hot. We’ll find some shade.’ ‘Uh-huh.’ Billy continues massaging Fanny.


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Leaving them, we walk along the beach a little. On impulse, I haul Siu Ling into the water. She kicks and squeals. We throw water over each other. I drag her under and kiss her fiercely under water. Spluttering, she pushes me away and runs for the shore. I catch her and we hug and kiss, each licking the salt from the other’s face. We hurry back to the camp-site, pressing closer and closer against each other. By the time we arrive, we are supporting each other like two inward falling towers of Pisa. We are both urgent. Now is the time for irreversible commitment. We crawl inside our tent and roll around tearing off our skimpy wet bathers. Naked, we now start licking the salt off each other’s bodies. She hesitates at my ticking, empurpled erection, and I don’t push the matter, much as I would love her to do that. But I linger over her centre of creation. How neatly my tongue fits between her thigh and her hairline. It is the same both sides. And in the middle, how sweet is her saltiness. I grin up at her through her little, black curls, her face framed between two low mounds. ‘Now, darling, please,’ she whispers. I feel in my pack for a condom. She leans over me, watching, curious. ‘Let me. Like this?’ She puts it on the wrong way. ‘No, la! It won’t unroll that way, silly little pig. There.’ In the warm, blue light of the tent, I lay her back, so gently. She wants a towel underneath, just in case. I push at her marvellous secrecy. It is difficult to feel what is happening. Nothing very much. I push harder. She grunts, I am hurting her. I look a question at her. ‘Yes, yes. Go on.’ I go on. Harder, until I force an entry. She squeaks in sudden pain. ‘It’s okay. You finish, la.’ I finish, a weak climax, so different from what I had expected. But at least it is inside her, my beloved. I look down. She is bleeding. I feel bad. I have been a cruel and selfish bully. I gather her in my arms and we cry together. My tears are of remorse for hurting her, of love for her, and of tender gratitude for her giving me this gift that can be given only once. Siu Ling is hurting, yet she insists we go back to the others at the beach. We find them, both nude, swimming. How strange our reaction. We were offended by Fanny’s breasts only two hours ago. Now we discover it doesn’t matter what we see of them, or of what they do. We are our own focus. We celebrate our discovery with frenzied kisses, for us alone. That night, Siu Ling wants to make love again, despite the wound of our previous loving. It must be unprotected, she says. ‘That was the problem, la! I want to feel you inside me, not a rubber thing.’

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Oh yes, she does feel me as I work my way carefully, so carefully, and so lovingly, into her being. She swears it is not hurting her. I, too, really feel her myself! It is so precious I want to cry again. This time, we really are one flesh. I carefully withdraw, so tenderly, before I risk blasting our two careers. She bends low over me, to see me spurt. She catches my seed in her hand. She smells it. She dabs a little on her tongue. She kisses me, her tongue insinuating my mouth with a salty essence. ‘Yours, la!’ I nearly faint with love at that moment. It is time for my family to meet Siu Ling. Ah Ma fusses and fusses. As always in such circumstances, she cooks far too much. I tell her Siu Ling is a small eater, but she prepares all my favourites, which she cooks so well: steamed fish, soy chicken, simmered lightly for hours so that it melts in your mouth like liquorice-flavoured chocolate, ng-choy with a heap of garlic added at the last minute, a clay-pot of eggplant and salted fish, steamed chicken with ginger and spring onion sauce. Wah! All for four people! Siu Ling knocks timidly on the front door, right on six. She is so sensitive. She knows my parents are very traditional, so she wears black trousers and a lovely, jade-green shirt with a high collar. We discussed this earlier and I told her I prefer her in red, but she replied, ‘No, la! I must not look like a bride to them so soon!’ No, bo bui, not to them, I think. But to me you are my bride already. She behaves perfectly. ‘Sai Ba,’ she says to father, ‘I am honoured to meet you. And you, too, Bak Mo.’ She bows to each. We sip tea and discuss our studies with Ah Ba, while Ah Ma finalises the cooking and serves the dishes. The food is wonderful, but far too much. Poor Siu Ling tries to please by eating as much as she can, but she finally has to lean back with a sigh, while Ah Ba places more chicken into her bowl with his chopsticks. ‘Bao, la! I couldn’t eat another scrap.’ But still it comes. She has to eat some orange slices and watermelon that Ah Ba has carefully chopped up into bite-sized lumps. She takes a couple of pieces on a toothpick to be polite. After some tea and chatter with my parents, we leave. ‘I’ll take you home, Siu Ling. I am so proud of you. I can tell you made a big impression on my parents.’


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‘They were kind. I like them very much. You are lucky to have such a kind mother, such a nice father. But no need to take me home. Just wait until the bus comes.’ ‘No, la! I insist.’ ‘Well, in that case, you must meet my mother. As you know, my father is dead, but I would love you to meet her. She and I are so close.’ Her eyes shine as she speaks. She must love her very much. We get off the bus at Sai Ying Pun, but we walk past the Correctional Services Staff Quarters. I look at her, my eyebrows asking the question. ‘No, we had to leave there after he died. We live in that building, in the next block. His pension is enough to cover the rent. He is more use dead than he ever was alive.’ ‘Siu Ling!’ I am shocked she could speak of her father like that. Laughing at my reaction, she punches the security code in the front entrance. ‘You’ll find out what I mean one day.’ The lift takes us to the sixth floor. As she unlocks the door of their flat, she calls: ‘Ah Ma! Come here. I’ve got someone here who wants to meet you!’ A little lady steps quickly into the corridor, as if she expected my arrival. I am so glad I insisted in coming, when Siu Ling said to take her only to the bus stop. Perhaps it was a test! If so, I passed her test, just as she had passed my test. Her mother is exactly like an older version of Siu Ling, but not as old as I would have thought. She is still very pretty, but there is something sad behind her warm smile. She holds out her hand. ‘I am very glad to meet you, Chris. I have heard such a lot about you. Anyone who steals the heart of my Siu Ling is …’. She fades away, and looks at me with soft, glistening eyes. It makes me want to hug her. ‘Come on Mummy, let’s go inside. But only for a minute, Chris can’t stay very long.’ I love her mother already, but I am glad Siu Ling signalled a quick visit. Maintaining conversation could be hard work, but Siu Ling steers us through the weather, her career plans and mine, and then very gently and tactfully she announces it is time for me to go. When I return home, Ah Ma confirms what I had thought. ‘So modest and respectful to us. And quite pretty too, I might add.’ High praise indeed from Ah Ma! Ah Ba is quietly delighted I can see. He puts his arm round my shoulder, a rare gesture for him. ‘Just as I said before, as I think you will remember. A Chinese girl more better for you! You have the right one.’

Then he gently brings me back to reality. ‘But before you think of marriage, there is the golden house to be built. Much diligent study lies ahead of you before you may live in it with her!’ So it is ordered. I have my future bride, of that I am sure. I am so fortunate. It only remains to finish my studies and build my career. The golden house will then follow, as sure as day follows night.

CHAPTER 9

I

sit down to dinner. There is a letter for me. A fancy yellow envelope, my name and address written in elaborate flowery writing. Purple ink. Ah Ma cannot wait for me to open it. ‘Letter for you, la,’ She says unnecessarily. I pick it up, it is scented. It is the sort of letter I would rather not open in front of them. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ she persists. ‘Oh, I know what it is. Nothing important.’ I slip it into my pocket. I open it in my room. 14A Block B, Rodriguez Court, 350 Victoria Road, Pokfulam 5-8174554 Tuesday Dear Chris, How are you? Daddy tells me you are in his Faculty and are doing very well. Yes, he remembers you. It’s Flic! I am back in Hong Kong for Daddy’s wedding!! It was WONDERFUL. My new Mummy is a beautiful Chinese lady called Celine. I am just so thrilled!! (See! We’re NOT racially prejudiced, not now anyway.) I go back to England next Friday, but I’d LOVE to see you before I go. There’s so much to tell you. You may not want to see me — but please, please I hope you do!! It was absolutely HORRID the way we parted and I’d so love to straighten that out, even if it was four years ago (can you believe that?!). I have to say that I am engaged. Philip came for the wedding but had to go straight back, business and stuff. So there, it’s all above board. So, my dear Ex, what’s it to be? Could you phone me at home (above) and we can make some arrangement? Just to say hello — and then goodbye, probably for ever this time.

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Time has moved on, Chris. I do hope you feel you can help me complete the circle. Once yours, but always in my mind, Flic.

I am completely stunned. I delay. I make myself think of the irrelevancies first. Prof getting married! And to a Chinese! What irony. We students never knew. Then, the central issue. Do I meet her or not? ‘Do you want to?’ Siu Ling had asked. And I had answered, I thought truthfully, ‘No. I don’t believe I do.’ But I am very curious! What does she look like now? What is she doing? What did her father say about me as a student? One thing, she says she’s engaged. Am I jealous? A tiny stab, at first, but no, not really. I have my lovely Siu Ling and she has her Philip. So in that case, there is no real reason why we should not meet. Yet I have a feeling that we should not. Anyway, there is not much time left. It is Wednesday night now and she leaves on Friday, probably the morning flight. That leaves only sometime tomorrow. I’ll sleep on it and ring in the morning. If she is out, then fate will have decided. I ring the number. A cool, sophisticated voice answers. ‘Please, may I speak to Felicity?’ The voice replies, ‘Flic’ to my friends, please. Oh Chris! How lovely to hear your voice. You got my letter then?’ ‘Flic, I am so sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice. Forgive me.’ I feel stupid, thrown by her quote of so many years ago, mortified that I did not even recognize her. I feel at once the familiar disadvantage. Flic is good at doing that. Most Westerners are. ‘Well, Chris? Do you want to meet me, or not?’ ‘That is why I am ringing you, Flic.’ ‘How about tonight? Dinner? Actually, that’s about the only time we could meet. I’m seeing some other old friends for lunch, then last minute shopping. Well?’ I am cooling off. Dinner is not such a good idea. I feel she is somehow playing games with me, the way she did when I first met her. But I have said I would see her, I cannot back out now. ‘Okay. Tonight then.’ ‘Goodie. I know just the place, Sammy’s Kitchen. It’s a grotty little would-be Western restaurant in Queen’s Road West. There’s a lovely big neon cow outside.’


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‘I know the place.’ ‘Six o’clock. Nice and early, so we can talk lots and lots.’ I arrive first, so I sit at a table and sip some tea while I wait. I am nervous and I also feel guilty. There is no reason why I should feel guilty, this is all open and ‘above board’ as Flic said. But it worries me that I am doing what I told Siu Ling I had no desire to do. A tall figure appears in the doorway. Wah! I would never have recognized her! I stand and walk to meet her as she steps into the bright lights of the restaurant. Her hair is pulled to one side. She is wearing a bright pink blouse, with a knotted waistband. The neckline of her blouse plunges down, revealing a great deal of her breasts, a long, jade pendant snug in the valley in between. She is wearing embroidered jeans and boots with such high heels that when she walks up to me, she is smiling almost levelly into my face. Her eyes are as brilliant as I remember, but her face has changed. It is now a woman’s face, fuller, the freckles gone, her long nose aristocratic in the English way. It is the face of a beautiful and sophisticated Western woman, dressed tastefully, casually, but expensively. The Flic I knew, my Flic, is nowhere to be seen, except in her eyes, those brilliant, clear, blue eyes. They are the same. ‘Well, Chris. You haven’t changed at all!’ The phone voice speaks, the voice of an upper-class English woman. It is not my Flic’s voice. ‘My God, you have!’ I blurt out rudely. ‘Oh, sorry, I mean — ’ ‘M’ganiu! Dear Chris.’ She brushes my clumsiness aside, as of no account. She grasps my shoulders and kisses me, first on each cheek, then hugging me tightly, she kisses me on the lips. ‘There. Just for old time’s sake! Now, let’s order, and then let’s talk.’ Next term she starts her second year at St Hilary’s, Oxford. Modern Languages, including Mandarin. Philip is a cadet in the Foreign Office. ‘What a team we’ll be with that combination!’ I’m not very interested in all that. So we have met again. That is nice, but we are on two different planets. That is so clear now, as clear as it was to her mother years ago. Mrs de Crespigny was right. There is no place for ‘that Chinese boy’ in Flic’s life. We discuss all that, of course. ‘Chris, I told you Daddy had no idea what that bloody bitch had planned. He was disgusted. But his hands were tied. He could hardly fight her in front of you and Jeremy. And when you became a student of his he was so embarrassed. He thought you might have thought he was in

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it, too! He wanted to explain and apologise, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Not to one of his own students. Poor Daddy!’ I tell her about the incident on the Sun Yat Sen steps. She is touched. A little tear forms in one of her brilliant, blue eyes. ‘That was bad enough, but then he really found out about what a bitch Mummy was.’ She looks at me, her eyes watering freely now. ‘She was having an affaire with a professor in another department. Had been for a year or so. And not just with one other person. She was an absolute bitch! Fucking around while pretending to be so, so, bloody proper! I’ll never forgive her for what she did — to Daddy, to me. And to you.’ She grabs my hand and squeezes it. She then presses a handkerchief to her eyes for a moment. I squeeze her hand back. I don’t know what to say to this. This is a story that could not possibly happen in my house! She places her other hand on mine and sighs. ‘Daddy went through a terrible time. And now, thank God, it’s all over. The Bitch cleared out, back to England, and he met Celine and fell in love with her. Now they are married and on their honeymoon in a lovely, little cottage on a Greek island.’ She removes her hands from mine and cups her chin in her hands, like she did the first time we spoke in the shop. When I first met Flic this time, I was cool and guarded, but little snapshots like this recreate the old bond. No, not love, but warmth, an understanding between friends. I am delighted her father married a Chinese. ‘She’s Chinese you said.’ ‘Yes, naughty old Daddy. Celine was his research assistant.’ Her! A tall, fantastic-looking woman. She was from Shanghai, I remembered, and had a Ph.D. from Harvard. ‘Amazing! We students had no idea!’ ‘Of course not. Daddy’s a very careful old roué. He’s madly in love with her, of course, and she really is nice. Oh, yes, and Mummy-bitch landed a rich old geezer in Bristol. So much for her. Me? I’m all set for life now. How about you?’ I tell her about university, how her father backed us against Wherrett. About Siu Ling. I am very careful to tell her that I am in love again. I look at my watch and find it is nine o’clock. Three hours have disappeared in minutes. She notices me looking at the time. ‘Yes, must see to last-minute packing. Mai daan, ah!’ She signals the waiter. She tries to pay, but I insist we split the bill. We walk outside.


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‘Have you seen the new Rodriguez flats? Daddy much prefers living there to Felix Villas. Would you like to come and have a look? There’s time for a little drinkie-poo, if you like.’ She signals a taxi. Yes, I am curious. I climb in with her. ‘Victorlaido sam bat ng saap ho,’ she confidently calls to the driver. ‘Do you mean Rodriguez? Okay, Missee.’ He needs to confirm her bad Cantonese. She pulls a mock-shame face at me. ‘Who taught you that? I didn’t!’ I laugh at distant associations. ‘That’s all I know now, but don’t tell anyone,’ she stage whispers back. ‘Oh Chris,’ she pats my arm, ‘I’m so glad you could come. It has settled things. All in the past, and now we can just be good friends. Duk m’duk ah?’ ‘Duk.’ We are there in minutes. We pull up under the porch and she looks questioningly at me, indicating inside with a slight lift of her head. ‘Very quickly then. You must pack, Flic.’ The flat is enormous. These expats certainly do themselves well. After a quick tour, we sit down on the balcony, on a swinging two-seater hammock thing, overlooking the sea. It is a warm night and dozens of brightly lit boats are moving below us. ‘Flic, this is beautiful!’ ‘One thing is missing. Two things. First, you like Cointreau?’ ‘Never had it.’ She comes back with two small crystal glasses brimming with a clear liquid and a leather pouch. ‘This is delicious.’ Sweet, powerful oranges. I am aware that this drink could dilute my conscience. I am also aware that I am now in a situation in which my conscience should not be diluted. She then opens the pouch and takes out a limp, hand-rolled cigarette and a lighter. ‘Let’s share this.’ ‘I don’t smoke.’ ‘Oh Chris, you’re so sweet. This is a joint. Just a couple of puffs, it makes you feel, like, wow!’ I had heard about this. It is illegal, but I do not say. She would think me so — ‘square’, I think is the word. There is a pleasant herbal smell, like some Chinese medicine. She inhales and passes the joint to me. Carefully, I draw on it and swallow some smoke. It is not as harsh as tobacco, which I do not like. Smiling, she takes it from me, inhales again, and then pinches it out and puts

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it back in her pouch. She moves closer, takes my arm with one hand, and lays her head on my shoulder. ‘Oh Chris, what might have been.’ She swings those glorious, big eyes up at me. I am strongly aroused. How could I not be? But I have to say, ‘But never will be. Not now.’ ‘Hmmm.’ Her right hand rests lightly on my thigh. She moves it slightly, a butterfly’s blink, but it travels a continent. ‘Chris, after tonight, we’ll never see each other, ever again. We’ll travel in orbits that will never connect. After tonight, you have your Siu Ling, I have my Philip. Tonight, we could have each other. No-one would ever know. After all, we have unfinished business, my Chinese Ex.’ ‘Flic, you must know that after all this time, and after what has happened, I don’t love you now. Not in that way.’ ‘I know that. I’m not asking for your love. I’m only asking that we make the love we once had, and never did make. And should have. Yes! We should have! That way we give it a decent burial. Finito!’ I laugh at that. It is something to do, to hide my awful confusion of conscience, and a mounting urge. She unpins her hair so that it falls like two silky golden curtains, just like it used to. She flicks it and a golden strand rests on my face an instant. She turns to me. ‘Chris.’ I can barely hear her. Her voice has changed to how I remembered it. This is the Flic I loved so much. ‘Kiss me properly, Chris.’ I turn to meet her, my hands behind her back, drawing her close. I brush her lips with mine. I open my eyes. There, an inch away, are her black eyelashes, her eyes looking down. My hands on her back tell me she is not wearing a bra. It is like I am outside myself. I see a Chinese boy and an English girl. I see them kiss, out here, on a balcony. It is like a similar scene that took place nearly four years ago. Only this is a different balcony and it is night, not a sunny afternoon. They murmur to each other. But now it is very different. This time his hand moves under her blouse. She shrugs off her blouse. Her large breasts are glowing in the moonlight. He is cupping one in his hand while they are kissing. She murmurs something. It sounds like ‘Come, my darling. At last.’ But I am not sure, she speaks so quietly, now she is speaking in that little-girl voice. She takes his hand. I follow them inside. They go to her bedroom, where a bedside lamp is lighting the room in a romantic glow. They undress each other


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carefully, lovingly it seems. They are now lying on the bed, naked, stroking each other, exploring each other with lips and tongue. Then the boy moves on top of her and he says urgently, loudly, so I hear it clearly: ‘Flic, darling, I don’t have a condom!’ She replies in made-up Chinglish, ‘M’sai! On the diu yuen, la!’ They fall over each other, laughing. Then, yes, I see them making love. I am embarrassed by what I am seeing. She is writhing and moaning while he plunges regularly. She seems to be stiffening, her legs tightening around his waist. This is very embarrassing. Then, she shouts, ‘Now, Chris, now!’ One hand is rubbing his nipples, I see. Then, I never thought I would ever see this, she inserts a finger right into his anus. He recoils like a trap that has just been sprung, making loud, incoherent noises, then collapses on to her. This girl hugs him to herself and whispers something into his ear. I can just catch it: ‘Ngor janhaih oi-jor lei.’ So. She is saying she really loved him. Loved. In the past. ‘Ngor douh hai.’ He agrees he did, too. He says it with difficulty. Perhaps he is upset. Perhaps he has just realized a dream that has consumed him for five years and has woken to find the dream tastes of ashes. Can this be the Flic who first talked to him in the shop five long years ago? That Flic was a mischievous innocent, whom he loved. This Flic, who has just given him pleasure of a magnitude he could not imagine, is another Flic, whom he does not love in that way. It is all out of synchrony. Before, it was him and that Flic. Now, it is him and this Flic. It feels wrong. Thank you this Flic, I feel him say, but it is time to go. He gets up and moves towards his clothes. ‘Stay, darling! Here, I’ll bring you another Cointreau.’ Before he can agree or disagree, she is out the door. The way she walks, naked, is splendid. Her long legs flow, her breasts roll in subtle harmony with her hips. Her sexuality is so obvious, the more so with her aristocratic English face. He cannot believe he has just made love to someone so physically desirable. He is not used to Cointreau. It warms him and weakens him. They sip their drinks and chat, naked together. She says, ‘Okay, my Chinese scatter bomb, one for the road. Can you make it?’ But her voice is the voice of the older woman, not that of Flic, the innocent girl.

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I look at her face. That, too, is now different, hard. This hard-faced woman then bends over the naked boy and takes him in her mouth until he is hard, erect again. ‘Just lie there.’ She sits astride him, hungrily sucking him inside her. She gyrates her pelvis, her hair and breasts swinging, swaying savagely and beautifully. There is a wild look in her eyes now. ‘Wait! A little Greek,’ I hear this demonic woman say. I am nervous. I don’t know what is going to happen to him. She climbs off him, reaches for a small jar on the bedside table. She smears something between her buttocks. Then she returns to straddling him and carefully, slowly, pushes her pelvis forward and lowers herself on to him, his organ seeming to pierce her buttocks. This is perverted! He looks horrified and tries to pull away. She sits suddenly. He is trapped. She starts moving again and the expression on his face changes. He is panting wildly and then he shouts. Ecstasy has banished disgust. ‘Flic, aiyaa! I never knew … Wah, dirty, la! How could you?’ Words tumble out breathlessly. ‘It’s not dirty.’ She taps him on the nose with her finger. ‘You just need to be careful, la. Soon as you slacken off, have a good pee. It clears the tubes out. Then wash Ah Dick well under the shower before you go. And that’s it. We’ve literally closed the circle now, my Chinese ex-lover. I’ve given you all I can. You deserved that after the way that bloody bitch treated you. Treated us.’ Her face is ugly with hatred when she says this. It is ironic how like her mother she now looks. She quickly recovers her cool, sophisticated self. ‘And, darling, let me tell you, you were a super screw!’ This is not the Flic I was watching half an hour ago. This is Felicity the whore, a hard, unpleasant person, now so like her mother. I see that the boy is upset. He, too, does not like this Felicity. I see them shower quickly together. She comes down in the lift to see him off. And with a bizarre touch of finality, she holds out her hand. They shake. Just like good friends. Or just like a high-class whore and her client perhaps. In either case, it is like they expect never to see each other again.

CHAPTER 10

I

need the walk home to think over this extraordinary experience, so sensual, so dreamlike, so detached from real life. I felt like a spectator at outlandish events. I am a whirlpool of feelings! Ecstasy, emptiness, ecstasy, disgust. Then more ecstasy, in a realm I had not imagined before. Now it is over and I can see what I have done. A creeping guilt threatens to engulf me. How Flic has changed! I wonder at her confidence. She was so clear in what she was doing. She seemed to have had every move planned: the timing, the Cointreaus to make me pliable, the Vaseline on the bedside table. Flic must have had dozens of lovers, she knows so much! And that final act that first shocked, then so thrilled me. I feel as if I have been with a high-class whore. I then remember that strange look on her face, when she referred to ‘that bitch’, her mother. She looked evil, triumphant. I stop dead. Was I simply a weapon in the warfare between her and her mother? She had had sex — perverse sex, to underline the point — with the last person in the world Mummy would want her to have sex with: ‘that Chinese boy.’ I have a nightmare vision. ‘Yes Mummy, and I got him to fuck me in every orifice he could fit it into. How do you like that, Mother dear?’ No, Flic, no! You wouldn’t use me like that, would you? Then, there was the real link to our past: Ngor janhaih oi-jor lei. Did she use the past tense to underline the point that our love was now over, officially? That what we did was to perform a burial service, interring a past with that ceremony, and then real life begins? So now, my Chinese Ex, you can go back to your little Siu Ling with a clear conscience, and a clean slate, because the Flic you knew is no more. I wonder at how little her fiancé, Philip, seemed to have entered into her thinking and acting. But then what about me? Shouldn’t I be just as shocked at myself? Of course I should. I would dearly love to be able to detach my commitment to Siu Ling the way Flic did to her Philip. But I cannot.

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By the time I reach home, the glow of fulfilment has gone. I feel only, with a clarity that frightens, that I have betrayed Siu Ling. She gave me her most precious gift, so freely and tenderly, yet I have had even more intimate experiences with another woman whom I do not even love. And I still don’t know whether I have been cynically used or have been involved in an act of significance and finality. Or whether I’m simply a faithless person who is all too easily led into having sex with attractive women. Siu Ling, so good and so trusting, does not deserve a man who would do any of those things. Yet when I think of Siu Ling, I think of Flic suddenly introducing that totally amazing and thrilling act. How I would love to do that with Siu Ling, but how can I? How I wish I had learned about that innocently! Martin has called a class meeting to decide on a class present for the Professor, when he returns next week. He explains what he knows. ‘Professor married Celine Hu last week at a quiet ceremony in Cotton Tree Drive. We all remember her, don’t we? Now they are honeymooning, in Europe somewhere I think — ’ ‘On a Greek island,’ I call out without thinking. Martin looks startled. ‘Really? On a Greek island then. As Chris says.’ We decide on a Chinese painting, which can be cheap but look quite expensive. We then retire to the Swire café. Siu Ling is talking to someone else, when Martin quietly comes up to me. ‘How did you know that? About where they are honeymooning?’ ‘Er, Miss Chan told me, in the faculty office.’ ‘Now, that is very strange. Miss Chan told me that Prof didn’t want anyone to know. Only she knows, in case of emergencies.’ He is staring at me, accusingly. Then, as if changing the subject, ‘I suppose the family came back for the ceremony. Oh Lord, what was the daughter’s name?’ ‘Felicity. Yes, I suppose she did.’ I would hate to be a defendant with Martin as prosecuting counsel. ‘Oh, I see. So it was she who told you.’ A statement, not a question. ‘Martin, look,’ I am blushing. He must guess by now that something happened between us. If so, I have nothing to lose by confiding in him. I badly need someone to talk to, whose judgement I trust. I glance around the room. Siu Ling is talking to a couple of others. ‘Martin, come outside.’ We lean against the fence at Bonham Road. ‘I can’t defend what happened. It just did.’


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I tell in broad how we had dinner, how I, in all innocence, went back to her father’s flat. Then things got out of hand. Although Felicity is committed elsewhere, as indeed so am I — he grimaces at that — we somehow try to finalise our stormy past, to seal it off with a carnal band-aid to allow healing to take place, to allow future healthy growth to happen. I am quite carried away with my self-justifying rhetoric. I do not tell him my other theory, that she was revenging herself against her mother. That would be too far-fetched for Martin’s legal mind. As if what I was already saying wasn’t just as far-fetched. I wind up. ‘So that act was an investment for the future, as it were, a future in which Felicity can have no place. That is all over with her now, gone. Our act the other night has nothing to do with me and Siu Ling, in the here and now.’ I am hoping beyond hope for his endorsement, if not his approval. I obtain neither. He looks at me sternly through his horn-rimmed glasses. ‘Poor Siu Ling. Poor, poor Siu Ling.’ He leaves me and walks back up the steps to the Swire canteen. I lean against the fence, stricken. After my crushing confession to Martin, I feel as small as a ten-cent coin. I decide I cannot confess to Siu Ling. It would not only give her pain, it would probably end our relationship. We have never talked about such things as the possibility of infidelity. Why should we? Such a possibility had never occurred to either of us. Besides, I do not intend to be unfaithful to her ever again. So I pretend that it didn’t happen. Or if it did happen, it was because I was seduced by a Wu Lei Jing, by a Fox Demon in the shape of Flic, against whom a mortal man is powerless. It was not my fault; I was cursed. Yes, Flic was the Wu Lei Jing, not her mother. Strangely, such thoughts give me comfort. I was bewitched, a spectator at a depraved ritual. It was out of my control. I could see it all happening, so clearly, yet it was like it was happening to someone else. Therefore I can now return to my real love, my darling Siu Ling, in a state of creakily constructed innocence.

CHAPTER 11

S

iu Ling wants to go on another camping trip. We decide to go back to Lantau, to the same spot. Just us, on our own. I need to clear my disgraceful past for good. It is a beautiful day and we arrive at the same little beach. We have a quick lunch of bottled water and sandwiches. We are entirely on our own, so we decide to sun bathe naked together. We undress and squirt sun oil over each other. We are excited and make a game of it. We overdo the oil, and we are soon rubbing our hands vigorously all over our slippery bodies. We kneel on the sand, facing each other, laughing out loud as we rub our bodies together. It is a lovely sensation. I turn her round so I can rub up against her back, my hands down her front, between her legs and up between her buttocks. She shivers with delight. ‘Wei! It tickles there, la!’ I am kneeling behind her, my head leaning forward, hers backwards, our necks entangled like giraffes. She sits back on me, and I am making love from behind her, her head back against me nibbling my ear. We overbalance, and I come out. Laughing and giggling, I come up from behind her again. Now is the time to try! As she eases back again to receive me, I move a little higher. ‘Relax, darling. This is something new, something special. Tell me if it hurts.’ She raises her head and looks over her shoulder at me, with a puzzled smile. Then, as I gently push, a look of horror spreads over her face. She screams and jerks away. She jumps up, kicks me on the shoulder so hard I fall on to my back. She runs as fast as she possibly can to the far end of the beach, where she throws herself on to the sand, kneeling, her hands covering her head, howling and shuddering like she has seen the most fearsome ghost. ‘Siu Ling! Darling! Whatever’s the matter?’ God, I’d hardly touched her, I couldn’t have hurt her! I, too, am terrified. It is like she is having a fit. I walk up to her, kneel beside her. I dare not touch her.

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‘Siu Ling, bo bui. It’s Chris, it’s all right!’ She subsides. She removes her arms from her head and looks round at me. She relaxes, crying natural tears now. She tries to smile. ‘Oh Chris, I had the most horrible nightmare. It’s gone now.’ She gulps and then throws her arms around me. ‘Sorry, darling. I won’t do it again. Promise.’ She clings to me, trembling. But I’m puzzled. Do what again? I’d hardly touched her. ‘But what – ?’ ‘Let’s not talk about it.’ ‘No, you must! What was your nightmare about?’ She stops trembling, draws back and stares solemnly at me. ‘Chris, it is okay. I will tell you one day, I promise.’ Wah, all those things she is going to tell me ‘one day’! First, her sudden change of mind about no sex before marriage. Now, this nightmare. Had anything happened to her before to make her react like that? But to what was she reacting? Our love-making? A terrible conclusion occurs to me that I dismiss immediately. It is that she is mentally unstable. But no, not Siu Ling. Looking at her now, she seems completely in control. I must stop thinking like this. I’ll just have to be patient, wait for ‘one day’, and trust her. ‘Come on.’ I take her hand and we walk back to our things at the other end of the beach, arms swinging, grinning at each other from time to time, while we sing the latest Cantopop number, One More Time. It’s as if nothing strange had happened. I’m as happy now as she seems to be. Suddenly, I stop. Here we are, naked, in the middle of this beach, our private stage. ‘Let me look at you!’ She steps in front of me and poses like a starlet, turning threequarters towards me, her nearest leg raised, a breast in profile, hands behind her head, smiling over her shoulder at me. Wah, she is more exciting than any starlet! ‘Now walk away from me a few yards, turn round, then walk back.’ She willingly joins in my game. I study her closely as she walks, hands on her head, her back erect. She turns it into a silent dance. She slowly turns, presenting her right profile. She stands on her left leg and flexes the right. Then she presents her left profile and stands on her right leg, flexing the left. I nearly cry at her beauty. I have described her before as having a ‘little-girl’ look. No, that suggests immaturity, it is not that. Rather, she is a miracle of minimalism, the essence of femininity is distilled into this fairy-like body.


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Forgive me, darling, but I cannot help comparing you with the loud, shouting sexuality of that gwaipor who seduced me so explosively. Your neat little breasts, your delicately shaped legs and hips, your exquisite waist and the very centre of your womanhood, so concise. There is no comparison. There! I have done the unforgivable, by even thinking these thoughts. I hold my arms out to receive her. She smiles radiantly and walks back to me, right into me. She climbs me, her feet on my knees, her arms round my neck. I am a tree, her legs and arms my branches. She presses her face flat against mine, the way only she does. She slowly lowers herself and we are one flesh again. How much closer can two people get? We are a banyan tree, roots and branches deeply interlocked, rocking with ecstasy on a beach in Lantau. It is too much. ‘Stop, la! I’m coming!’ She leaps backwards, out of my arms, off my body and on to the sand, kneeling at my feet. She catches my ejaculate in her outstretched hands. She smears it over her face, then rubs faces with me again. She interlocks her hands with mine, spreads our arms wide and walks me backwards into the sea. There we clean ourselves. I offer a prayer of thanks for that cleansing. She and I both seemed to have had our demons, and now they have been exorcised. We talk endlessly before going to bed. It is warm and we are in our favourite position, each a lotus, facing each other, as close as we can be to each other, knees touching, hands resting on the other’s hips, leaning forward so that our faces touch. We communicate through bone induction, rather than through mouth and ears. While we talk, I flick my tongue at her cheeks, lips, chin, eyes. She flicks me back. We are talking of Prof’s marriage. She asks, ‘Did his daughter come over for the wedding?’ I feel safe. I can be honest, in fact I want to be. ‘Yes, I believe she did.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘Oh, I ran into her, in Western, Queen’s Road.’ ‘You didn’t tell me.’ ‘Nothing to tell.’ Aiyaa, the lies are starting. ‘What did she look like? Has she changed?’ ‘Yes, she’s much more grown-up. Quite sophisticated in fact.’ ‘Hmm. What did you do when you saw her. Did you kiss her?’

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She then draws back to take a good look at me, head to one side, a humorous questioning look on her face. ‘Er, yes, as a matter of fact.’ The humorous look disappears. ‘You said nothing happened.’ ‘Well, you know kissing is the standard Western way of greeting old friends. It doesn’t mean anything.’ ‘So you see yourselves as old friends, eh?’ ‘Well, yes, sort of. She’s engaged to be married, so it was all “above board” as they say.’ She curls the corners of lips down and shrugs. ‘What if she wasn’t engaged. What would you have done then?’ ‘Nothing. Honestly, Siu Ling! You are far more attractive than she! That was blindingly clear to me this afternoon, on the beach.’ ‘You mean when you asked me to walk around?’ This is becoming very, very dangerous. ‘Well, in a sense. That is, the way you walk, the way you look, you are just everything that is beautiful and desirable to me. I love you, more than anything I can say.’ She is not to be deflected. ‘So did she stand up and walk around for you without any clothes on?’ ‘Siu Ling! Don’t be silly! In Queen’s Road West?’ I force a laugh. ‘I’m cold. Let’s go to bed.’ She is not interested in sex. I lie on my back, she on her side, her back to me. I am cold, too, cold with the terrible knowledge that our love is in the balance. Now I know she suspects something, more than suspects, but so far, she is unwilling to push it. Has it anything to do with that terrible explosion on the beach this afternoon? I’m completely mystified as to what that was about. Something terrible must have happened to her, which she suddenly remembered while we were fooling around under the hot sun. Next morning, she slips out of our sleeping bag without saying a word and quickly dresses. We eat breakfast in silence. She looks at me with sudden searching glances, but avoids eye contact. She has moved into a massive sulk and I am even becoming angry. She does not have enough information to warrant this reaction. She is being unfair. Only if she really knew that I had fucked Flic would she be justified in reacting like this! I laugh at the enormity of my logic. She looks up quickly. She is ready to laugh with me, I am sure, but is trying not to show it. ‘What’s funny?’ ‘You, sor jyu. You, silly little pig.’ She puts her bowl down and rushes over to me, knocking me over, sending my breakfast flying. She falls on top of me, rubbing her face


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into mine. ‘Don’t you ever even think of someone else with no clothes on. Especially your fat, ugly gwaipor.’ I am so relieved. I relax so much, I sink inches into the ground. I hold her close, hugging her so tightly it must hurt. Now I am more certain than ever that I cannot risk losing her. I love her too much. She must never know the truth. The matter does not end there. The cross-examination continues, long after that camp. She puts a question at a time, whispered across the reading table in the library, little notes swapped in class. ‘Did she tell you where Prof went for his honeymoon?’ ‘Are gwaipors hairier than Chinese girls?’ ‘Did you do her before you did me, or after?’ ‘How many times did you do it, ah?’ She knows, she knows. She is letting me know that she knows, but is easing the pain by making a game of it. She does not press for any answers. It is like she does not want to know for certain. We work on that basis. We need privacy. We go to Lockhart Road, during lunch hour or in the afternoon after lectures, where we rent a room in different love hotels. We work hard to restore our relationship. She volunteers to use a Dutch cap, instead of condoms that dull the pleasure for both of us. It works. Our sex is wonderful. The wound heals. We go camping again. Somewhere else this time. Alex tells me about an isolated campsite in Sham Wan, at the southernmost tip of Lamma Island, under the shadow of Mt Stenhouse. We catch the kaido from Aberdeen to Mo Tat Wan. Sham Wan is an easy two hour’s walk from there. We are squatting in our lotus positions in the tent, hands lightly moving over each other’s bodies. Her neck is resting on my shoulder, mine on hers, our cheeks touching. It is a moment of deep peace. My hands are massaging her back, lightly travelling to her buttocks. My finger runs down the delicious slice. No, I certainly won’t attempt to make love there again, not for a long time yet. But at least, my darling, I can gently introduce you to the idea that there are more exotic pleasures to be had than you have ever dreamed of. Suddenly, she stiffens, and starts back with a horrified gasp. She looks me straight in the eye. ‘Now I understand! She taught you that, didn’t she?’ It is time to come clean. I need her explicit forgiveness. Then there will be nothing between us, nothing to divide us.

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‘Yes.’ She unwraps herself from me and reaches for her T-shirt. She snaps it on, abruptly hiding her nakedness. Then it is like she is hit by intense pain. Her face crumples, she screws her eyes shut. She squeezes her fists into two tight, little balls. She is a life-size statue of a child in unbearable anguish. She stays like that for, I don’t know, it seems like an hour or more. Alarmed, I call loudly to this terrible statue. No sound. No movement. Then, without warning, she suddenly crawls into bed and curls up like a foetus. As far as I can make out, she is immediately asleep. It is like that scene on the beach, where she suddenly went out of control. Why now? She as good as knew about Flic, it couldn’t have been such a surprise that it would provoke a reaction like this. I’m completely baffled. Next morning is dreadful. She completely ignores me. ‘Darling, Siu Ling! My love! Forgive me! I love only you! Please, listen! Please!’ I babble to her as we dress, as we walk back to Mo Tat Wan. We board the kaido separately. She grabs a seat, the last one in the row, forcing me to sit elsewhere. At Aberdeen, she goes straight to the bus stop. It is crowded but I push my way to stand just immediately behind her. I don’t speak, but press against her from behind, to let her know that I am here. I am waiting, darling, just give me a sign, any sign. The only sign she gives me is when she presses the bell for her stop. She then turns to me and smiles in a friendly way. ‘I get off here. Goodbye, Chris. It was nice knowing you.’ Was that goodbye for ever? Did she really know before I told her? What made her say ‘yes’ when she did, two thousand years ago, on the Fan Lau Peninsula? What made her carry on like some poor demented creature on the beach? How can I face her in class tomorrow, the next day, the next and the next, until time becomes a mirage with Siu Ling a distant pool on the ground? Was that goodbye for ever? Nice knowing me. Is that all it was? Just ‘nice’? And was that goodbye for ever? Those questions rotate around my brain all night. I sleep a few minutes every eighth rotation. Whatever pain my parting from Flic caused me, my present anguish is a thousand times worse. Then another thousand times when I recall that all this is Flic’s fault. She truly is a Wu Lei Jing and her curse is deadly. But is that fair? Wasn’t it really my fault?


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Of course it was. I was weak. I should have said ‘No’ to Flic, right at the start, just as my first reaction told me to. I should have rung her up immediately after receiving her letter, saying, ‘No, Flic. I am committed to someone else and so are you. Raking over the ashes of the past is stupid. It can lead to no good.’ I felt that at the time. But I was weak, I was curious. And, secretly, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to the first time I saw her, once I’d cut through all that adolescent idealistic selfdelusion. I was not honest with myself, with Flic, and certainly not with my darling. I deserved what I got. But this much pain, do I deserve this much? ‘Siu Ling, Siu Ling! I love you! I love you!’ I shout into my pillow, my throat torn open by grief’s cruel claws. She is not in her usual seat next morning, across the aisle from me. She has moved to the other side of the room. She smiles brightly at her classmates. She asks Dr Lee many questions. At the end of class, she passes my desk. ‘Hello, Chris,’ she smiles the smile of a casual acquaintance. I can only look back at her with desperate, pleading eyes. I dare not trust myself to speak. It seems that during that catatonic position in Sham Wan, she rewrote her life. She now operates as she always did, with one devastating difference. She is a virgin again and I am just a casual acquaintance. By simply flicking a switch, she has begun a new life. I wish I could do that. She leaves our social group and joins another. Yet she is still in the same class as me, so I see her every day. She continues to treat me neutrally, always pleasant and polite, as though those fierce joys we shared had never happened. After a while, she is seen in the company of Alan Pang. He is studying Psychology. He is a nice enough person, I suppose. But the last day of term, I see the two of them sitting on a bench beside the turtle pond, in front of the new Runme Shaw Building. She is nuzzling him, her face pressing into his.

CHAPTER 12

I

finally have to tell my parents that it is all over with Siu Ling. I do so over the evening meal, as casually as I can, in the course of conversation. Otherwise it would be a major announcement and I could not handle that. ‘Ah Ma, Ah Ba, I have bad news.’ They look up. ‘It is all over,’ I gulp, as I lose my voice for a moment, ‘between Siu Ling and myself.’ ‘Aiyaa, for a moment I thought you were going to say you had failed your exams!’ Ah Ma looks relieved. ‘Never mind, Ah Yan, she will come running back when you give the word. You are a good catch,’ she pats my arm. ‘Whatever she has done, she would be a good wife to you. So, you stupid boy, go after her. Don’t be proud! It is worth losing a little face for such a nice girl.’ She picks up a piece of fish and recommences eating. What Ah Ba says is worse, although he means well. He likes Siu Ling so much, he was looking forward to having her as Daughter-in-law. He correctly concludes that if there has been any wrong-doing to cause the rift, it must have been on my part. ‘Ha! You must be a hak tsai where girls are concerned. You always seem to do the wrong thing. First, that damned gwai mui, and now — ’ He stops suddenly, aware he has said something hurtful. It is clear to me how he is thinking. He is thinking that it is the doing of the Wu Lei Jing. The Fox Demon had tempted me into some stupidity that destroyed my relationship with Siu Ling. And who was the Fox Demon? That damned gwai mui! Hadn’t he perceived Flic as a Wu Lei Jing immediately he saw that I was involved with her? No, Ah Ba, I have to be honest. It was my fault in the end, it was. He sees the tears start from my eyes and is immediately penitent. ‘Never mind, Ah Yan. Take strength. You are young and there is plenty of time. You will find another who will be as good a wife as Siu Ling would have been. The Wu Lei Jing’s curse cannot last for ever.’

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He shouldn’t have said that, either. It is all too much. I excuse myself from the table, just as Ah Ma is saying, ‘Siu Ling a Wu Lei Jing? What nonsense you speak, Ah Ba.’ In my room, I add Ah Ba’s black thoughts to my own even blacker ones. I try to sort it all out. The result of my reflections is not encouraging. I am a hak tsai with girls, Ah Ba has said it himself. I cannot get anything right. I will never find the right girl for my golden house. Once you are under the Fox Demon’s curse, maybe there is no escape. Ever. In a couple of weeks, we shall be awarded our degrees at the Congregation Ceremony. We all passed our finals. Martin obtained his First Class Honours. So did Siu Ling, which surprised me, considering what we had gone through in the months before the exams. As for me, I managed only a humble Lower Second. But that will do for the present. I passed, that is the main thing. Oh yes, and of course Martin won the Gold Medal for the best student in the final undergraduate year. Next year, we do the Postgraduate Certificate in Laws, which gives us our entrée into the legal profession. That is what the legal firms look at when they are appointing freshly graduated students; that’s what establishes young reputations. The biggest prize is the Herbert F. Y. Tsien Medal, and that will be Martin’s for the asking. For little potatoes like me, medals are beside the point. I ask only to pass. As for our other friends, some are in step with me, doing a further qualification before working, putting our trust in books to find our golden houses. Alex and Eric will study for their Postgraduate Certificate of Education and Fanny will do an Advanced Diploma in Counselling. Billy, however, decided to ‘take the money’, as he put it, and got a job with a construction firm. Oi Mei, Winnie and Edith will also be out in the work-force. And, of course, Siu Ling will be a fellow student in the Postgraduate Certificate in Laws. It is not a year I am looking forward to.

CHAPTER 13

I

avoid Siu Ling as much as possible in the Certificate year. But as fellow students on the same course, it is difficult. She keeps up this façade of casual but friendly acquaintance, which is I suppose her way of coping, but it drives me crazy. I carefully arrange to be in a different tutorial group. I do lots of volunteer work for the Legal Advisory Service, which keeps me busy with legal matters and physically out of the way. Nevertheless, it is hard. In fact, it is impossible, at first. I hardly do a thing in first term. Ah Ba’s belief that I have been sexually cursed compounds my anguish. I recall my split with Flic, how alone in bed I sought solace with my fantasies. But images of Siu Ling are a torment. I try crowding them out with images of Flic, or rather I should say, of Felicity the Whore, she with the waltzing breasts and the inhibition-crushing, cock-hungry arse. You can see how savagely I think of that Fox Demon! So how could she arouse me, after the damage her reappearance created? I try imagining Edith, Oi Mei, Winnie and, most of all, Fanny. My desperate mind’s eye sees them all in various stages of undress, but that eye scarcely blinks at this vista of carnality. To my dismay, I become numb between the legs, mentally and physically. The Wu Lei Jing has cursed me with the ultimate curse. I moon around like a sick cat for weeks. Once again, I am revisiting that cold and desolate land, Finality. All my friends, but one, give up on me. Martin looks at me as if I deserve all I get. Maybe I do, but I need his support, not his censure. The one who does not give up is Fanny, who tries many times to pierce my self-erected cocoon of melancholy. It is well into second term before she succeeds. We are in the Swire café, she sitting opposite me, clasping a can of grass-jelly with both hands, as if trying to warm it. She opens in her typically direct way. ‘What happened between you and Siu Ling?’ ‘We had a row. That’s all.’ You see what a surly shit I am being.

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‘That’s obvious. What did you row about?’ She leans forward, her once-plump, pretty doll’s face now has firmed into the face of a strongly handsome woman. Her blouse droops open as she leans, treating me to a large amount of well-rounded flesh. The sight leaves me cold, but she notices where I am looking and lifts an eyebrow. ‘Oh, it’s complicated. Too hard to explain.’ ‘The way you two busted up, so suddenly, usually has only one cause.’ ‘And what might that be?’ ‘Jealousy. One or the other had been playing around. My guess is that it wasn’t Siu Ling.’ ‘Bulls-eye.’ She leans back, crossing her legs carefully, revealing much rich thigh. ‘Now, have I got this right? Did you flirt with someone else while you were Siu Ling’s?’ ‘Er, more than flirt, actually.’ ‘You mean you screwed someone else? Hey, how about that! That’s not you, Chris! I thought you were sooooo straight.’ ‘So I am. That’s the trouble.’ Anyone else on hearing this confession would want to know all the gory details — who, when, where, how — but she is focusing not on her curiosity, but on me. She sees me as her client, I suppose. After all, she is specialising in counselling. ‘Why do you feel that being straight was the trouble?’ ‘I felt so terribly guilty, so I behaved in a guilty way. She put two and two together and I couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t take the knowledge of what I’d done.’ ‘Then it’s over, Chris. You must accept that.’ ‘I can’t accept it. That’s the problem. I am certain that Siu Ling is the one, the one for the golden house. I remember my father told me, years ago, to study hard, “for in books there are — ”’ ‘“Golden houses and beautiful girls” ,’ Fanny finishes for me. ‘Especially if you study law. I doubt there are many golden houses in studying social work, but never mind. So?’ ‘I was taught that happiness lies in a strong family life, based on an exclusive, loving bond between husband and wife. The fact that I strayed when I truly believed Siu Ling was the one for me — as indeed did my parents, who loved her — was my terrible mistake. I’m more sorry than I can say.’ ‘There are other beautiful women,’ Fanny says gently, ‘more beautiful even than Siu Ling. Anyway, I don’t see why that means you


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have to restrict yourself to only one beautiful woman. Concubines are also a Chinese tradition.’ I give a grunt of laughter as I recall Ah Fat’s experience. ‘No, I don’t think concubines are for me. I want a stable relationship and that rules out others.’ I think about her and Billy. ‘You know, I don’t understand how you and Billy can bear the thought of the other having sex with someone else. Don’t you feel jealous?’ ‘Jealous? God, no. I don’t love Billy in a possessive way. It’s sex I love, nothing personal in it!’ I think she says this just to shock me. ‘Most of the world’s troubles are caused by possessiveness in that sense. And all the rest are caused by religion.’ Wah, this sort of thinking must have been a result of her exposure to Western ideas in high school. I can’t possibly tell Fanny about the Fox Demon theory, she’d howl with laughter. But it is refreshing to talk like this, even if I don’t agree with her. It provides a modern, rational slant, which is what I need to exorcise those cruel, irrational, Chinese demons. They seem to have afflicted Siu Ling as well as I, as I recall her behaviour on the beach. And afterwards, come to that, at Sham Wan. Looking at Fanny now, perhaps because of that brush with Western thinking, I am aware of a familiar stirring below my stomach. My friend Ah Dick, who had departed for distant places, is announcing his escape from Finality Land. Suddenly, she changes the subject. ‘I’m hungry and this place serves crap. What say we have dinner outside? Tried the Czarina?’ I’ve passed the Czarina hundreds of times but have never eaten there. It’s only a couple of blocks away on Bonham Road. ‘You know what I think?’ Fanny asks as she stands, slinging her shoulder bag. ‘I think you need a good, large bowl of Borsht. It will put some iron and some good, red blood where you obviously need it.’ We leave the Swire Building and descend the steps to Bonham Road. The meal is Russian with a strong Chinese flavour. The White Russians fled Shanghai a long time ago and many settled in Hong Kong. Some of the women found lucrative employment in Wanchai, some families opened restaurants. The Czarina is one of the few still surviving, if with a somewhat modified menu. Fanny is good for me. I find myself flirting with her, because that’s the way you respond to Fanny. She presents few other options to males. After that first flicker of interest, however, I have this feeling that Ah Dick has decided to go back to that distant place. ‘You live nearby, don’t you?’ She and Billy had often openly discussed how convenient a rendezvous her flat was. My question is innocent, it just pops out, but it gives her the wrong idea.

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‘In Caine Road. Let’s go back there, for coffee. Or something,’ she looks at me, her eyes half closing an instant. A No. 8 minibus bears down on us as we leave the restaurant. Within minutes, she is unlocking the door to her tiny flat. We enter directly into the small living-dining room. ‘Like a tour of inspection?’ she asks, a wicked look in her eye. ‘Of what, la?’ I leer back at her, continuing the charade. I’ve given her the wrong idea, but it could just be what I need. Clearly, Fanny thinks so. Unfortunately, I’m really beginning to wonder if I can rise to the occasion. ‘Let’s start with the bedroom, la.’ The room is tiny; a narrow, unmade bed, built-in cupboards on all sides. She undoes her blouse and shrugs it off. Turning her back to me, she presents me with the clasp on her bra strap. She smiles over her shoulder. ‘You do the honours.’ I undo her bra and run my palms over her full breasts, nudging her nipples between my fingers. She turns round and unbuttons my shirt. Quickly, we are naked. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me, slipping her tongue into my mouth. I smile as I recall how Ah Ying did that, but I do not smile when, moments later, I find that the eager python Ah Ying’s tongue had unleashed is fast asleep. ‘No problem,’ she says, all very professional still, ‘lie down.’ I lie down. And, despite her best efforts, the problem remains unsolved. There is not, in other words, a solution to be found. ‘Poor old Chris. Never mind. We love you just the same.’ She kisses her fingers and lightly pats Ah Dick with them. ‘At least we’ll have that cup of coffee.’ The Borsht did not put iron where Fanny predicted it would. Not then, but the desired effect manifests itself not long afterwards. I’m sure that encounter with Fanny helped me turn the corner, to open the circle into which I had become boxed. Maybe I had caught some of her Western rationality. Maybe I had finally chased the Chinese fox back into its hole. Thanks to Fanny, I can at last address my studies. About time. I have less than two terms to catch up on the year’s work. The result of the PCLL is for me important only in so far as I pass and procure my licence to practice. But for at least two others, as it turns out, the result is as important as life itself. We had thought it was a forgone conclusion: Martin would be awarded the prestigious Herbert F. Y. Tsien Medal. But


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the announcement, when it is made, takes us all by surprise. It is awarded to Siu Ling! I am so proud for her. How I wish we could celebrate her success together! I must let her know how I feel, so I go up to her and squeeze her arm. She looks up and, when she sees it is me, two tiny, little tears spring at the corner of each eye. I want to cry, too, so I turn away, wishing I had done nothing. Then I notice Martin’s face. It is grey. He swallows and shuts his eyes tightly. As if by an act of will, the colour returns to his cheeks. Then he walks over to Siu Ling, hand outstretched. ‘Well, well, just how lucky can we be? Congratulations, Siu Ling!’ My hero is a poor loser. For a while now, I have been entertaining doubts about Martin. I regret now that our two careers are likely to be linked for some years. We are both articled to the same firm, Beddoes, Tang and Chow. It turns out that Norman Chow is Martin’s uncle. That irritates me. Martin, with his First Class degree and his Gold Medal, with or without the Herbert Tsien Medal, will undoubtedly be a top lawyer, and in due course a Queen’s Counsel — or whatever the Chinese equivalent will be after the Handover. Yet with all these advantages, he still uses his connections when he doesn’t need to. What worries me is that I obediently follow in his footsteps. First my decision to become a lawyer, then my decision to work in the same firm as him. So, my student days are over. In three weeks I will be a real lawyer and will start building that golden house, or at least looking over some floor plans at this stage. The only problem is that the beautiful girl who was ordained to live in it with me has gone.

II

CHAPTER 14

‘M

any years ago, there was a man called Huan Jing. His teacher was called Fei Changfang, who was not only very learned but a soothsayer. He foresaw that on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month a terrible disaster would befall Huan Jing. “You must flee,” he told him, “you and your family and your servants must leave and climb high in the hills. Take with you a bottle of wine in which yellow chrysanthemum is immersed, and a silk bag containing dogwood.” Huan did as he was advised. They spent the night in the hills and when they returned they found that all their animals, their pigs and ducks and chickens, were dead. “See! How fortunate we are!” Huan cried. “Had we not fled into the hills, we, too, would be as dead as our chickens are dead already.” So on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, at the Chung Yeung Festival, wise people seeking their fortune and longevity climb the mountains behind their homes and have a picnic. As their ancestors are also usually buried there, kneeling in comfortable urns, placed so they can look out to sea, they give their graves an extra clean, after the sweeping of the graves at Ching Ming. The more adventurous then wait all night and watch the sun rise on the new day.’

Eric stopped reading and looked up at Alex. ‘So there, you barbarian, that is why we civilised people have Chung Yeung Festival.’ ‘Now that is Grade A chon,’ Alex replied. ‘Hey there, Klutz. Ya lost ya chickens and ya pigs. Lucky you!’ ‘You miss the point, Yankee. They were spared their lives. That is the most important thing.’ ‘I guess it depends on whether you tend to see your cup as half full or half empty,’ I added a touch of Eastern wisdom. ‘Whatever. It’s a good excuse to haang saan in the dark.’ Alex replied in his incurable Chinglish, ‘and yum beijau. Rather beer than wine with a bunch of flowers in it.’ That was last week and that is why we are here now, along with hundreds of others, barbecuing at the campsite at Ngong Ping, at the

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start of the trail to Lantau Peak. It is the Chung Yeung Festival and we are going to climb Lantau Peak tonight, in the dark, using torches. We will then sit at the summit, waiting for the sun to rise. Not that any of us have any ancestors buried in Lantau, but, as Alex said, it is a good excuse to climb a mountain in the dark for our final outing as students. In a couple of weeks, we will collect our professional diplomas and certificates at our last Graduation Ceremony. The only person who is not here to celebrate the end of our student days is Siu Ling. She was invited, but, on checking that I would be going, she declined. Billy is wearing what he calls his ‘hunting cap’, a fancy baseball cap with ‘Moose’ written above the peak. He explains. ‘It’s a conversation opener. If a girl is even only a little bit interested, she’ll ask, “Hey, did you study in Canada or something?” and I’ll say, “No, but did you hear the story about the guy who wore a baseball cap with ‘Moose’ written on it?” She’ll look puzzled and say, “No, tell me”. ‘So I’ll say, “Well, there’s this guy, see, and when he’s wearing this cap, pretty girls come up to him and say, ‘Hey, did you study in Canada or something?’ and he says, ‘No, but hey, you’re the most attractive girl I’ve ever seen! Will you come to bed with me?’ And then the girl laughs, and says, ‘Wah, you must get a lot of refusals.’ To which he says, ‘Yes, I do. But I also get a lot of sex!” ‘When I tell them that story, girls either walk away in a huff, or they laugh, in which case I know my chances are good, with some more work maybe. It’s a neat way of sorting out the likelies, without being accused of propositioning them direct. There Martin, you’re a lawyer. There’s no way I’d be convicted of soliciting, harassment, or whatever you call it, eh?’ Martin laughs in spite of himself. ‘I guess not, but please don’t engage me as your defending counsel. That’s more in Chris’s line.’ Martin’s reminders of his moral superiority irritate me. Hundreds of people are here, barbecuing, shouting, playing games, and making a great deal of noise. This will go on for a few hours until we start our climb. Some of the more cautious ones have already started, while there is some daylight left. We decide we should leave soon after eleven o’clock. While it is not a long climb, it is very steep. It is hard to estimate how long it will take — we think about three hours, but in the dark you never can tell. Meanwhile, we have a couple of six-packs of San Mig to stand in for


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the chysanthemum-polluted wine. That will dissolve the charred and semi-cooked fish balls, chicken, squid and the obligatory roast pork and char-siu, all of which lie uneasily in our bellies. Martin looks most unMartin-like with a can of beer in his hand, but he quickly asserts his real self. He looks over his shoulder at the noisy mob around us. ‘Just look at the god-awful mess those people are making, leaving their scraps and barbecue forks on the ground.’ I wish my tarnished hero would come down to the level of us lesser mortals, just now and again. Billy cheerfully agrees. ‘Agreed, Martin old chap. Not good enough. What say we kill the Lap Sap Chung* right now. C’mon, now’s the time to remind these noisy peasants of their civic responsibilities.’ Alex, Billy, Fanny and I had decided before we left that we would perform this civic duty. Alex had been leading up to it for some time. He had been outraged at the way barbecue sites, and even the walking trails themselves, were littered with rubbish. I agreed it was a pity, but I had simply accepted it. ‘That is the way people are, Alex.’ ‘Not where I was brought up, it’s not,’ Alex replied sharply. Billy and Fanny agreed with him. Billy pointed out something I didn’t know, I who had never been out of Hong Kong. ‘It’s nothing like that in the US or in Canada.’ So now for our civic duty, about which I am a little nervous. I fear there might be violence, but I can’t back out now. Eric had refused point blank. When he realised what we were going to do, Martin also refused. ‘I’m no fighter, but I’ll be happy to defend you in court later.’ Alex darkens his face with charcoal, leaving his big eyes staring out, his wiry hair upright. ‘Billy? Got those bags?’ ‘Right here,’ Billy holds out the packet of large plastic rubbish bags. The four of us take several, hopefully to hand out as we go. Alex leads off, darting from fire to fire, a big, grinning golliwog, shouting in English, ‘Death to dat mean old Lap Sap Chung! You dere! Cans, bottles, in here, and forks in dere!’ We follow with the two plastic bags. There are some angry mutterings at first. One tough-looking character shouts in English, ‘You fuck off, Yankee bastard shit!’ But

* The Lap Sap Chung (Rubbish Bug) was a popular TV character, who tempted

people to drop their rubbish anywhere. It was intended to discourage littering, but some people identified with the Chung, and littered worse than ever.

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most laugh, and many obediently drop their rubbish in the bags we hold out. A few even ask for bags so they can join in. Then the chant catches on: Death to de Lap Sap Chung! Death to de Lap Sap Chung! Cleaning up has become a game. Rubbish disappears, and the game finishes. Alex returns to our fire and sits down, sweating and grinning. It was a success! I feel quite proud of myself. Billy goes back to the hunt. ‘See you back here. We’ll see the sun in together, promise. Meantime — ’ He grins, with a long look at Fanny, and vanishes into the night. We re-form around the fire, to chat more seriously. I am sitting close to Fanny. I wonder what’s really going on between her and Billy. She looks after him as he wanders off, shrugs, and turns to me. ‘How are things in the stick department?’ She pats me surreptitiously on the fly of my trousers. ‘No problem. The problem is where to put it. Permanently,’ I add. ‘You’ll be right, Chris. You’re a survivor, like me.’ She stands up and stretches, arching her luscious body in the dim light. ’Scuse me, I’m going to wander around a bit, see if I know anyone. Catch up with you all here, 11.30 at the latest, and we’ll go up together. With Billy, too, when I get my hands on him.’ By eleven o’clock, I have quite a buzz from the San Mig. We are talking intensely about our futures. With courage from the San Mig, I challenge Martin. ‘Why did you join your uncle’s firm? Wouldn’t it be smarter for you, career-wise, to first establish yourself on your own?’ He looks amused. ‘For a very simple reason. Uncle Norman’s firm is the very best, for what I want to do. You should believe that, too, since you are coming on board.’ As usual, Martin puts me on the spot. I am searching for a reply, when Fanny and Billy stroll up, his cap sideways. He sighs. ‘Fifty-nine blank stares, thirty-three laughs and one acceptance. And I had to come all this way to find her. And here she is! Ta daa!’ He bows, indicating Fanny with a sweeping gesture. ‘Look!’ Fanny holds out her left hand. There is an engagement ring on her fourth finger. Wah, so it was all a game. They were serious about each other all the time. I’m so happy for them.


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‘Congratulations!’ I give Fanny a big hug. ‘So, you finally acknowledge your Confucian heritage. About time. Wah, a wedding and a golden house. I wonder who will be best man?’ She responds by making a grab my crotch. The climb is rather more difficult than we had expected. Imagine a narrow track, dimly lit, and seemingly hundreds of people struggling up by torchlight. We reach the summit well after 2am and sit in precarious positions, facing the lights of Hong Kong in the east, waiting for sunrise. It will be a long wait. The struggle up was hard work and we are sweating. But as we sit, for one hour, then another, it becomes cold. Very cold. Some of us expected this. I have brought my down-filled parka, as has Billy. Fanny, of course, is unprepared, but she huddles under Billy’s parka with him. Eric and Alex are happy to keep each other warm, while Martin seems impervious to cold, his only concession a woolly scarf wrapped round his neck once, a long trail of wool thrown casually and wastefully over his back. He disdainfully rejects my offer to share my parka with him. Many people recognize us in the gloom, or rather they recognize Alex the golliwog. They clap him on the back and repeat his slogan in Cantonese: ‘Saat sei Lap Sap Chung, la!’ Then things quieten down. Some go to sleep, others start quietly singing in chorus. I stand up and wander around, careful where I put my feet. In the sparsely lit and steepled space, it would be easy to step on a comrade — or into empty darkness. I see that, of the seeming hundreds who were in Ngong Ping, there are only a few dozen here who finally made it. Scattered torchlight is around me, millions of brilliant pinpricks of light are above me, and the brash squares and columns of light in distant Hong Kong are ahead of me. Lantau Peak should be called ‘Mor Sing Leng’, the mountain range touching the stars. Not little, suburban Mt Davis, where even at the top you can smell the diesel fumes of Hong Kong. Here, the air is cold and cleansing, plumes of steam scour my lungs as I breathe in and out. And here I feel I could really reach up, on tiptoe, and touch the stars, they are so bright and close. I shared that polluted Mor Sing Leng with an equally polluted Flic. Who can I share this pure air with? Who is pure enough? Not dear Fanny, I think with a smile. Siu Ling? Most certainly! I thrill for a moment at that thought, then I put it aside, desolated by its improbability. These thoughts of love, purity and questing sadness strangely uplift me. I return to my friends.

CHAPTER 15

W

hile I was away, a group of girls camped next to us, huddling together. As I sit down, they smile at me. I smile back. A plain girl with glasses asks, ‘Weren’t you with the Lap Sap Chung killer?’ ‘That’s right,’ I’m pleased she recognised me. ‘Where is he now?’ I look over. Alex and Eric are fast asleep, each propped up by the other. I nod towards them. ‘Shh. He’s tired.’ ‘Wah, it’s too cold to sleep,’ she says. ‘Is tonight the first time you’ve done this at Chung Yeung?’ I ask them in general. They nod, one by one. Another girl in a red scarf, all eyes in the dim light, asks, ‘Why did you guys come?’ Glasses interrupts with a giggle, ‘To clean up the lap sap!’ Silly kids. I tell them, feeling important, that we have completed our university studies and professional diplomas. This is our final outing as a group. ‘Graduated already, wor.’ Glasses is suitably impressed. ‘We have just finished Form Seven only.’ ‘What school?’ ‘Marymount,’ Red Scarf answers, leaning forward, anxious to make her impression, I think. Exclusive, but no more exclusive than St Paul’s. The third girl has said nothing so far. Then she speaks quietly. ‘I admire you and your friends for cleaning up down at Ngong Ping. It was courageous and very clever the way you did it.’ In the dim light, I see she has an oval face, not very Cantonese looking. I want to know her more. ‘My name is Chris Wong,’ I hold out my hand. There is something about her that extracts this formality. ‘Emily Wu,’ she shakes my hand. ‘And this is Flora Tsang and Lucy Tang.’ Glasses and Red Scarf, respectively, smile and nod, and offer their hands.

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We chat, but the cold is getting to us. I notice Flora and Lucy are sharing a blanket. They are nodding off. I say to Emily, ‘Aren’t you cold?’ ‘Yes, but I am afraid I did not come very well prepared. It was silly of me.’ ‘Well, I have my down-jacket. Please, would you like to share it with me?’ I can see she is tempted, but she is not the kind of girl who would share a coat with a strange boy on first meeting. I say so. ‘I know you are not the kind of girl who would share a coat with a strange boy on first meeting, but really, you must be freezing. Anyway, I would feel a pig being warm while your teeth are chattering. Take pity on me. I don’t like feeling like a pig.’ Suddenly I recall Ah Ying’s remark about pigs. I laugh. When I laugh, she smiles shyly, and gives a little nod. I move over and sit beside her. ‘Let’s face the east. Sunrise must be very soon.’ I cover her legs and tuck the parka under her. It leaves my side open and cold, but I don’t care. I have an intuition that it will be worth it. This girl is special. I know it. We cannot help leaning against each other under the coat, but I carefully avoid pressing against her more than I have to. We talk about ourselves. She speaks slowly and carefully. I learn she is studying ballet with the Joan Wong School of Ballet, after school so far, but now she has finished school, she will do ballet full time, she thinks. I tell her I am about to graduate as a lawyer and shortly will enter a law firm. Before I can elaborate, we hear people stirring, muttering, then cheering. We look up. I was so engrossed, I had not noticed that the pre-dawn light had been switched on, and is gradually being turned up. The sun, a segment of fresh, red grapefruit, has been placed on the horizon. We stand and cheer. I introduce Emily and her friends to my friends. I study them in the new day’s light. Flora looks plain at first, with her dark skin, glasses, pony-tail and flat Cantonese nose, but she is agile, with a nice figure and a pert bum. Lucy has a heart-shaped face and a solid but shapely body. All of them walk and move with long, graceful strides and athletic bounce. Joan Wong’s dancing school seems to have been a popular destination after school at Marymount. But Emily! She is in a different category entirely. She is clearly of northern origins. She is tall, her skin is flawless, ivory-white, her oval face perfectly symmetrical, her slender straight nose capped by large, luminous, dark eyes. She has a straight, glossy fringe, and then her hair


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is plaited and secured with an expensive-looking ornamental pin into a mound on her head that makes her look even taller. One pull at that pin and it would flow in long, lustrous waves down her back. I find myself wondering if ever I shall pull that pin? I am staring at her, remembering and comparing. Flic I had once seen as beautiful, but now I see her beauty in the way Playboy centrefolds are said to be beautiful. Sex, sex and sex. That’s all really, when you think about it. Then, Siu Ling, physically so cute and pretty, but with that complex personality of contradictions — loving but steely, uncompromising but unpredictable — that made her more than I could handle. And, academically, she outshines us all, even Martin. And now here is Emily, beautiful in a way that transcends these others. And so dignified, so self-controlled. She is like a rare treasure found in the Summer Palace, a living statue, into whom God Himself has breathed life. Fortunately, this living treasure is unaware that I have been paralysed by such unrealistic thoughts. She is laughing at quite a different art treasure. It is Alex. He wakes up with a grunt as our introductions penetrate his consciousness. He stands up, with his face still blackened, his eyes blinking sleepily. He looks like one of those laughing demons in the Tiger Balm Garden murals. Everyone laughs. Emily speaks, her slow voice, low and clear, ‘Sorry for laughing at you. But you do look so funny.’ ‘Me? I am funny, man. Kill de Lap Sap Chung!’ Alex treats her to his golliwog grin. Flora is now helpless, giving at the waist, hands over her mouth, shrieking. Her noise wakes Eric. He stands up to be introduced. Martin also stands slowly. He hadn’t been asleep, but was sitting, watching us coolly. Fanny and Billy crawl from under their parka. We all name our names. Fanny looks at Emily appraisingly, and then turns to me, a knowing expression on her face. As usual, she reads my thoughts accurately. Her expression says, ‘Yes, Chris, this one has something special. Look after her.’ Fanny’s signal encourages me. I try to engage Emily in conversation, away from the others. I gently take her arm and turn her around. ‘Look. There is Chek Lap Kok, down at the bottom there, just off Tung Chung. See? That island shaped liked a skull. They say it is beautiful and unspoilt. I’d love to go there sometime. Do you like walking? I believe there’s a trail from here past the Po Lin monastery, and down there,

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do you see, to Tung Chung, where you can catch a kaido to Chek Lap Kok. There is a Daoist monastery half-way down.’ My mouth is racing, I am hardly thinking what I am saying. Could such a beautiful yet unspoilt person as Emily ever fall in love with someone like me, sexually corrupted as I seem to be? Probably not, but I would never forgive myself if I did not attempt to win her. Yet Emily responds readily. She speaks carefully. ‘Yes, I would like that, too — ’ She leaves the sentence unfinished, but that does not matter. Her eyes turn softly on me and the corners of her mouth curl in a shy smile. That familiar joy that I thought would never return wells up inside me. It is time to walk back to Po Lin. It is more difficult than expected, although it is daylight. Because Emily and I, at least, had not slept at all in the night, we are very tired. Besides, the path is steep, and it is easy to lose balance and fall backwards on your bum. I want to help Emily down the awkward parts, so I shyly offer my hand from time to time, but I do not want to appear too physical. She takes my hand, with a touch of reluctance. I think it is for the same reason that I am reluctant. Others do not have that problem. Alex leaps from the higher rocks then, facing back up the trail, he tells Eric to jump and he catches him. Fanny and Billy walk intimately, helping each other with both arms, kissing sometimes. Flora shrieks and yelps at the difficult parts, Lucy chiding her, instructing her like an older sister. Martin strides manfully, never missing his step. We are a very mixed lot! We are back at Ngong Ping by eight o’clock, tired out and very hungry. There are some hawkers’ stalls, where we buy drinks and food. It is a beautiful morning and it seems a shame not to do something while we are in such a lovely place. I cannot help thinking that below us is the Fan Lau Peninsula and the secret beach where Siu Ling and I lost our virginity to each other, enveloped as we were in a religious awe as we wonderingly discovered each other’s bodies. How could she wipe such an experience from her memory, from her caring? How, after such an intense and personal sharing with me, could she rub her sweet face into anyone else’s face? For an instant, I am engulfed with emotion. My jaw is locked, I know my eyes are wet. ‘Chris, are you okay?’ a soft voice asks. Emily bends to look into my face, her expression one of gentle concern.


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‘Oh!’ Back to normality. Thank you for that, Emily. You have no idea what just happened to me. ‘Just a sudden funny feeling. Lack of sleep. It sometimes affects me like that.’ She continues to look concerned, doubting even, but says nothing. Martin is all business. ‘Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m catching the next bus back to Mui Wo. There’s a ferry at nine-thirty, ten, something like that. I’ve a mountain of things to attend to. Chris, Billy?’ Alex answers for all of us. ‘No way, man. This is a gorgeous place. I wanna crash in the tai yeung here, with my pungyaus, for a couple of jungtaus maybe, and then tai ha deem. How’s about it, eh?’ He rolls his eyes around the group. The girls collapse with laughter. They have never heard such outrageous Chinglish. Our humourless father has gone and we children can now relax and play. We find a quiet spot on the grass, hidden from the barbecue grounds. It is like a level strip, before it slides rapidly down to Shek Pik — and to Fan Lau again, but I’m over that now, and I watch the beautiful scenery with calmness. We lie down to sleep, using our packs and clothes for pillows. I wake up. Something is going on. I look up and, over near the edge, against the magical backdrop of sky, water and Hong Kong Island, I see a sight that takes my breath away. Emily, Flora and Lucy are performing the ribbon dance, the si dai mo. They each hold a long, coloured ribbon in their hands. Rivers of beautifully coloured cloth are floating and unwinding in the air. The girls are dressed in black leotards, barefoot. Their bodies mimic the grace and femininity of the ribbons, floating and weaving, as their ribbons float and weave in the air. They are a wonderful team, so skilled, so graceful — but, of course, Emily is the most skilful, the most graceful. But all of them, the plain Flora even, show a grace and a beauty that makes me want to weep again. Fanny and Billy are sleeping near by. I touch them awake and point. They sit up and silently absorb the sight with me. Alex stirs, sees them, and is about to speak when I shush him with my finger on my lips. The ribbon dance is a beautiful thing to see. Usually performed in richly coloured dresses and headgear, these girls in their simple black leotards distil the grace and meaning of the dance into its essence. But there is more to it for me. They are dancing in the space separating me from the scene of the ultimate celebration of my love for Siu Ling. The girls are aware they are being watched. They have been smiling sweetly as they dance, as the dance requires, but now they fix their smiles on us. We are a privileged audience. The ribbons gently come to rest.

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As they walk over to us, I meet them. ‘Beautiful, so beautiful,’ I murmur, touching each gently. I want to kiss them, but dare not. I catch Emily’s eye and she sees how moved I am. ‘Thank you for that, Chris,’ she says. Her own eyes shine in recognition of my feelings. She explains, ‘We practise si dai mo after school. We decided it would be nice to do it here, as part of Chung Yeung, so we wore our leotards underneath our clothes and brought the ribbons with us.’ ‘It’s not often we can practice in a lovely place like this,’ Lucy says. ‘Man, that was great!’ Alex adds. The dance brings us all together, not just Emily and me. We decide to go to Mui Wo, but not to catch the ferry back to Hong Kong. Definitely not. We shall stroll around, eat some street food, get to know each other more. Emily and I are already feeling comfortable with each other. Well, at least I am. By the end of the day we even walk hand in hand. Just once, when it seems natural and easy to do so. Flora has her eye on Alex. She does not see that Alex has eyes only for Eric. Silly girl, she keeps trying to attract his attention, to flirt with him, even once grabbing his hand and walking a few steps with him, swinging their arms widely. Lucy taps her shoulder, draws her back behind Alex, frowns, shakes her head, bends her wrist in an exaggerated way. Flora looks puzzled and impatient. Finally, Lucy whispers into her ear, but not softly enough. I hear: ‘si fat tsai.’ Flora blushes and looks devastated. Her beloved is a shit-hole boy. Eric also hears it. He colours, but collects himself quickly and turns round to face Flora. He sticks his tongue out at her, quickly out and in, like a lizard, his face a playful sneer. He goes up to her and puts his arm around her shoulder. He asks, ‘But we can still be friends, can’t we, Mui-mui?’ Flora smiles back at him, sadly. We doze on the beach at Silvermine Bay, walk up to the old silver mine, then on to the waterfall and the village of Pat Ngan Heung, with its traditional old stone houses. Tucked down in a valley is a lush paddock, where two black Brahmin bulls munch brilliant green grass, a black tickbird sitting on the hump of each bull, keeping watch. The birds take fright and fly away at Flora’s loud ‘Wahs’. I would do the same if I were a tickbird. We are back at Silvermine Bay, standing outside the posh Westernised hotel there. It is nearly six o’clock. The next ferry leaves in an hour and there’s another after that. I have an idea. ‘Let’s have dinner in the hotel! Those of us with jobs next year will pay.’ Emily looks pleased, Flora shrieks and Lucy claps her hands.


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The restaurant is a funny mixture of a Chinese and a Western smorgasbord, but we enjoy it. The girls are thrilled to pieces, Flora reconciled to the dismaying discovery that Alex is gay. We order four bottles of Tsing Tao beer, which makes Flora screech and yip at everything Alex says. Eric loves her doing that; each decibel seems to confirm his ownership over the disputed Alex. I notice that Emily has only one glass of beer, which she sips in the same way as she speaks, slowly and carefully. I am neither slow nor careful. I am deliriously happy. There is no doubt now. In less than twenty-four hours, I have fallen in love again. I am even happier on the ferry trip back. We sit inside, packed together on a bench seat. Emily lays her head on my shoulder and sleeps. I very gently put my arm around her. How I long to let my hand stray, to let my finger cruise her cheeks, down her neck, oh, how can I think this, but I do: down to the gentle line where her breasts form. I am throbbing, urgent, as I think these things. I think I might even come, and what a disaster that would be! Yet I can’t help my thoughts, as they rove as easily as I wish my fingers could. How easy it would be, I think on, as my arm supports her back, just to lift my index finger to caress the rising of her breast! But I don’t. This moment is too fragile. She must trust me. A move too soon and I would lose her. The ferry churns and sways, screws flomping, as it prepares to dock in Central and she wakes up. ‘Oh!’ She is startled. Perhaps she thinks it indecorous that my arm is around her, that her cheek bears the imprinted fabric design of my shirt. She sits up, pulling away from me. She pats her hair back into place, smooths her clothing. ‘Sorry, Chris, that must have been very uncomfortable for you.’ She smiles apologetically. Oh Emily, how wrong you are! But all I say is, ‘Not at all. Well, we’re here now, and I suppose it is the parting of the ways. But,’ I hastily continue as she looks at me with those big, soft eyes, ‘look at it as a beginning, not as the end. The end, if I may say, of one of the most wonderful days of my life. I hope we meet again, and soon. Look, here is my telephone number — ’ I have heard that it is always a good strategy for the boy to give his number first. Then the girl needn’t feel pressured. If she responds with her number, the game is won. But Flora overhears and interrupts me with a screech. ‘Oh yes! We must all meet again! Let’s all exchange phone numbers!’ Eric runs up to her with quick, little steps, ‘Here, Mui-mui, here is Alex’s number!’ He winks in an exaggerated way. Then we all go into a round of exchanging phone numbers.

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As Emily gives me hers, she says, ‘Call me, Chris. Mummm, we must arrange something.’ She looks at me a little conspiratorially, telling me what I am fainting to know. Yes, I would like to meet you again. Alone. I look down at the slip she gives me. A Peak number! Her parents must be very rich. And just to prove it, when we disembark, and after our boisterous joygeens, she goes straight to the taxi rank, taking Lucy with her, who lives on the way. The rest of us scatter to our various buses. Fanny and Billy cross the road to the No. 8 minibus under the Star Ferry car park. So Billy is stopping over at Caine Road. I am very happy for them both. I farewell Eric and Alex, lovers of old. And, oh dear, I find that Flora is also catching the blue Number 43 for Kennedy Town. It turns out to be quite relaxing. I have no need to worry about making conversation. All I do is grunt from time to time, while she jabber-jabbers on. Among many other things, she tells me that she and Lucy are going to Grantham College to be teachers, specialising in Physical Education. They are looking forward to that, as professional dancing in Hong Kong is not really an option. Yes, I think she would be an excellent PE teacher. She would easily relate to children, being still a child herself. I also think I might find out something significant about Emily that I do not know already. But I do not.

CHAPTER 16

A

lex rings up Youth Post the next Monday and tells them the story of the Lap Sap Chung killers. A reporter is interested, so she arranges to meet the four of us — five, because now it is finished and perfectly safe, Eric insists he was one of the Killers, too. I’m a little annoyed about that, but the others go along with it so I might as well let the little wimp share in our glory. The reporter wants us all to charcoal our faces for a photo — another tweaking of the truth — but it’s a good story. I get my photograph in the paper for the first time ever, even if it is unrecognisable underneath the charcoal. It might even remind some people not to litter our country parks. But I would not bet on it. The newspaper article sends Flora into her seventh heaven. Not that she needed any prompting, but she used that as an excuse to ring around, insisting that we all meet again, as soon as possible. She masterminds a Saturday that suits everyone, just three weeks after our Lantau trip. I invite Martin out of politeness, but I do not expect him to accept, and he does not. Flora also masterminds the itinerary. She wants us to start at Kowloon Reservoirs, over Beacon Hill to Lion Rock, and then to Amah Rock, where we would descend and catch a bus back to Star Ferry. We soon find out why she wants to go Kowloon Reservoirs. It is where the monkeys are. ‘I’ve always wanted to feed them, they are so cute!’ she cries as we alight from the bus. ‘Flora,’ I say patiently, ‘look at the signs.’ The signs, and there are several of them, explain that feeding the monkeys is DANGEROUS and is FORBIDDEN. But Flora has brought a bag of old, ripe bananas just for that purpose. She will not be put off by a stupid sign. She approaches one ugly, little brute, sitting in the middle of the path looking at her. She dips into her bag and holds out a banana, making kissing noises with pursed lips. Suddenly two more leap out from the bushes, one snatches the banana from her hand and the other

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swings on her jacket. She screams and drops the bag, which bursts. Several other monkeys immediately run up and seize the fruit. Flora noisily darts this way and that, trying to dislodge the monkey, which is swinging widely as it clings to her jacket. ‘Aiyaa, what if it bites her!’ Lucy claps her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. ‘Take your jacket off!’ Eric shrieks. She shrugs it off and the monkey drops to the path, clutching an empty jacket. It sits, blinking. Before it can move, Alex, quick as a cat, delivers a swift kick. It lets go of Flora’s coat and streaks into the bush. He hands her the jacket with a bow. It is all Flora needs. She throws her arms around him, kissing her thanks all over his golliwog face. Eric pretends to be upset. ‘Ooooh, get her!’ he flounces. From then on, the three of them carry on like kids. Even as we climb Beacon Hill, these three children play chasings and other boisterous games. Flora loves being piggy-backed by Alex, however, the games more often end up with the two boys teasing her, hiding her things, playing catches with her cap or her pack. Her giggles and shrieks only recycle the process. We eat lunch in the shadow of Amah Rock, which towers above us, plastered with graffitti. Beside us and below are the white towers of Tai Wai, those of Sha Tin further along, while in the far distance are the eight and a half distinctive peaks of Pat Sing Leng. It is so Hong Kong, human crassness dancing with wonderful scenery. ‘This was a brilliant idea, Flora,’ says Emily. ‘Thanks so much for organising it.’ ‘Yeah, I particularly liked the monkey wrestling.’ Everyone laughs at Fanny, except Flora. She pouts, tossing her head, her hands on her hips. Eric giggles, ‘What a pity you’re not a boy, Flora!’ I look up surprised, a little shocked, even. Yes, Eric is looking distinctly mischievous as he goes on, ‘Then we could love you, completely!’ ‘That’s not fair, you pig!’ she shouts. She is upset, but I wonder if she is as upset as she ought to be. That is, if Eric means what I think he means. The ever-protective Lucy stands up. ‘That’s enough, Eric. Leave her alone. Come on, Flora, I want to take some photos. Over there, overlooking the entrance to the Tunnel. Want to come?’ Flora stands, giving Eric a look of hurt bewilderment. They walk away.


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Alex is staring hard at the ground. He lifts his head and glares at Eric. ‘Asshole,’ he says, loudly enough for all of us to hear. It is the first time I have heard a cross word between those two. Conversation becomes uncomfortably forced. When Lucy and Flora return, we make our way down to the bus stop at Lion Rock Tunnel Road. I now feel sorry for Eric, too, as he walks, head bowed. I put my arm along his shoulders and he gives me a grateful look. Why was he so silly? I explain it to myself as a moment of truth. This group is not working. We are different people, on different tracks. Alex and Eric will be teachers themselves this year. They will form their own friendships, not with simple, innocent schoolgirls, but with sophisticated friends with ultra-sophisticated sexual tastes. In turn, Flora and Lucy will make their own friends among the young school-leavers at Grantham College. We are not a good mix. This leaves Emily and I, and Fanny and Billy. We meet for dinner and sometimes we go walking. This helps Emily to get to know me more, through my friends. It is inevitable that Siu Ling’s name comes up. I quietly explain to Fanny that I want it to, gently, so that Emily will learn that I have a past. I have learned that keeping secrets is dangerous. Emily and I often meet on weeknights, just ourselves, after I have finished work. We go to the cinema, to concerts and especially to the ballet, when a visiting company comes to Hong Kong, which is not very often. Certainly not often enough for Emily. She loves dance, whether Chinese or Western. She persuades me to go to Chinese opera with her. Chinese opera used to leave me cold, but with her tuition, I begin to develop an appreciation of it, especially Cantonese opera. We like to try different restaurants. I like introducing Emily to non Chinese cuisines, and she is a willing pupil. Tonight, we are in the Ashoka, exploring Indian food. She asks the question I was waiting for. ‘What was this Siu Ling like? Her name comes up a lot, when we are talking with Fanny and Billy,’ Emily looks mildly curious, as she rests her knife and fork. ‘She was a member of our group. We did lots of things together, she and I. And Billy, Fanny, Martin and the others.’ I put it like that: she and I. ‘You and her. Mummm. Were you specially good friends, then?’ ‘Yes. We were in love.’ I can see Emily does not like this. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you this. Just how many girlfriends have you had? Serious ones, I mean.’

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‘Two. Siu Ling. And a gwai mui, while I was still at school, but that was hopeless from the start. That’s it.’ Yes, that’s enough for now. Time to change the subject. ‘And you? What about your love life?’ ‘I went out briefly with a few boys, but none were serious. Particularly after I invited them home.’ What a surprising thing to say. ‘Why was that?’ She looks uncomfortable. ‘Mummm. Perhaps it is better if you find that out for yourself, Chris.’ She pauses, ‘I really would like you to meet my parents.’ Yes, I believe I should meet them. But why were other boys so turned off? Did her parents intimidate them with their class and wealth? Hong Kong boys are unlikely to be put off by too much wealth! Well, I shall just have to find out for myself. She looks at me a little nervously. ‘Please, could you come to dinner sometime next week. It’s important, Chris.’ ‘Of course, I’d love to! I was going to say the same thing.’ Exactly so. I must ask Emily home, to visit our little house above the bookshop. Emily must know who I am, that my parents are humble people. That because I am a lawyer, I am not dai hau hei, I am not boastful. Nor am I apologetic about my humble origins. I think it better for her to come to my house first, before I visit her rich parents. So we agree. My place next Saturday; her place sometime next week, to be arranged. I carefully explain to my parents that I have met this wonderful girl and I want them to meet her. For dinner, next Saturday. They are pleased. Since the departure of Siu Ling, I think they have been worried about me. The way I had been behaving, I do not blame them. I ask Mother to cook the same dishes as she did for Siu Ling. ‘No, that will not do,’ she says. ‘Not after the way that little fox treated you.’ Aiyaa, I have given up trying to straighten her out on that matter long ago. Ah Ba and I exchange looks with a smile. Ah Ma rattles on. ‘No, Ah Yan, there must be one dish different. No soy chicken, then, she liked that and ate too much, the little pig.’ Poor Siu Ling, a little fox and a little pig, in one speech! Laughing, I suggest black-bean beef and bitter melon. Very Cantonese, and Ah Ma always manages to make the bitter melon almost sweet. So it is agreed. Emily arrives before the shop closes, because she wants to browse the shelves. She is interested in books on traditional Chinese dance. She finds a book, published in 1928, on dance and the theatre in Shanghai.


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‘Wah, the date of my mother’s birth. She would have been a dancer, had they stayed in Shanghai. Oh, Sai Ba, may I buy this for her?’ She turns to Ah Ba, her face eager and irresistible. I’m about to say, ‘No, let me pay, as a present from me,’ but Ah Ba is too quick. ‘Take it, my dear, with the compliments of Ah Yan and his parents. It would give me much pleasure to know your mother would appreciate one of my books.’ He smiles warmly over his half-moon glasses. He loves those who love his books. Emily blushes, and demurs, looking to me for help. She makes that funny sound of hers: ‘Mummmm?’ I nod: Yes, take it. ‘Thank you so much, Sai Ba. I can’t say how much she will appreciate this.’ ‘Ah Yan, you wrap this up for Emily, while I show her some other treasures.’ He gently takes her arm and steers her to another rack of books. Dear Ah Ba! He knows exactly the right thing to do. Most of all, I am thrilled they take to each other so well. That is most important to me, particularly as Siu Ling was such a hard act to follow. Ah Ma, on the other hand, does not know what to do. She tries to impress the wrong way. ‘You live on the Peak, Ah Yan says. They say that houses there are so expensive! What does your father do, may I ask?’ ‘He owns a business. But I think it depends where you live, Bak Mo. Not everywhere is expensive. But your bitter melon is so delicious! How do you make it taste so sweet?’ Ah Ma launches into a detailed description of how she salts it, soaks it and washes it. Emily has won her over and the interrogation ceases. I touch Emily’s leg under the table with my foot. We smile quietly at each other. She, too, is force-fed, as was Siu Ling, until she officially surrenders: ‘Bao, la! Wah, we eat mostly Shanghainese at home, but I love Cantonese for a change — as long as it is good, and your cooking, Bak Mo, is the very best!’ I only hope I will impress her parents, when the time comes next week, as much as she impresses mine. I walk her to the bus stop, but she says her father told her to take a taxi. As we wait, she cuddles up to me. ‘Your parents are sweet. Your mother tried so hard and her cooking really was delicious. What a feast! But really, Chris, I can’t say how

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much I appreciate the gift for Mother. She will find so much in that book. She was training to be a ballet dancer herself and then the Red Army took over. My parents were only just married. They fled — oh! Here’s a taxi coming. Next week, then. I’ll call you. Thanks, Chris, so much.’ She kisses me on the cheek, but I turn her face so that our lips meet. Our farewell kiss becomes passionate. When I return, Ah Ma pops out of the kitchen. ‘The Peak! Wah, I always said that Siu Ling was not good enough for you.’ And with that summary of my love life, she returns to whatever she was doing in the kitchen. I look at Ah Ba and say what I have felt like saying so many times. ‘Why can’t she learn to keep her bloody mouth shut?’ ‘No-one is perfect, Ah Yan. You of all people should know that.’ He looks at me over his spectacles and he is not smiling. ‘I only hope you are capable of being as good a husband to Emily, if that is to be, as Ah Ma has been as a mother to you.’ Ah Ba is becoming too censorious lately. The implications of that remark disturb my sleep.

CHAPTER 17

B

ill Beddoes is the senior partner in the firm, an Australian, and very direct. He is shorter than I, but he fills the room. His eyes pin you, blue and sharp; he seems to play his voice as if his large nose were a trumpet. He comes to work in a suit, but he takes his coat off immediately and loosens his tie so that it hangs around his neck like a brightly coloured hangman’s noose. In court, he is devastatingly direct, which makes our firm much sought after. He seems to like me, and I cautiously like him, but I would not care to do the wrong thing, as long as he is my boss. Cyril Tang is a dull man, overweight, with a loud, pedantic voice. He is a devil for detail. The third partner is Martin’s uncle, Norman Chow, a wily old crocodile. He even looks like one. And so does Martin, now I come to think of it. Old Chow is tall, thin, wiry, with sleepy, expressionless eyes behind his large spectacles and a wide mouth set in a secret smile. He looks like what I imagine Martin himself will look like in ninety years time. But there are differences between them. Old Chow says little, but when he speaks, any one sentence of his carries the meaning of four. His words are powerful, his audience submits easily. When Martin speaks, he uses four sentences with the meaning of one. With those linguistic weapons, each in his different way bludgeons his audience into submission. I am nervous with all this complex talent around me. The civil cases tend to require too much specialised knowledge to delegate to as junior a person as I. Martin, who is of course just as junior as I am, is nevertheless given some of these cases to handle. The difference is that he does not appear at all junior. More and more I realize I am in the wrong firm, if not in the wrong profession. But Bill seems to take my limitations kindly — so far. Occasionally, when the Crown Prosecutor’s department is overworked, they sub-contract to the private sector. That is, they pay our firm to take on some of their work and, when that happens, I am asked to research the easy cases on which to cut my teeth, and then appear in court as

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‘pupil’, usually to Bill; it will be six months before I earn the title of ‘clerk’. Anyway, my work so far enabled us to obtain convictions in both cases referred to me. I am pleased with that. Now along comes my third case. Bill calls me to his office. ‘Here’s another one for you, Chris. Nice and easy. You’ll eat it. There’s a regulation that forbids hawkers to set up their stalls within a specified distance of an existing shop, right? Well, this drongo — the defendant, Mr Chan — ,’ he adds impatiently on seeing my puzzled look, ‘was well inside the limit, three foot something, as measured by a Government inspector. But instead of copping it fair and square and paying up, he’s screaming his innocence like a bloody wanker, thereby wasting the taxpayers’ money with a proper trial. Want to take it?’ He passes me a legal folder, tied up with a red tape. It appears I have no option but to take it. Watched by those glittering, gwailo eyes, I open the file and read carefully. ‘Seems straightforward enough.’ ‘Good. Do your stuff and report to me Friday afternoon. The case is remitted for hearing Monday next, Court Room 6. Oh, and you might just glance at the regulations on street trading; 40 and 41.2 seem to be the operative ones. Okay? See you Friday.’ I do what he says. I also spend some time in the Attorney General’s Chambers, and with the inspector who booked the offending hawker. Mr Chan is in his late sixties, with several previous convictions for this and related offences. On Monday, I turn up at Court Room 6 in plenty of time. While I am waiting, sitting at the prosecuting council’s table studying the papers, Cyril Tang eases himself heavily down beside me. ‘Bill was called to another case at the last minute. I’m going to have to rely on you. Quickly, brief me.’ He is uncomfortable, this stickler for detail, having only minutes to prepare for the case. ‘It is simple really, I don’t anticipate any problems.’ I let him know the facts, the wording of the regulations and the inspector’s report. Just as I am finishing, I am aware that the defending council and his clerk have taken their places just across from me. ‘Hello, Chris,’ I hear a familiar voice. I turn to face Siu Ling smiling at me. She is pupil for Chang, the senior of her firm. I am startled. This is the first time I have seen her since uni days. She is looking so gorgeous, so alive, yet so cool and competent in her business suit. My heart races and I find myself blushing. I try hard to appear cool, as I whisper back.


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‘Well, what a coincidence! On opposite sides are we?’ I try some psychological warfare. ‘Aren’t we both wasting our time on this one?’ ‘You know better than to expect me to respond to that, Chris.’ The magistrate enters and we go through the motions. The defendant is placed in the box and Cyril takes him through the preliminaries — in English, via a translator. This is pretty stupid, seeing that all parties present, from the Magistrate down, have Cantonese as their first language. But that is the system. Siu Ling whispers to Chang, who objects, raising just this procedural point. ‘If Your Worship pleases, can we not proceed in Cantonese, given the present circumstances?’ They are wasting their breath. ‘I am sure you are just as aware of proper court procedure as I am, Mr Chang. Unless, of course, you can point to some compelling circumstance?’ The Magistrate clearly expects there to be none. ‘In due course, Your Worship. Meantime, I withdraw my request.’ He smiles and sits. I am beginning to feel uneasy. Siu Ling seemed to be behind this interjection and she is not a fool, and neither is Chang. They seem calmly confident, despite being denied their request. She must have found something when researching the case, but what I cannot imagine. Cyril ploughs tediously through his examination of the defendant, but his lack of preparation does not show and I am pleased with my briefing of him. Not only does there seem to be no doubt of the fellow’s guilt, but he has previous convictions for similar offences. He will be fined a thousand dollars or so, which he will recover in a few days trading, and then it will start all over again. A waste of time and money. But when the distance from the building is mentioned, Siu Ling interjects. A brave thing for a pupil to do. ‘If Your Worship pleases, may I put a question to the defendant in Cantonese?’ ‘Mr Chang, would you ask your overly enthusiastic pupil to put any questions she might have through you? I hope she is not suggesting that our Court interpreters are incompetent?’ ‘My apologies, Your Worship.’ Chang turns to Siu Ling, wagging his finger at her in mock censure. They whisper. ‘Your Worship, it is a matter of ambiguity in translation, not incorrect translation. I wish to refer to the Chinese version of the regulations.’ While Chang is talking, Siu Ling turns to me with the sort of smile that two years ago would have devastated me. It still does. Magistrate Lee is impatient, but concedes. ‘Proceed.’

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Chang holds up a copy of the Street Trading Regulations in Chinese. ‘These, Your Worship, are the pertinent regulations in Chinese. These are what the defendant would have read. May I confirm that with the defendant?’ He does so. He asks him, through the interpreter, what he understood the regulations to mean. Chan replies in Cantonese, the interpreter in English. ‘No, this is my point, Your Worship. This is the ambiguity. May I ask him again and may I translate his reply, with due apologies to the interpreter?’ Chang asks the same question and the defendant gives the same answer, but what Chang translates into English is not what the interpreter had just said. Now I see what Siu Ling’s researching of the case had uncovered. The distance is written as mandatory in English, but only as advisory in Chinese. Chan was acting within the regulations, as they appeared in Chinese, his only language! The official Government translation was wrong.* I, too, had made a bad mistake. I had not checked the translation and Siu Ling had. And I had left Cyril Tang looking like a fool who had not done his homework. The Magistrate agrees that there is a problem. ‘Hmmm. This is serious. It will have to be referred back to the Chief Parliamentary Counsel. I can only dismiss the present case. I so rule.’ He bangs his gavel. We all rise. Siu Ling looks across at me, cheekily shaping a kiss with her lips. She then bows to Magistrate Lee and proceeds to leave with Chang. As she passes me, she surreptitiously squeezes my arm and whispers, ‘You were wonderful, Chris!’ The bitch! The words she used when I saved her from Wherrett! I take my time leaving, apologising profusely to Cyril. He remains ominously silent. At least Siu Ling has gone when we go outside. I could not bear to see her crowing over me. Even just to see her looking pleased with herself would make me want to kill her. Just before lunch, I am called to Bill’s office. Cyril is already there. The atmosphere tells me he has already told Bill of the debacle. Also present are Old Chow and Martin. This looks bad. Bill fixes me with those now terrible eyes of his. He does not waste words. ‘You mean to say you let that fucking Lai bitch, cute though she be, walk all over you? That you didn’t even check the fucking regulations, which, I need not remind you, are written in your own bloody language?’ * This is based on a true incident.


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The others stare at me impassively. They are used to Bill’s sudden rages when things go wrong. I do not attempt to defend myself. What is there to say? I return to my office, completely miserable, wondering how I can tell Emily how badly I have failed. I must change my profession. As a lawyer, I am a wash-out. There is a tap on the door. Martin enters and sits down. ‘That could have happened to anyone, Chris. There must have been hundreds of wrong convictions on that mistranslation. It’s not your fault, it’s the Chief Parliamentary Counsel’s.’ Well, why didn’t you say that a few moments ago, you two-headed snake, I ask myself, but he is continuing. ‘And don’t let Bill’s barbaric little tantrums put you off. I’ll lay odds that after work he will buy you a drink and apologise.’ He stands, squeezing my shoulder in a human gesture rare for Martin. Then he returns to the Martin of old. ‘Isn’t it tremendous to see what a promising young lawyer our classmate Siu Ling is turning out to be? We were a good year, such a good year!’ This is what he is really saying: ‘Here is the real Herbert F. Y. Tsien Medallist. I know you understand that an unfortunate mistake has been made. But I am magnanimous about it.’ He then sweeps out of the room, no doubt busily planning the next Important Thing he has to do. Despite everything, I have to laugh.

CHAPTER 18

I

have trouble finding 18A Barker Road. It is a mansion, discreetly hidden from the main thoroughfare. I press a button on a grille at the gate and a metallic voice tells me: ‘Yap duk lai, la.’ The large iron gate clicks open. I walk up a gravel drive to the front door. I am expecting a butler in uniform to open it, but it is Emily who does so. ‘Come in, Chris.’ She glances around, then quickly pecks me on the cheek. Her caution makes me wonder what her parents think our relationship is. She shows me into a huge living room, with wide bay windows overlooking Central and Admiralty. The room is crowded with oldfashioned rosewood furniture. Ah Ma was right. Emily’s parents must be extremely rich. I am feeling badly out of place, just as, I imagine, her previous boyfriends had felt. A tall, heavily built man rises to greet me. He holds out his hand, which I take. ‘I am pleased to meet you. Emily has told us about her lawyer friend.’ He speaks accented Cantonese. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Sai Ba.’ ‘Please meet Emily’s mother.’ He gestures into the shadows, where a woman is sitting, away from the window. She looks up from some needlework. She smiles and holds out her hand. Although I cannot see her clearly, I do notice the resemblance to Emily. She, too, speaks slowly and carefully, which with her heavily accented Cantonese gives the impression she is finding difficulty in holding a conversation. ‘We are pleased to meet you. Did you have trouble in finding the house? Some people do.’ I lie. I’m ready to say anything that might liven the atmosphere up a little. ‘No, not really. When I stepped off the bus, I just followed my nose.’ ‘Really. What a strange thing to do.’ She returns to her needlework. I look to Emily: Help! my eyes are screaming. She, too, is looking uncomfortable and begins to say something. Her mother starts up again.

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‘You were very kind to give me that book. It was clever of you to choose that particular one. I was a dancer, once, you know.’ ‘Yes, Emily told me that.’ I think I should straighten the record. ‘Actually, she chose it, it was on my father’s book-shelves. He sells books, you see. And he said she could take it. It’s really from our whole family, I suppose.’ ‘Well, thank you all very much. I shall treasure it. Your father must be a kind man.’ ‘He is. He’s the kindest father I have.’ A silly joke, which I regret immediately. She looks puzzled and then returns again to her needlework. Father takes over. ‘Well Chris, sit down here, and tell me about yourself. You are a lawyer.’ I nod. ‘With what firm?’ ‘Beddoes, Tang and Chow.’ I add, ‘in Exchange Square.’ It seems to spin the conversation out a little. ‘Yes, I know Norman Chow well. We belong to the same club.’ I curse my luck. Hong Kong is too small for incompetents such as I. Chow has probably already told him about the mess I made of the hawker case. However, he lets me off the hook. ‘No doubt you would like to see the garden while it is still light. Emily will show you around. We dine at six-thirty.’ As we are about to leave, he lets me know I am not off the hook. ‘I want some legal advice. Let’s discuss it over dinner.’ You mean you want to put me to the test, I think. If you really wanted advice, you would have asked old Chow. I tell Emily my thoughts, as soon as we are outside. ‘It’s not like what you think,’ Emily says. ‘In fact, Father is shy. He has got where he is by dominating fellow workers, and then his employees. He is uncomfortable in situations like this.’ She takes my arm, then continues, ‘And Mother, well, I’m afraid she is prematurely senile. Alzheimer’s. She’s only 58, looks 38, but her brain is more like 88. She is dreaming about her dancing days most of the time. I thought that book would cheer her up.’ I hardly know what to say. ‘Was she a famous dancer?’ ‘No. She might have been, but she danced in public only a few times. She was scarcely out of school when she met Father. They married and then, soon after, the Communists invaded Shanghai. They had to leave.’ ‘What happened?’ ‘His father, my grandfather, whom I’ve never met, owned a large shipbuilding company. The Communists requisitioned it, but he resisted, so they killed him. At that, Father and Mother both fled, with Grandmother.


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They had only their clothes and some jewellery they had hidden. They used some of the jewellery to buy their way to Hong Kong. Father used what was left to start a business, as a street hawker.’ ‘What was he in Shanghai?’ ‘He had just qualified as a marine engineer.’ A marine engineer, then a street hawker, and now a multimillionnaire. Some make it, some do not. Like poor old Chan, finally let off a nonexistent crime for which he had been punished several times previously. He was a hak tsai, one of those who do not make it. ‘Is Grandmother still alive?’ ‘No, she died a few years ago, when I was ten.’ We are sitting in a garden seat, overlooking Central. I could almost spit on the Peak Tram as it crawls its way up to the top. It is not dark yet. There is so much to understand about Emily and her family. My own family life seems so simple, so straightforward. ‘Thanks for saying all that. It helps.’ ‘Don’t let them put you off, Chris. I know they are so unlike your parents, who are so warm and down to earth.’ She smiles, a little bitterly. ‘Now do you see why none of my previous boyfriends survived the Parent Test? None so far, that is.’ She subtly presses herself against me. I suddenly feel cheered up. ‘Now let me tell you something about hawkers.’ An invisible hand, moving with breathtaking speed from building to building, is switching on the lights in Central, far below. I, too, feel switched on, more confident. I had thought that Emily’s life was such a dream: rich parents, steeped in the arts, living in a mansion on the Peak. Now I see that she has her own problems. Now I even look forward to confiding in her how I messed up the Chan case. I’m about to start, when a Chinese maid appears, to summon us to the table. We enter a large dining room, with an oval dining table. Ivory chopsticks rest on silver stands. The bowls and plates are eggshell thin, milky-white, almost transparent, with a thin gold band just inside the rim. We sit on the long side of the oval, Emily and I facing her parents. I can see her mother more clearly now. She is still quite beautiful, but now I can see that her eyes do have a distant look. If I did not know what Emily had told me, though, I would say she looked supremely dignified and serene. A wonderful smell comes from the kitchen. The food is even better than it smells. I have had Shanghainese before, but most of the dishes I do not recognize. Mr Wu explains each, with detail and with relish. He is clearly a food man. And a cognac man, for the maid sets down a

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bottle of Courvoisier in front of him, and a large crystal glass, which he sips during the meal, as if it were table wine. He offers me a glass, but clearly expects me to refuse, which I do, with relief. I feel I am about to make a big enough fool of myself sober. Emily said her father would be shy with me, but the brandy loosens him up. ‘Now, Chris. I need some advice, as I said. I own a clothing factory, say. Well, actually I own several, and an electronics factory, too, but that’s beside the point. Now,’ he thumps his fist on the table, as if it was I who had strayed from the point, ‘labour across the border in Shenzen is less than a tenth of the cost here. I hear the Mainland is going to pump money and infrastructure into Shenzen, so that everything points to the proposal I wish to make, which is this: Relocate across the border. But,’ and again he thumps the table, ‘as I understand it, you can’t do that unless it is a “joint venture”. In other words, you have to have involve a Chinese firm, which means the Government, as a partner. Now, in the event of a dispute, and from my experience with the People’s Republic, a dispute is extremely likely, how, and this is my question, how can I safeguard myself, with legally binding contracts, so that I can know where I stand?’ Here I am on safe ground. I had heard Chow and Bill discussing the same point. Chow was telling Bill about his discussion with someone in his club. It must have been Wu! Hong Kong is indeed a small world. I smile, as I tell Wu what Chow has already told him. ‘It is simple, Sai Ba. You cannot. I would say you have to take a calculated risk. The potential profits are great, the chances of the partnership breaking up, with you as the loser, are moderate, but they exist. They lessen, if you plough some of those profits back as, what can I say, tea money? Or to be more honest, bribes. Overall, you are likely to emerge well ahead.’ ‘So, young man. Do I hear a lawyer telling me to break the law? Eh? Eh?’ He laughs loudly and ponderously at his non-joke. I cannot help wondering; how can Emily, so refined and sensitive, have this for a father? ‘Chinese law and Hong Kong law are entirely different animals. I am qualified only in Hong Kong law. So what I have said is not a legal opinion, but my own personal opinion, as I see the situation.’ ‘Well said, er, er,’ ‘Chris,’ I supply. ‘Chris. So, do I operate on Chris’s opinion? If so, I owe him a fee. Here it is. A glass of brandy.’ He laughs loudly, fills a crystal glass to the brim, and pushes it towards me.

CHAPTER 19

M

artin loses his bet. Bill did not buy me a drink, nor did he apologise. It is a whole week before Bill phones me. ‘My office, right now. That’s if you can make it, of course.’ I can never tell if these gwailo are being sarcastic or if they mean it. Something tells me Bill means it and I had better go to his office, fast. So, this may be the end. ‘What’s your poison, mate?’ he asks over his shoulder, bending down to open the door of his bar-fridge. I use intuition rather than my knowledge of English to work out what he means. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ I say. I think I understand what he is doing. He is trying to make my dismissal easy for me. ‘Christ, can’t you bloody people ever make your own minds up? I might choose camel’s piss for all you know.’ He snorts. ‘Nah, Carlsberg for me. That’s the drink in Honkers. You can stick bloody Fosters.’ He stands up and passes me a can of Carlsberg and a glass. ‘Now, you screwed up big time on the last job.’ So this is it. But his large, ugly face is twisted into a smile. ‘Well, never mind. You’re not the first to have missed that point. Trust that bloody Lai woman, but. Jeez, she’s a ripper. Tell you what, if ever I get the chance,’ he leers at me, raising forearm and clenched fist. ‘Know what I mean?’ He is so gross that I can’t help laughing, despite my initial reaction of disgust. What is more, and what he’ll never know, is that I know first hand exactly what he means! ‘Anyway,’ he returns to the point, wrinkling his eyes in a kind sort of way, ‘I think you’re probably better off on financial-type cases. Old Norman told me he was talking to a mate of his who was mightily impressed with your advice on setting up in China.’ Wah, Emily’s father! So this is how reputations are made. I deserve this break. ‘Property settlements seem to be the go, at the moment. I’ve got one that I’d like to delegate to you. It’s the wife of an obnoxious little Pom

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at Hong Kong U. She’s also suing for divorce, but there’s a matter of jurisdictions that needs clearing up if we want to get her the best deal. She was married in Australia and is an Australian citizen, as a matter of fact, so that’s an angle worth working on. I’ll be there if it gets complicated. Duk m’duk?’ With the beer, and Bill’s barely comprehensible Australian, capped with the Cantonese, I’m nearly falling out of my chair laughing. Partly with relief, too, I must add. Just when I thought I was on the edge of losing my job, I’m suddenly best friends with this unpredictable barbarian of a boss. Then he adds, ‘By the way, the name’s Wherrett.’ I spray Carlsberg from my mouth. I am going to love this case. I meet Mrs Wherrett the next day. She is, as Martin described her years ago, a rather plain little gwaipor. She tells me the story. She met her husband in England fifteen years ago. She had just left school and, instead of going directly to university, she took a year off to travel Europe. A devout Catholic, she nevertheless went along with her more free-thinking companions and ended up in England, the shrine of the Beatles, Peace, Love and all that stuff that had entered Flic’s silly young head. Brian Wherrett was a radical student, with long hair and beard, and ideas about changing the world through ‘Negotiated Love’, a term he had picked up from some Indian guru. It meant, apparently, that he claimed the right to screw whoever took his fancy. If the fancied one wasn’t willing, as was likely, then her reluctance was attributed to ‘hang-ups and head-shit’ that needed to be allowed to ‘hang-out’. (I write down only what Helen Wherrett, née Donaldson, tells me.) The process of ‘hangingout’ involved smoking marijuana, while engaging in intense discussion that was entirely meaningless, and was maintained until the targeted female either capitulated or told him to ‘get lost’. ‘I deeply regret I did not tell him to get lost. Instead, at the age of eighteen, I found myself pregnant to a man I didn’t love, but because of my upbringing, I felt I should marry him. I knew Brian wasn’t at all interested in marriage, but he was about to graduate, and he had no job prospects.’ ‘Yes, I imagine Negotiated Love would hardly fill the rice bowl.’ She smiles at my weak joke. ‘However, it did occur to him that my father, the senior partner in the Sydney firm, Donaldson, Muir and Jacobs, would see to it that the rice bowl of his daughter’s husband would be full to overflowing. So we struck a bargain, the worst I’ve ever


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made. He agreed to marry me if Daddy gave him a job. I deserve all I get, I suppose.’ She looks as if she might cry. ‘Brian was a disaster, abrasive and incompetent. Somehow, he got a job as a Lecturer in Law at the University of Hong Kong. I think Daddy was rather naughty and lied through his teeth to get rid of him. So here I am in Hong Kong, with two sons, aged six and fourteen, and a husband who is still a philanderer, and a poor teacher, from all accounts. A few years ago, his students booed him from the classroom!’ I remain silent about my knowledge of that. I ask her about his means. ‘As a lecturer and an expat, he has tenure, access to staff quarters, and superannuation. When he leaves the university, if aged fifty-five or more — he’s forty-three now — he receives a large lump sum. I’m not sure of the amount but there’s a formula. I could find out.’ ‘Please do. It could be important.’ I decide that this payout will be the main point of leverage in our negotiations. I know that in some American states, superannuation is part of the carve-up in property settlements, but not in Hong Kong. I shall check with Bill about the Australian situation. Helen is still living in staff quarters with the children, but they do not cohabit. He refuses to move, although he visits a Chinese popsy most nights, but she has no certain evidence, names or other specifics, which might nail down an instance. She tried a private detective, but he was a waste of money. She has threatened to divorce him and take the children, but he laughs at her, saying he would claim custody, as a father may confidently do in Hong Kong. The fact that the quarters are contingent upon his job complicates matters for her. It is becoming increasingly clear to me that we should serve the papers from Australia, if at all possible. I hope he has an incompetent lawyer. A chill runs up my spine as the possibility occurs that he might retain Siu Ling’s firm, and that she would be involved. And indeed, only days after my interview with Helen Wherrett, my phone rings. I hear a familiar voice. ‘Chris?’ ‘Siu Ling.’ My heart races. No, please, not the Wherrett case. ‘I believe your firm is acting for Mrs Wherrett. Wherrett has approached my firm. Nothing agreed yet, but if we do, Chang has asked me to act as pupil.’ ‘And will you?’ ‘Hmmm. I’m deciding.’ ‘Siu Ling, you can’t! Not after the way he treated you.’

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‘Why ever not? You can’t let personal issues stand in the way of a professional decision. You must know that, Chris.’ Then her voice becomes syrupy. ‘Anyway, Chris, he’s not all bad. He brought us together, for instance.’ She can be as sarcastic as any gwailo, I am learning. ‘Siu Ling, it’s you I think who is not being very professional.’ My tone is cold. I am ready to hang up, unless she has something better to say. ‘Okay, Chris. You’re right. I’m not going to argue. Bye, then.’ She hangs up before I do, which annoys me considerably. Oh well, I reflect, it’s better this way. The idea of being professional antagonists but personal friends — a common situation for lawyers — is one I would love to have with Siu Ling. Now I have Emily, such a relationship with Siu Ling should be possible, but I can see now that it would not work. Our past is too emotionally complex. We should be able to relate as old friends, but it seems that we cannot. Does that mean the past is not past? Then, there’s a touch of sheer professional jealousy. We are both only months out of university, but as Bill so carefully pointed out to all my colleagues, ‘that Lai bitch’ walked all over me. She is already making a local reputation. If only ‘this Wong bastard’ could be equally celebrated. I am preparing the divorce papers. The ground is adultery, on numerous occasions, but I need to name at least one specific instance. Wherrett has been cunning in his rat-like way. He has made little secret to his wife that he is still into his old game of negotiating what he is pleased to call love, but he has covered his tracks carefully, and details as to who, where and when are not available. I remember Martin’s story as a student about meeting Wherrett and a gai. I briefly explain the problem. ‘Martin, I’m working on Helen Wherrett’s divorce. You wouldn’t happen to remember the name of the love hotel you saw Wherrett enter with that prostitute all those years ago, would you? A long shot, but it would be helpful if you could.’ ‘Not off hand, but I know exactly the spot where we met, and where I was sure he was heading. I’ll drop round and have a look. A detail like that would frighten the pants off him. He would conclude you had very specific evidence. Good thinking, Chris.’ He beams at me paternalistically, my kindly mentor, not my classmate. Martin is as good as his word and now the petition looks impressive. I demand that Helen have custody of the children, with an unrealistically high maintenance, and half of all assets, including his terminal benefits


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payment based on its estimated value in twelve years time. I know this would be ruled out in a Hong Kong Court, but, after discussions with Bill, we decide to serve the papers from Australia, through our Sydney office. The demand for half his estimated terminal benefits is a long shot. I learn that property settlement under Australian law is in the first instance a matter of the parties agreeing, rather than a judge deciding. There is always room for negotiation. ‘That is the bluff I would like to play.’ Bill nods approvingly. ‘Good one. We’ll make a lawyer out of you yet, Chris. It all depends on how good his lawyer is.’ Please, I pray, not Siu Ling! I serve the papers on Wherrett at his office, both to embarrass him and to protect Helen. I fear what might happen if she was within striking distance when he received them. The answer to our petition arrives from Wherrett’s lawyer within a few days. It is not Siu Ling’s firm. As I read the answer, however, I begin to worry. He denies any adultery, cross-petitioning on the grounds that he has been denied conjugal rights. He is also claiming custody of the children on the grounds that the plaintiff is a neurotic and incapable mother. Alimony is refused, on the grounds that he is the wronged party and, because of the residential status of both parties, his lawyer demands the case be heard in Hong Kong. I cannot believe it. It now very clearly hinges on where the case is heard. I cannot help wondering if I have been too clever. Had I been less extravagant in making all those demands, would Wherrett have been more amenable to a settlement? I have this awful feeling that I am about to fail again, and this time it is much more serious.

CHAPTER 20

‘S

orry I’m late, Chris.’ Emily slides into the seat opposite me. We are in the revolving restaurant in the Hopewell Centre. I lean over and kiss her. This is our first chance to have a good talk since I had dinner at her home. Emily starts first. ‘The new Academy of Performing Arts is running ballet classes from this year. I’m wondering if I might apply for next year’s intake. That’s the way to become a professional.’ ‘Is that what you really want?’ She surprises me. ‘Yes and no. I love dancing itself, but training at that level is so demanding, and it is an uncertain career in Hong Kong. There will be a resident company some day, but the competition will be fierce.’ ‘There’s teaching, like Flora and Lucy are doing.’ ‘Mummm,’ she pouts prettily, ‘that’s different. They love kids, Flora especially, and she’s so outgoing. No, my love for dancing is expressive. I’m a shy person. I just like expressing myself through dance.’ The poor, little rich girl, the dilettante. I love her no less for that. More, actually. I would prefer not to be married to a professional ballerina. Yes, that is what I am leading up to, tonight. ‘Chris,’ she looks at me sidelong, in that way of hers that is so appealing, ‘Chris, I need a job.’ ‘What would you like to do?’ ‘That’s the problem.’ She pauses. ‘I did badly in my “A” Levels. I failed all the papers written in English, like English, History, Geography. And I only just passed Chinese and Chinese History. You’re so clever, Chris.’ She looks utterly miserable. ‘I can’t do secretarial work, my written English is so bad, and I’m not qualified to do anything else. And I don’t want to work in any of Father’s companies. He wants me to, but they’re all about money. That’s not me.’ ‘Darling! Bo bui! No, of course that’s not you. But it doesn’t matter!’ I move on to the padded bench-seat opposite, where I can sit beside her, hold her, comfort her. And later, I will put forward my proposition that

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will make the present conversation irrelevant. ‘I have some ideas, we’ll talk about them later.’ I touch her cheek. ‘And please, do not think I am clever!’ I can afford to say this now. ‘Remember, in your garden, I started to tell you about a hawker, but we were called to dinner?’ She looks at me sidelong, smiling fondly at me while I talk about how I lost that case, how I did not even think to check the Chinese translation. ‘The pupil for the defending lawyer did, so I not only lost the case for Cyril Tang, I made him look incompetent.’ ‘But that wasn’t your fault. Anyway, you impressed Father with your talk about joint ventures in China. You were right; it was a test for you. And you came through with flying colours !’ ‘Did I?’ I’m delighted to hear her say that. ‘He thinks you are very clever and, more important to him, financially sensible. Of course, he had already discussed that same matter with old Chow at the club, but what impressed him was that you, so young and inexperienced, came up with the same advice.’ ‘That’s not surprising. Can you keep a secret?’ It’s honesty night tonight. I have decided I’m going to tell Emily everything about me. Nearly everything. I must, if she is the one to go into that golden house, which seems to be steadily taking shape now. ‘I told your father what I had overheard old Chow say to my boss. Chow was telling him what he’d already told your father! I simply repeated it.’ She covers her mouth with both hands, collapsing with laughter. ‘Oh Chris, that was clever!’ Still laughing, she pulls me to her with one arm and kisses me. Now we move into rather more difficult confessional territory. She knows I have had two previous love affaires, but she doesn’t know quite what happened. It is time she does know. But before I can start, a Filipino Quartet comes up to us. The leader says, ‘Ah, two young lovers. We would like to play to you your song. Request, please.’ Emily shrugs. She wants a classical Chinese song, but not played Western style. I have an idea. ‘Please play I Will Be True to You, My Darling.’ Grins of recognition, and off they go, while we gaze selfconsciously into each other’s eyes. Next, it’s a photographer, and then a pretty Filipina selling roses. The budget for the golden house is being diverted slightly. Finally, it is quiet, and we are alone again. ‘There’s something you should know. That clerk for the defending lawyer was a classmate of mine. Siu Ling.’


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Her face drops. ‘Do you still love her, is that what you are saying? Did you let her win the case?’ ‘No! The very opposite! I was just careless. No, it’s nothing to do with that. It’s just that I want to tell you about my past. It is your right to know, now that I love you. Remember the title of that song they played for us? That’s why I chose it. It’s only you I love.’ I squeeze her hand, she squeezes mine back. ‘Do you want me to go on?’ ‘You can’t stop now.’ ‘Let me start at the beginning.’ No, not the boatshed, that’s a jokestory, to be told some other time. I elaborate about Flic, about our seemingly mutual, growing love. I say ‘seemingly’, because I wonder aloud to Emily if Flic wasn’t leading me on, as a dare perhaps. ‘Father saw her immediately as a Wu Lei Jing.’ ‘That sweet, little angel — or so you describe her — a Fox Demon?’ ‘Yes, she was as it turned out. Let me tell you what happened. After Siu Ling and I became lovers — ’ ‘Lovers? You mean — ?’ ‘Yes, lovers. Physically.’ She looks upset to hear that. ‘I’m lost, Chris. What’s she got to do with this Flic?’ ‘Yes, that is what I am coming to.’ I tell her about the first camping trip with Siu Ling, how we swapped places to allow Billy and Fanny to sleep together, and so we ended up in the same sleeping bag. We made love. I keep the story simple. Emily is looking at me uneasily. Is it disapproval? Is she wondering why I, an experienced lover, had not attempted to express my love physically to her? Is she thinking that I think Siu Ling is more attractive than she is? ‘Emily, I love you. I respect you too much to have even tried to do what I did with Siu Ling. The risk of upsetting you, of making you think I was cheapening our relationship, was too great.’ ‘Mummm,’ she pouts. She wants to believe me. I continue. ‘Then Flic returned to Hong Kong for her father’s wedding. He had divorced that dreadful woman and married a Chinese. Flic insisted that she and I meet and, to cut a long story short, she seduced me.’ ‘While you were committed to Siu Ling?’ she asks incredulously. I bow my head. ‘Don’t the English have a saying,’ she asks in a stern voice, and then, unusually for her, turns to English, ‘Not only you have cake but eat it also?’

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‘I’m not proud of that. Intellectually, she seduced me, too, saying something stupid like it was closing the circle, getting rid of the past.’ ‘Chris, it makes you sound so weak. I didn’t know you were like that.’ But she takes my hand, like a mother takes the hand of a naughty little boy, who has disappointed her. I decide not to tell her about the fiasco with Fanny. ‘That’s why I’m telling you. You should know this about me, Emily. It was an important part of my life. It’s over now and I have learned.’ A question occurs to me. ‘Tell me, do you think the victim of the Wu Lei Jing is to blame for his infidelity? Can he be morally at fault if he has been cursed?’ She smiles. ‘A lawyer’s question. More to the point,’ she wags a finger at me, ‘what did our poor victim hero do? Did he tell his pretty, little Siu Ling what a naughty thing he had done?’ ‘Indirectly, yes.’ ‘Indirectly?’ ‘By a love-making gesture that Flic taught me, something Siu Ling and I had never done before. She knew immediately and she broke it off, bang, just like that. And we haven’t spoken since, until just recently in the court room.’ She sits staring at me, as if trying to work out who this sex-mad Chris is, a Chris who is nothing like the Chris she knows. ‘Well, your turn.’ I say. I have confessed all. I have nothing more to say. ‘My turn?’ she looks alarmed. She thinks I am propositioning her! Not yet, bo bui, not yet. ‘Not that!’ I laugh. ‘For confessions. You now know how naughty I have been. You tell me how naughty you have really been.’ ‘I’ve told you. No hidden secrets. I’m a virgin and I will be when I marry. I had expected my husband would be a virgin, too, but I’m learning that these days that’s probably not very realistic of me. But I still think it would be nice for husband and wife to explore these things together.’ That I do know. It is not only nice, it is an ecstatic experience that is almost religious in nature. And it is hell when it turns sour. But her reply is intriguing: had expected, she said. ‘Well, Emily, your parents don’t frighten me and I don’t care how rich you are, or how poor, for that matter. I love you Emily. Can you love me, after all I’ve told you?’ ‘What are you getting at Chris? What are you saying?’ She is looking at me with shiny-eyed caution.


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‘Will you marry me?’ If she is expecting that question, her answer is not encouraging. ‘Marry someone who has played around with other girls?’ She leans back, her eyebrows disappearing under her fringe. ‘Yes.’ ‘Who has been unfaithful to a sweet, innocent girl to whom he said he was totally committed?’ She leans forward now, her face accusing. ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you think I am stupid?’ ‘If you say ‘Yes, I will marry you’ then I think you would indeed be very stupid. But I will die if you do not say that.’ ‘Well, in that case — ’ She stops. She bends her head. I look down at the grooves commencing from her forehead as she is frowning, her long eyelashes screen any expression I might read. My heart slows. Suddenly, she lifts her face. Her eyes blast me with happiness. ‘Yes, I will marry you!’ We fall into each other’s arms, kissing passionately. I don’t care what the Filipino band thinks, or the rose girl, or the waiters, or the other diners. I whisper into her ear, ‘Sor jyu.’ Silly little pig.

CHAPTER 21

I

tell Bill about Wherrett’s answer, but he is surprisingly cool, almost dismissive. ‘That’s the way the game is played, Sonny Boy. That was his return serve. Don’t worry about it. Now, much more important, join us in the Hilton after work. I’m trying to establish diplomatic relations with Chang, Meredith and Tse. But, Old Chow has gone to his effing club, Cyril’s unlikely bloody company at the best of times and your nerdylooking mate’s swotting up on something or other.’ He sees the expression on my face. ‘Well, you know what I mean. He’s not really a nerd, even if he fucking looks like one.’ I burst out laughing. Bill continues. ‘So, someone’s got to represent Beddoes and company, apart from poor, old bloody Beddoes himself. No excuses.’ Bill loves to ring around his colleagues in other firms in order to meet for drinks after hours in one or other of the Central bars. He prefers pubs like Mad Dogs and Englishman, which means that few if any Chinese colleagues turn up. So his parties rotate between the pubs and the lounge of the Hilton or the Mandarin, with waiter service, where we Chinese feel more comfortable. I am not a serious drinker, but I do find the conversation enlightening to a young and inexperienced lawyer. You hear all those little stories about judges and their peccadilloes, the mistakes that other lawyers have made that one would do well to note, and to avoid. Martin is in his element, listening, making impressive interjections and sipping his hallmark drink: orange juice, tonic and bitters. And tonight it is drinks with Siu Ling’s firm. I wonder if she will attend. If she does, how will we get on? Last time we spoke, on the phone, we parted badly. I am nervous as I enter the lounge. She is here and there is an empty seat beside her. ‘Hello, Siu Ling. How are things?’ She looks up. ‘Chris! Wonderful to see you!’

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That is my cue. I sit beside her. She looks fabulous. She is dressed almost severely in a black suit, but the effect is lightened with a pale blue blouse, with lacy frills around her neck and wrists. She has abandoned the little girl’s ponytail. Now her hair is slightly wavy, shoulder length. She is wearing expensive-looking jewellery. She looks like what she is: a strikingly attractive and successful professional lady. Several others join the group, enabling us to move our chairs so we can talk more or less privately. ‘And you, Siu Ling. I am so pleased to hear how well you are doing. Honestly. Except, that is, when we are on opposite sides.’ We both laugh. The waiter pours my Carlsberg. I clink it against her gin and tonic. ‘Your very good health. And, speaking of being on the opposite side, I’m so glad you didn’t take on the Wherrett case. What happened?’ ‘I told Mr Chang I had personal reasons for not taking the case and suggested the firm did not take it either. I’m amazed you thought I ever would take it.’ ‘But you said you were thinking about it!’ She smiles sweetly. ‘I was teasing you! Honestly, Chris, it really does show how little you know me, after all.’ How in command she is. Indeed, how little do I know her, even though I have pierced and entered into the centre of her being. I lower my head, feeling something like a sense of betrayal. As if she was the one who had wronged me. Look at her now. She had kept her strength, her intelligence, her sophistication, a secret from me. This is the real Siu Ling, not the mischievous monkey-faced child who liked rubbing faces with me. ‘Siu Ling, now you are not on the Wherrett case, can we discuss it? I would really be interested in your reactions. Confidentially, of course.’ ‘Of course. Love to.’ She is serious again. I tell her about the facts, which are pretty clear, and about my strategy. She frowns. ‘I don’t understand why Wherrett would want to crosspetition. It’s suicidal! If the case is heard in Hong Kong the scandal would be terrific! An academic painted — by you — as a brothel-creeping gwailo! Wherrett must be out of his mind to so instruct his lawyer.’ I must say I had not thought of that. I had been worrying about my clever-clever strategy, instead of sizing up my enemy. ‘Thank you for that. I can imagine it. Prof would kill him!’ The party is beginning to break up. Bill calls across to me, ‘Gotta go, mate. Not like me I know, but the old girl’s arranged a do at Jimmy’s Kitchen. Well, aren’t you going to introduce me? You two have been


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yacking nineteen-to-the-dozen ever since you got here. Actually,’ he says, turning to Siu Ling, not waiting for my introduction, ‘I know very well who you are. Lai Siu Ling, an up-and-coming lawyer to watch. And watch I will, so help me. Now for the pleasure of shaking your pretty little hand. Bill Beddoes.’ She stands, with a little self-conscious giggle. ‘And I know of you, too, Mr Beddoes. You are famous. I would dread appearing for the defense against you.’ Wah, why do Chinese women, even Siu Ling, have to flatter Western men like this? She gives him her hand, which he kisses in an elaborate bow, murmurs something and leaves. Now there is just the two of us. ‘Another drink?’ ‘Please.’ I signal the waiter. ‘I hear you are engaged.’ ‘Word gets around fast.’ ‘Hong Kong is a small place. Anyway, congratulations.’ ‘Thank you. I thought you were engaged, too.’ For answer she spreads her left hand. There is no ring on her finger. ‘Whatever made you think that?’ ‘Er,’ I’m thrown. I recall the scene with Alan Pang at the turtle pond. I thought someone had told me they later became engaged. ‘I thought you and Alan Pang — ’ ‘Alan? Oh, no!’ She laughs, as at a ridiculous notion. ‘But,’ this is beginning to sound petty, the wrong tack entirely, ‘I saw you and him, beside the turtle pond. You rubbed your face in his.’ ‘I know. I saw you watching. That was the first and only time I have done that to anyone but you, Chris.’ I am flooded with relief. How selfish of me. She looks at me steadily for a moment, then continues. ‘Let’s not talk about the past, except to say that I’m not sorry about anything. As for the present, I love my work, I’m committed to these Legal Aid cases, and I’m thinking about going into politics.’ ‘I admire you, Siu Ling. You have such a sense of purpose. That is what you told me you wanted to do, way back, in our first camp together.’ I wanted to throw that in, to see her reaction. It was not what I expected. A look of pain crosses her face. ‘I said, let’s not talk about the past. Well, must go.’ We have hardly touched our drinks, but she stands, so I join her.

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‘Siu Ling, it has been wonderful talking to you. You have been a great help on the Wherrett thing. Really, you are a most impressive lawyer already, while I’m still fumbling.’ We walk out of the lounge and towards the escalator. I can’t help saying it. ‘But Siu Ling, you’re not going to, to, well, just become a career lawyer or a politician are you? I mean, you have so much — ’ I’m fine, I’m getting married to the lovely Emily. ‘No, Chris.’ She knows what I left unsaid. ‘I’m not the marrying kind. I do not believe I ever was. I’ll just have the occasional affaire. Joygeen.’ She waves and disappears down Queen’s Road. I walk away, her words in my ears: ‘… the occasional affaire. See you again.’ Wah! Is she letting me know she might be available? That now, even though I am about to be married, we might be occasional lovers? I couldn’t do that to Emily! What did she say? ‘You not only have cake, but eat it also.’ Dear Emily. You are my cake and I will eat only you. Really. Next morning, I have to call at the Attorney-General’s Chambers so it is not until well after ten o’clock that I enter the office. ‘Mr Wong,’ Jenny the receptionist says as soon as I appear at the door, ‘Mrs Wherrett is here to see you.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I took the liberty of letting her wait in your office. I hope you do not mind, but you will understand when you see her.’ I open the door of my office. Helen looks up at me from the chair where she is sitting. Her face is badly bruised and streaked with tears, one eye is closed. She is sobbing, in slow, irregular jerks. She is wearing an old dress, obviously thrown on in haste. ‘My dear Mrs Wherrett! Did your husband do this?’ She nods, pressing a tight, wet, wad of handkerchief against her mouth. ‘Have you been to see a doctor?’ She shakes her head. Struggling, she says, ‘I came to see you first. I did not want to go to the University Health Service, it is so … public.’ She cannot continue. ‘Well, I think you should first receive medical attention.’ Not only for your health, I think, but we need corroboration of this and the extent of the damage. ‘There is a very good doctor nearby, I’ll ask Jenny to make an immediate appointment. When you are feeling better, we can talk about the details of what happened.’


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I pause. ‘I would imagine your husband would do anything to keep this out of the local courts. I think you may assume that the problem of the jurisdiction has been solved, and that you have just had your alimony significantly increased. But the most important thing now is to check that you are not badly injured.’ A week later, I receive a letter from Wherrett’s lawyer, saying inter alia: ‘My client is withdrawing his objections to having the case Wherrett v. Wherrett being heard in Sydney. He has also decided that, in the circumstances, it would not be in the interests of the children of the marriage if he pursued his rightful claim for custody. Accordingly, he is prepared to pay a reasonable amount of maintenance. Might I suggest a meeting between the legal representatives of the two parties, with the intention that outstanding matters might be amicably resolved …’

CHAPTER 22

B

illy and Fanny are having dinner with us at La Ronde, the revolving restaurant in the Furama. We are telling them about our wedding arrangements. ‘Everything is going splendidly. For some unknown reason, Emily’s father thinks I’m a financial wizard and thoroughly approves. The only thing he insists on is that we postpone the wedding for at least another year. And I agree with him.’ ‘Good God, whatever for?’ To Fanny, delay is sacrilege once we’ve decided to marry. ‘I did my sums. I am going to have to save around half a million dollars.’ ‘What?’ Billy is shocked. ‘There’s the deposit on the golden house — an apartment in MidLevels. Then there’s the banquet, the dai lai — ’ ‘The what?’ ‘We want a traditional wedding,’ Emily explains, eyes sparkling. ‘Chris’s parents send presents to my family to confirm the agreement between our two families.’ ‘That’s feudal!’ Fanny butts in. ‘Maybe, but I’ll have to pay it, as Father’s little business couldn’t do justice to the Wu millions. But I really don’t mind. She’s worth every houji!’ I give Emily a cuddle. ‘God, don’t make me puke!’ Fanny laughs. ‘When’s the long delayed day to be then?’ ‘Sometime in June next year. Not sure of the exact date yet.’ ‘We must be careful to select a lucky day!’ Emily explains. Fanny laughs and pats Emily on the cheek. ‘You’re so sweet. Chris is a lucky guy!’ Fanny is fascinated by Emily, so unlike her. I look down from the restaurant window at the large hole that is the site of the new Bank of China Building. ‘Anyone who thinks Hong Kong is finished after the Handover had better think again. Look at all the money the Mainland is pouring into

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that big hole down there. They’re becoming more capitalistic than the capitalists. Reminds me. I’ll tell my father-in-law-to-be to invest in Bank of China. See? My half million might be a great investment, if you think about it. Anyway, how about your plans, ah?’ ‘Chris, you disappointment me. You should do it our way. Saturday the 25th, this month. 10 am Cotton Tree Drive Registry. Be there.’ ‘That’s it,’ Billy points downwards, ‘right there.’ ‘Wah, that’s only three weeks away!’ Emily sounds shocked. ‘No point in sitting on your butt, honey.’ I repress the desire to say what I feel — I’m envious. Emily might be hurt. ‘It’s simple,’ Billy takes over. ‘We’re already living in Fanny’s flat. Our parents are a trifle disappointed, but we’re the ones getting married, not them. We simply book a small banquet room — there.’ He points downwards to the Peking Garden Restaurant. ‘Table for twelve, that’s it. Two and a half, maybe three, thousand bucks. Close friends and family only. Done.’ I lean over and kiss Fanny, shake Billy’s hand. Emily kisses both of them. ‘To the happy couple,’ I raise my glass. ‘Chris, I want you to be best man.’ ‘My pleasure. Love to.’ ‘Emily,’ Fanny says, cautiously, ‘It’s not a big show at all, but I would like a couple of bridesmaids. I’d like you to be one — ’ This is the interesting part. Fanny had rung me up earlier and explained that she wanted Siu Ling to be a bridesmaid. She also wanted Emily, partly because of me, but also because she really likes Emily. ‘Chris,’ Fanny had asked me, ‘will that be a problem? Would you sound her out, kind of casual like?’ ‘What about Siu Ling? Is she happy about that?’ Fanny laughed over the phone. ‘Not a problem. Siu Ling’s just fine. She’s a completely together lady. In case you hadn’t noticed.’ ‘I had noticed, as a matter of fact. I’ll check Emily out.’ When I raised the matter, Emily cocked her head sideways at me. ‘Mummm. Is this right? The bridal party consists of the best man, his fiancée and his ex-mistress, ah?’ ‘Well, his fiancée and his ex-mistress would both be at the wedding anyway. Fanny couldn’t not invite Siu Ling to the wedding and they couldn’t not invite both of us. Being in the bridal party doesn’t make much difference. The question is: would you be able to handle meeting Siu Ling?’


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‘Could you?’ She looked at me quizzically. ‘No problem. Our relationship is a professional one.’ Near enough. ‘Well, in that case, I’d love to. I like Fanny very much.’ Which is exactly what Emily says now. ‘Thank you very much, Fanny. I’d love to be a bridesmaid.’ We agree it would be a good idea to meet Siu Ling first. ‘I know,’ Fanny says, ‘let’s meet in the Hilton Lounge, one night after work, for Happy Hour. Just a couple of drinks, to break the ice, kind of thing.’ ‘No,’ I say hurriedly, ‘not enough time. What about here for the buffet dinner? Same as tonight.’ I don’t want to risk the association with the ^ ^ Hilton Lounge. It might start Siu Ling blabbing about our tete-à-t ete. Well, why shouldn’t she, I ask myself? Nothing happened did it? I don’t know, I reply to myself. I’d just rather not. Siu Ling arrives first. She is sipping a gin-and-tonic, dressed as usual with simple good taste, looking very much the professional lady. She stands on seeing me and extends her hand to Emily. Emily, bless her, surprises me with her Western manners. She takes her hand and kisses Siu Ling lightly on the cheek. ‘I’m Emily,’ she says before I can formally introduce them ‘I’ve heard so much about you. It is good that we meet. And I’m so pleased we shall be bridesmaids together!’ Wah, my Emily, only recently a schoolgirl! What poise, what sophistication! I love you so much for that. Siu Ling appears to respond warmly. ‘Congratulations on your engagement, Emily. I’ve already congratulated Chris.’ She then turns to me. ‘Hello, Chris, good to see you again.’ Unfortunately, Billy and Fanny are late, as usual. While we wait, we order drinks and, after that brilliant beginning, the conversation becomes forced. I am uncomfortable. Here is the girl who I once loved passionately, and whose body I know intimately, talking to the girl who I now love passionately, and will marry, and whose body is a complete mystery. And what about Siu Ling? What must she be feeling? Does she see herself as a twice-loser? Or has she wiped me right out of her system? She doesn’t seem troubled, as she makes conversation with my future wife. Unlike me. I am profoundly relieved when Fanny and Billy finally arrive. But, overall, the night is a success. With some drinks and Fanny’s lively banter, I cast off my morbid introspection. It seems it was a good idea, after all.

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On the way home, Emily says, ‘Chris, she is lovely. Do you know what? That makes me feel very special. That you are happy to marry me, after — ’ She stops. She gives me that sidelong look. ‘You are happier to be marrying me? Mummm?’ ‘Oh bo bui! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!’ Whatever silly fantasies I had constructed when I was recently alone with Siu Ling, I now know them to be just fantasy. Seeing Siu Ling again, with Emily, reminded me that the stars had changed in their courses and there was no return.

CHAPTER 23

W

e are eating one of those amazing Shanghai dinners, during which I give Old Wu my latest summation of the financial scene. I tell him I think the stock market is over-priced and will crash, sooner or later. I had read that prediction in the financial pages of the South China Morning Post. Most commentators disagreed and called the writer ‘Dr Doom’, but his argument was plausible enough to make dinner-time conversation with Old Wu. ‘Sai Ba, the Hang Seng is nearly 4,000, that is three times what it was only three years ago! Add to that the uncertainty about the future of Hong Kong, the ordinary people wanting more elections, big business appeasing China by wanting less democracy — ’ He interrupts. ‘Chris, the only way to run a country is how I run my business. And my family. I am the boss, I know what I want for my companies. No talking back, no union nonsense.’ Wu thumps the table. Not for the first time, I wonder what I am letting myself in for by marrying into this family. I need to establish myself. ‘Well, China may want Hong Kong to be run like you would run your business, but do you know what my prediction is?’ ‘And what might your prediction be?’ He glares back at me, not sure if am daring to argue with him or not. I wink at Emily, who despite all her father’s dai hau hei, gets exactly what she wants from him. The surly old bear is a gentle panda in her hands. ‘That the Hang Seng will crash, and sooner rather than later.’ I then state the obvious. ‘If that is the case, I would sell in the near future, and buy up big when prices are down, because they won’t stay down the way China is investing so heavily in Hong Kong.’ He nods, grunts and sips his brandy, while I weave my own elaboration of Dr Doom’s argument. I look at him and see that he is appraising me, with a cunning look on his face. ‘I think you are right, Chris. I think it might be time to start selling some stock. Hmmm.’ ‘Well, Sir, I certainly would.’

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‘And what would Chris recommend that I then buy? After this crash that he talks about, ah?’ ‘Red Chips, and the most “respectable” joint ventures where backed by the PRC Government, such as CITIC, China Telecom, China Merchants — they are investing in a big new hotel complex in Sai Ying Pun.’ I rattle off these names as they come to mind. Whether I like it or not, I am certain China will want a Hong Kong that protects China’s interests, financial as well as otherwise. ‘Oh yes, and then there’s Li Ka Shing. Whatever he touches turns to gold. And he’s close to Beijing.’ ‘Hutchison-Whampoa and Cheung Kong Holdings, yes, good idea. Chris, you are a financial genius!’ I’m unsure if the old bastard is patronising me or not. He rises from the table, I’m pleased to see, and takes his bottle of Courvoisier into his large study, where he says he is going to ‘check the books’. I hope he isn’t, for the sake of the books. There will not be much cognac left before he goes to bed. Now, at last, we can talk about what really interests me. We go to the living room. Emily’s mother sits in her chair watching television, while we go to the chairs facing the bay window. There is a Number 3 Typhoon Signal up, and rain is smashing against the glass, shattering the lights from Hong Kong below us into shiny golden fragments, which break and roll down the glass. We are on to our favourite topic of conversation: wedding arrangements. The date, most important. ‘It has to be a happy and a lucky day!’ Emily cries. ‘Of course it will be, if we are married on it,’ I say softly. ‘No, la. It must be selected first. Auntie Chan knows about these things. I’ll consult her.’ ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but just remember it has to be a happy and a lucky Saturday. We get a longer honeymoon that way. Yes, the honeymoon. Where?’ ‘Lantau! We must at least start on Lantau.’ Emily’s eyes light up at the thought. ‘Of course! Three days in the best room at the Silvermine Bay Hotel ah?’ That is easily agreed. What then, China? ‘Father says we should go to Shanghai to trace our ancestors.’ ‘Not for our honeymoon, la! My boss says Australia is an ideal place for a honeymoon. “Sinney is honeymoon city, mite!” I try to imitate Bill’s accent.


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‘Australia. Wah, those cute koala bears! The Great Barrier Reef was on Jade the other night. You can go on a boat to the reef and go scuba diving. I would love to do that!’ This is more like it. When I tell her that I think they have ballet at the Sydney Opera House, the decision is made. Ten days in Australia. ‘Now, the guest list.’ Emily writes in the notebook on her lap, as we run through family and friends, her friends, my friends. Including Siu Ling, we both agree. ‘It would look worse if we didn’t. Like there was something still there. And there isn’t, is there? Mummm?’ She looks playfully at me in her sideways way. I look back at the television screen. ‘Hey, there’s a Number 8 signal! Look at the rain outside, it’s terrible.’ ‘Good. Now you’ll have to stay the night,’ she says. ‘I’d better check that one of the spare rooms is made up. Come on.’ The house has a guest wing. She looks into the room nearest the main part of the house. It is large, with a made-up double bed, and its own toilet and bathroom. Wah, like a five-star hotel. She pulls back the coverlet and feels the sheets. ‘I’ll ask Ah Mui to change them. They feel a little damp. Now, back to business.’ An hour or so later, we reach the staggering conclusion that with all the Wu friends and business contacts, who ‘must’ be asked, she says, there will be more than 190 guests: roughly 16 tables! Wah, with one bottle of cognac per table, another ‘must’ Emily says, who has talked this over with her father, there will be little change, if any, from $50,000. My $50,000! I envy the Western bridegroom, whose father-in-law pays. ‘Don’t worry,’ Emily pats my arm. ‘I’ll see that Father adjusts the lai see accordingly. And he will arrange a good deal at his club. They do beautiful wedding banquets there. It’s late. Remember the way to your room?’ ‘No, bo bui, I’ve forgotten already. Better show me, la!’ We can kiss in private there. I say goodnight to Emily’s mother, but she is fast asleep in front of the television. ‘I’ll take her to her room, after I’ve taken you to yours.’ She sees me to the door. I open it and we look at each other. I incline my head towards the open door. She smiles, a secret smile, and slips inside first. We wrap ourselves in each other’s arms and nibble each other’s lips. We fall on to the bed, still kissing. She breaks. ‘Stop, la!’ She sits up, wiping her mouth with her hand. ‘Better see to Mother. Oh, I forgot a towel. I’ll bring you a dressing gown, too, and a T-shirt to sleep in.’

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She pats my face, while I am still lying there, and gracefully unrolls off the bed and is out the door in one balletic movement. I get up and take off my shirt, shoes and socks, as I look out the window. The rain is like a solid wall now, the lights below obliterated. I am highly aroused. I know Emily wants to save herself until marriage and I am very happy to do that, too. But, now, just to hold her, kiss her, perhaps to kiss her breasts! Perhaps, dare I think this, to lie naked together, without touching, just looking. Well, yes, a little touching. What an unspeakably wonderful torture that would be! I see her reflection in the window, as she re-enters. She is carrying a white robe and is herself dressed in one. Is she naked underneath? I pretend not to see her, as she pads up behind me without a sound. She whispers into my ear, ‘Put this on, la!’ I extend my arms behind me and she slips the robe on. ‘Turn round.’ We are facing each other. She holds my face and kisses me. Again, we fall gently on to the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. My legs try to intertwine with hers. ‘Chris, darling, just hold me. Nothing more. And in case you are wondering, I am wearing my underclothes.’ I undo her robe. ‘So you are.’ And so we lie, kissing, nibbling, our fingers touching only exposed flesh. ‘Only a year, sweetheart, only a year.’ I am aching, bursting with such a wild desire. I look into her eyes. Her irises are huge, black, bottomless pools. Our ravenous hunger is mutual. I slip my hand inside her panties and feel for her centre. She is moist already. I will make her come, gently. She makes incoherent noises, then suddenly, she rolls away from me. She buries her head into the pillow and sobs, with great tearing sounds, as if her heart is being destroyed. Shocked, I lay my face against her wet cheek. ‘Bo bui, whatever’s the matter? Darling — ’ I’m thinking of Siu Ling’s outbursts. Are all women like this, liable to burst into screaming frenzies when sex looms? She turns her face to mine, her eyes brimming tears, but she is smiling. Her sobbing turns to laughter. ‘Oh Chris, it was just too much! I can’t cope with all that — that, oh!’ She buries her head on my shoulder, laughing and crying. I pat her tenderly. After a few minutes, she stops, reaches over for the tissue pack by the bed and blows her nose.


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‘Must go. I daren’t stay another minute! Love you.’ She blows me a kiss, giving me the most ecstatic smile. There is a flash of white and the door closes. I can’t cope either. It definitely is too much. I have barely even touched myself, when I too bury my head in the pillow to muffle my shouting.

CHAPTER 24

‘N

inety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents! Pay up, or we won’t let you in!’ Flora shrieks at me through the iron security screen. She presses her grinning face against the grille. She pokes her tongue out, first at me, then at Billy. ‘M’duk! Nine dollars and ninety cents!’ Billy shouts back, looking most unBilly-like in his tuxedo, bending so that his face is level with hers. ‘Cheapskate!’ Flora yells. ‘Lucy, you talk him up!’ She twists away from the gate, doing a little dance, so that her splendidly coloured skirt flares out in a swirl. ‘Nine thousand dollars.’ sings Lucy in her more tolerable contralto. She mouths a kiss through the grille. ‘Too much!’ bawls Billy ‘Ninety-nine dollars.’ ‘No way! No money! No entry!’ Flora is back, screeching, clutching the gate, jangling the keys in Billy’s face. ‘Nine hundred and ninety-nine,’ he replies. ‘If he wants his bride, he has to pay, la!’ Lucy now does her little dance, looking provocatively at us over her shoulder. They both are so cute! But it is time we finish this ritual. I confer with Billy. ‘Last offer, then. One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars,’ he calls, while I wave my lai see packet at them. ‘Each!’ Lucy sings seductively, pursing her lips at me. ‘No, you share, la!’ I blow a kiss back. ‘Poo! Only if you sing us a song, then,’ Flora pouts. I slip the red packet under the door and stand there in my dinner jacket and bow tie. I sing a Chinese song that I had learned specially. Silver moon in plum blossom, How beautiful you are! So beautiful artists cannot paint you, And paint what is true.

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Poets cannot sing to you, And sing what is true. Yet my bride is more beautiful than you! Jealous moon, jealous plum blossom, Admit that is true!

I am nervous and out of tune, but Flora and Lucy stand demurely while I sing, their heads down, their hands pressed together in front of them. They bow when I finish and unlock the gate. It is only the beginning. They lead Billy and I into the living room where the Wu relatives are assembled. The air is thick with incense. Emily is in her room, waiting for me to collect her. She is dressed in her red bridal gown. We are not supposed to touch yet, but of course we do. A quick cuddle and a kiss, before I lead her in to the living room. How I want to stop this nonsense, just crush her in my arms, marry quickly and whisk her off for our honeymoon! But no, it has to be the tea ceremony. We offer tea to Emily parents, in Wu’s beautiful little china cups, full of the delicate-smelling green tea he has specially ordered from Yunnan, the leaves picked by trained monkeys. We kowtow and my future parents-in-law give us the lai see. The packets feel fat. I catch Emily’s eye. We are both thinking the same thing: will our lai see cover the banquet? We both giggle. Emily then receives her presents. No surprises. As tradition dictates, necklace and bangles of the purest quality gold. We offer tea to Emily’s relatives, who stand and bow to us, as we pass to each an exquisite little cup of the expensive but by now lukewarm tea. She changes into a white Western-style wedding dress, and then it is time to go to Cotton Tree Drive. The ceremony passes in a blur. I clearly remember only the most important moment. Emily and I each promise ourselves exclusively to the other. Billy passes me the ring, I slip it on her finger. Then I kiss this woman who is now my wife. As soon as the ceremony is finished, there is more frenetic activity. Cars whisk us to Western District, to Ah Ba’s house, where we repeat the tea ceremony with Ah Ba and Ah Ma and my relatives. Again, we receive lai see — packets not as fat as those Emily’s parents gave us — and Emily still more gold: delicate chains and another bangle, from Ah Ma. Ah Ma is wah-ing and wor-ing over how lovely Emily looks, but then Ah Yan always was so popular with the girls, he looks so happy, what a dignified ceremony it was, except you, Ah Ba, you kept fidgeting, dang dang, dang dang. Again, I surge with longing to be done with all this and go away with my bride! We are both exhausted already and there is still the banquet to face.


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Our honeymoon arrangements are even better than we had planned. We were going to spend the first three days in Lantau. We badly wanted to be there for the first night of our marriage, but when we checked ferry times and, not knowing precisely when we could leave the banquet, we decided it was too much of a hassle. So, reluctantly, we agreed to go straight from the club to spend the first night at the Mandarin. Then Emily discovered that one of her father’s friends, who is a guest, had a fast motor launch. ‘Father! Tell him what his present can be! Take us to Lantau, wor!’ Old Wu cannot refuse Emily anything and so it is arranged. What a romantic way to start our honeymoon! Just thinking about it lifts my exhaustion. I whisper to Emily, so the others cannot hear, ‘Tonight, bo bui, will be the best night of our lives! I can’t wait!’ But it is not over yet. The bridal cars return to the Wu mansion for the ceremony of sam chiu wui mun, which Emily is keen to preserve, at least in spirit. In olden times, three day’s after the ceremony, the bridal couple return to the bride’s house, the final visit before returning to live with the bridegroom’s family. There they present more gifts to the bride’s parents. For us, these are token, fortunately for the golden house. Emily then changes yet again into a traditional red wedding dress. Her elaborately coiffured hair, startling eyes, flawless skin, combined with her traditional dress, make it seem that a porcelain statue, crafted by the finest sculptors an Emperor could commission, has come to life. I whisper to her how utterly magnificent she looks. She squeezes my hand and does something a statue of that magnificence would never do: she smiles shyly at me. And now, mercifully, it is time to go to the club for the banquet. The guests are standing around sipping drinks when we arrive. We mingle, a whirl of familiar faces; we kiss, we shake hands. I find myself facing Siu Ling, looking poised and elegant. ‘Congratulations to you both. Emily, you look absolutely beautiful!’ She kisses Emily on the lips, but presents a cheek, sideways, to me. I sneak a look at her eyes while I kiss her. She is looking downward, expressionless. I feel sorry that the eyes of my previous lover convey nothing more; I feel guilty that, on my wedding day, even for a moment, I wanted to see more. Then we have to pose for the official photographs. Half an hour of standing with a fixed smile leaves my face twitching. The banquet is ten courses, each dish full of significance for the newly weds. Just before the sharks’ fin soup course, Emily retires to change yet

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again, into a less formal wedding dress. She emerges from classical Imperial China to modern Hong Kong. Her beauty is timeless. Now her dress is more revealing, with open, lace-work around her sleeves and a neckline daring for a bride at her own wedding. Her natural dignity allows her to get away with it, without offending in the least. During the soup course we go the rounds of the tables with our respective parents. First the parents, then Emily and I, we thank them for coming, while they toast us in return. I fear I might drink too much, the last thing I would want to do on this night of all nights, so I keep my glass filled with tea. It looks like brandy. We retire to the head table, for the remaining courses. Our last course is sweet lotus seed soup, to bring us fertility. When we have nearly finished, my university friends surge to the table, all except Siu Ling who stays in the background. Their glasses are filled to the brim. Even Martin looks drunk. ‘No, not yet. Wait!’ Emily shouts, and quickly drains her soup. ‘You too, la!’ She picks up my soup bowl and forces me to drink it all in one gulp. ‘Wah! So many children!’ Flora shrieks, standing on her seat, grinning like a naughty street urchin. Then they shout for toast after toast. They are trying to make me drunk. To make sure, Eric snatches my tea glass away and forces a full brandy glass into my hand. Fanny, bless her, would not want me to be drunk and incapable on this night of nights, so she sets up a distraction from all the drinking. She produces an apple on a string and, standing on a chair, dangles it in front of us. Emily and I are supposed to eat it, with our hands behind our back. There are shrieks and yells of laughter as we deliberately miss the apple to kiss each other. I whisper, ‘Sneak out now, la, and change into your going-away dress!’ She returns in twenty minutes in a light pink skirt and a sleeveless waistcoat, a revealing light blouse underneath, her hair tied in a beautifully embroidered red headband. Whatever she changes into — this must be her fourth change today! — she looks perfect. How ever could this creature, whose perfection is recreated in everything she does, possibly be my wife? As soon as she appears, there are loud ‘Wahs!’ from my friends’ table. Billy and Alex stand and shout: ‘A TOAST FOR THE BRIDE!’ This is out of order, but a forest of arms, from other tables, too, reaches to the ceiling, each arm brandishing a glass: ‘THE BRIDE!’ Emily looks startled and then, blushing and smiling, head bowed, she walks up to me, we kiss, I take her arm and we head for the door. Our parents, Emily and I then line up at the door to see the guests off, thanking them once again for coming to the banquet. I sag with relief that all this is now over.


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But no, it is not quite over yet. As we drive away, Emily sits up: ‘The light! You forgot the bedroom light!’ So I did. I instruct the driver to go to our new apartment in Conduit Road. I race inside and switch on the light in our bedroom. There it will shine until we come back from the honeymoon. Disaster averted! According to Auntie Chan, anyway. When we arrive at Queen’s Pier, just outside the City Hall, we find that a small crowd of guests has come to see us off. With more cheers and farewells, cameras clicking, a final, rushed, slobbering kiss from Fanny, we clamber aboard the launch, where it has been waiting, its engine throbbing gently. We sink into a padded bench-seat in the stern. The engine surges and the launch sweeps round and heads westwards. Beside me, my arm around her, is the most beautiful woman in the world. Rushing past us, is the most beautiful harbour in the world. Mr and Mrs Wong are alone at last.

CHAPTER 25

I

tip the bell captain, leaving us alone in our honeymoon suite. There is a queen-sized bed and, in the en suite, the promised spa. We have a sea view. In the distance are the lights of Hong Kong. I look at Emily. My darling must be nervous. I will be as gentle as I possibly can be. I would delay consummating our marriage if this would ease her apprehension. But she is traditional enough to want it to be consummated tonight. So be it. I lead her to the window and open it, my arm around her. It is a warm night. A light surf hisses below, white waves break in the darkness. I smell sea, warm night smells and roasting seafood and garlic from the hawkers’ stalls below. But the most delicious smell of all is the fragrance of my beautiful wife beside me. I feel her trembling under my arm. She looks up at me, so tenderly, little tears in her eyes and buries her face in my neck. But it is she who breaks the spell. ‘Inside, la! I want to show you something.’ She takes a pair of pink, silk pyjamas from her suitcase. ‘You know what these are?’ ‘Pyjamas?’ A silly, dear question! ‘I wore these under the bridal gown today. It is the custom. I first wore them last night, at home, for the Seong Tau Ceremony.’ ‘Seong Tau?’ ‘Yes, I sat in a chair while Old Auntie Chan stood behind me, combing my hair in front of my family and the bridesmaids. We asked Auntie Chan because she has the most children and grandchildren. She combed my hair three times, from the scalp to the very end of each hair. Each time she wished something. You and I will grow old together, until our hair and eyebrows turn white — ’ ‘Eh? What about after our hair has turned white?’ I interrupt, laughing. She wags her finger at me to shush me. ‘Only telling you the custom, la! And also she wishes we have plenty of children and grandchildren.’ ‘Agreed!’

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Suddenly her demeanor changes. ‘Then stupid old Auntie Chan dropped the comb.’ ‘So?’ ‘That is such bad luck! She was quite upset. It means that we may not grow old together. One of us may, oh, die!’ Tears start rolling down her face. ‘Or we will divorce — ’ She is crying freely now. ‘Hey, hey! Sor jyu, sor jyu!’ I kiss her wet cheeks, hold her so tight against me. ‘What a silly business! You don’t believe that, surely?’ She sniffs. ‘No, not really. But Auntie Chan was so upset. Flora seemed upset, too, and giggled in an embarrassed way. Fanny turned to Lucy and whispered in English ‘What crap!’ loud enough for me to hear — ’ ‘Good old Fanny!’ I laugh. ‘ — when everything else was so perfect. Why did that have to happen? Why, Chris?’ ‘You’re just tired, darling. You’ll think nothing of it by tomorrow. I’m exhausted, you must be feeling worse.’ Now is the time to start, gently, ever so gently. ‘How about a spa? It will help us to relax. You go into the bathroom first, get the spa going, and sit in it. I’ll undress out here and then join you! Hide under the bubbles, la!’ She looks grateful and goes into the bathroom. I undress and wait until I hear the spa going. ‘Ready? Close your eyes, tightly!’ I call through the door. I quickly step inside. Only her knees, head and shoulders are visible above the foam. She is pressing a palm flat against each eye. She looks so cute! I ease myself into the spa beside her. ‘Open now.’ We are dressed in bubbling water. We cuddle, kiss and our hands move. Our fingers see what our eyes cannot. We smile, say very little, but stare into each other’s eyes, nibbling little kisses. My excitement is intense, but not the least impatient. We have all the time in the world. It is not like the explosive impatience I felt in her home, the night of the typhoon. ‘Ready?’ She nods. ‘Close your eyes again.’ I get out and pick up a huge bath towel and wrap it around me. I hold another out for her. ‘Open, now. Here, walk into this towel.’ We rub each other dry through our towels. Now it is time. I allow my towel to fall and gently take hers away. Her body is more perfect than


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I had ever imagined possible, but I don’t dwell on looking. I have a lifetime to explore her, when she will not be shy. I take her by the hand and lead her into the bedroom. We lie down, on our sides, facing each other. She is smiling, her eyes huge and soft. I trace my fingers over her body. I touch her everywhere, but there. Not yet. But then she draws me to her. Looking earnestly into my eyes, she moves as if to mount me. My darling is telling me: Yes, yes. Now!

CHAPTER 26

W

e sleep late next morning and order breakfast in bed. I am amazed, delighted, at how passionate she was, so pleased our love-making seemed painless for her. She flinched just a little. It was probably because she is fit and flexible from dancing. But no, not for a second do I question her virginity. Her every word, her every gesture, speaks of innocence, love and crystalline honesty. We plan to walk up Lantau Peak tomorrow to revisit the place where we first met. Today is to give ourselves completely to each other. After the tension, the passion and, yes, the ritual of last night, today is to gently explore this new world we have discovered together. ‘It is so easy, Chris, now that we are married. I am yours, my body is yours. I’ll do anything you want me to do. Anything. That is what I feel.’ ‘I feel the same. My body, too, is yours.’ I hesitate. ‘But does it matter to you, that, that,’ I stumble into legalese, ‘there was a time, that, as it were, others might have claimed possession? Oh, Emily, forgive my pomposity, but you know what I am trying to say! Does it matter to you that I was not a virgin?’ ‘I thought it would. But no, it doesn’t. It made things easier. You were so in charge and so thoughtful. But,’ she looks deliciously wicked as she gives me that sidelong look of hers, ‘I insist on one thing. I want you to do to me what you have done to others. Everything. There must be nothing that someone else has experienced with you, that I have not. That is my only condition.’ ‘What, now? Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be capable!’ ‘No, silly. Before our hair and eyebrows turn white.’

It is early June, hot and humid. I am beginning to think that our plan to walk up Lantau Peak in this weather is not very clever. We are dressed lightly and, while Emily is probably in good shape with all her dancing, I doubt that I am. We buy two large bottles of water. We take the bus to Po Lin and leave the decision as to how far we walk until then. It is cooler there. We explore Ngong Ping again,

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where the Lap Sap Chung was killed, and where Emily and the others performed the si dai mo, the ribbon dance. We happily relive these memories. I notice that Lantau Peak is now covered with cloud. It might not be so hot after all. We decide to walk up to the cloud-line and then see how we feel. We feel good and continue beyond. Just to step into the cool mist is to enter a fairyland. Stumpy trees become friendly little people, large rocks their houses. There is a smell, cool and moist, of a garden after rain. The grass is a soft, deep green, tiny white bubbles of mist cling to the tussocks. I see a movement in the grass. It is a little snake, about a foot long. It is a brilliant green, its eyes black dots, and they look up at me. It swirls away, a dancer leaving the stage. Emily is my dancer. I hold her at arm’s length and then let her go, stepping carefully backward until she is a vague shape in the mist. I walk forward, she reappears. Here she is! My Emily. The path leads steeply upwards, stones forming a curving staircase. Inside this cocoon of mist it is cool. We are surprised how quickly we reach the top. Here is the place where we first met. Here is the rock on which we sat. We lie down upon it. This is how I tucked my parka around her legs. I pull down her shorts, and mine. We are conjoined for a delicious minute, but we do not allow ourselves to be gripped by our passion. We will save that for tonight. We continue. Suddenly, like a camera shutter, the sun has opened a pin-hole in the cloud. We can see Chek Lap Kok, that skull-shaped island, far below, a brilliant picture framed in billowing white. Then the shutter closes. Down, down, the staircase plunges, out of the clouds, into brilliant sun, and here is Tung Chung Road. We can either wait in the heat for a very occasional bus or we can continue, up Sunset Peak, and then finally, to Mui Wo and Silvermine Bay Hotel. It is not difficult to decide. Looking up the trail, we see that Sunset Peak is also cloud-covered. Our journey will be cool there too. We enter this second fairyland of cloud and stick people. Near the summit, still cool, damp and opaque, a herd of ghostly cattle suddenly loom out of the mist. They are wild Brahmins, with flat noses, dripping moisture. The trail is narrow and on either side the ground falls away precipitously. Emily is frightened. ‘Aiyaa! What if they charge us? They could just come in a bunch and push us off the track and over the edge! Darling, let’s go back. Quickly, la!’


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I am not afraid. Brahmins are gentle animals. ‘Jao, la! Jao, la!’ I order them. They understand Cantonese. Obediently, the bovine ghosts melt into the mist. Emily rests her head on my shoulder in relief. The descent is more gradual and, through another pinhole, we get a tantalising glimpse of what we could have seen if there was no cloud: a steep cliff plunging down and, far below, a fishing village. I feel I could throw a stone through the pin-hole and it would come down, splash!, beside the two fishermen I see sitting in a sampan, wetting them, amazing them. Then, without warning, we step into brilliant sunshine again. We are about half-way down the mountain. The track winds less steeply here. It finishes at Mui Wo, not too far away now. We arrive back at the hotel by late afternoon, hot, sweat-soaked and faint with exhaustion, dehydration and hunger. We had not expected to be walking all day and had not brought anything to eat with us apart from a couple of snack bars, and the water. My legs are weak, ready to collapse under me. We have walked nearly twelve difficult miles, I discover when I consult the map I had left behind at the hotel. The spa cures much of our discomfort. There is an excellent dai pai dong near the ferry wharf and that will take care of the rest of our problems. Meanwhile, we are lying naked on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep, nuzzling and caressing each other. ‘What did that gwaipor teach you?’ Emily suddenly asks, raising her head. ‘Hmmm? Don’t understand.’ ‘You know, that so upset Siu Ling?’ Beautiful deep eyes rest softly on mine. It strikes me how pure the whites of her eyes are, how soft and velvety her irises. A little at a time. I roll her over on her side, facing me. I moisten my index finger. I rest the palm of my hand on her buttock, then gently ease my index finger into her. Her eyes widen, as she realizes what I am about to do, then she shudders, just a little, and screws her eyes shut. They open, soft and clear. She wriggles closer to me. ‘Deeper,’ she murmurs into my ear. I am back at my desk. The phone rings. ‘Well mate, how did you and the little lady like Godzone?’ ‘Like what?’ Bill always makes me think it is my fault, not his, that I do not understand him. ‘God’s Own Country, for Christ’s sake! Welcome back. Join us in Mad Dogs after work and tell us about it. Meanwhile, I’ve got a little job for you.’

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Now I have visited Australia, I am beginning to understand his free and easy ways, even his use of the English language. I had trouble enough trying to understand street Australian, but Emily was quite lost. So I arrive home a little late this evening. Emily smells the beer on my breath and wrinkles her nose, a gentle way of registering her disapproval. ‘Sorry, bo bui. Bill insisted I tell him all about our honeymoon trip to Australia.’ ‘All? You dare!’ ‘Well, I just told him that I love you wildly, madly, more than anyone has loved anyone else ever before!’ She melts and then looks apologetic. ‘Chris, I’m afraid dinner is not very good. I spoilt the choy sum. Unfortunately, I don’t have Ah Yu to do the cooking for me.’ As soon as I walked in the door, my nose detected burning. We go into the kitchen and beside the stove are torn packets of instant noodle soup, on the gas ring the soup is simmering in a claypot. The rice cooker is steaming, at least that is fail-safe. My stomach tells me of its disappointment, suggesting we should eat out tonight. Emily is hurt. She can see my disappointment. Emily, the poor little rich girl, who, for as long as she can remember, has had a maid to do the cleaning, a cook to do the cooking. Her mother taught her none of these skills. I put my arms around her. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can easily afford a live-in maid.’ I nod towards the maid’s room that is off the kitchen. ‘It’s less then three thousand a month.’ It was the wrong thing to say. She pulls away. ‘No, la! I am your wife. I will look after you the way a wife should. I will learn how to do these things. I have time. Maybe when Wong Tsai comes along! I will need some help then.’ ‘Done.’ I decide that I won’t wait for Wong Tsai to actually arrive, I’ll go to an agency the instant she is pregnant — and may that be very soon! But at this stage of our marriage, the thing to do is to make fun of our problems. Eating out is not an option. ‘What are you talking about? The choy sum smells delicious! Raise your chopsticks, la! And afterwards, I have a special treat — the honeymoon photographs! I picked them up on my way home.’ We quickly finish eating. Emily is excited. ‘Wah, it will be like living it all over again.’ I took ten rolls of film, a roll a day. I took everything that I thought would remind us in years to come of this fabulous start to our marriage. I could scarcely believe how quickly Emily changed. Before marriage,


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she was virginal and inexperienced, even prim. After marriage, she is the enthusiastic sensualist, ever eager to experiment. She even out-Felicities Felicity! It is not just that she is making a point; her commitment to our physical relationship is deeply felt and passionate. The expression of our love now knows no bounds, no bounds at all. But these are very private matters and here are the photos of the public side of our honeymoon. I captured the things about Sydney that we found so appealing. The Rocks, the Opera House, the new Darling Harbour, the monorail, which disgusted many Australians, although I could not imagine why. I thought it was wonderful to ride in a train like it was hanging in mid-air, and look down on to their old historic streets. But it was the Opera House that Emily loved best, or rather what went on inside it. She was overjoyed to find that my informed guess was correct: the ballet season was indeed in progress. We saw Giselle, Ondine and Swan Lake. Her happiness was so transparent, just to see her face during performances, gazing raptly at the stage, was worth ten times the exorbitant price we paid for the tickets. This was one visual image, unfortunately, I could not capture in the photos. Sydney impressed us in another, and very particular, way. It prompted us to revisit the question so many Hong Kong people were already asking themselves: what if things go badly wrong in Hong Kong? Many had already concluded that they would. I had read in the paper that last year more than 30,000 Hong Kongers had emigrated. Australia was a favourite choice and we were beginning to see why. Would we ever feel we should emigrate? I don’t know, but if we did, it seemed to be the place to go. We also had the wherewithal. I presented Old Wu with a fortune last year. He disposed of a daringly large portion of his share portfolio, only weeks before the October crash and, afterwards, he bought up on a grand scale those China-friendly stocks that I had mentioned. In the course of a few weeks, he must have made more than ten million dollars, but he would not be specific about the details to me. To be fair, he showed his gratitude by buying some shares in Emily’s name. I had little liquidity myself, as I was saving for our apartment, but I borrowed as much as I dared and invested it all. Now, between the two of us, we could easily afford a house in Sydney, if ever the occasion rose. So we played the game all couples must surely play when on their honeymoon. How would we like to live here, us and our imaginary children? Or here, perhaps? We rented a car, to get the feel of Sydney. We loved the leafy streets of the northern suburbs, with their large houses and big gardens for children to play in. How much better than the cramped high-rises in Hong Kong! And so cheap, compared with

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Hong Kong prices. The air there was clean, the people friendly. I was impressed that, even in winter, we saw people swimming at Manly Beach. Yes, whatever the political situation might turn out to be in Hong Kong, to live in Australia could be very pleasant. Emily thought her poor English would be a problem and it would be, too, but only for a while; she was smart enough to learn. The real negatives would be associated with my job. I doubt I could get anything like the money I now earned in Hong Kong in Australia, and their legal system was a different one. No, we were dreaming, but what a splendid dream for a couple on their honeymoon! These imaginings made us feel even closer. We flew north, stopping in Cairns for a couple of days en route to our main target: the resort on Green Island, a beautiful tropical paradise. Although the calendar said ‘winter’, it was beautifully warm. For five dreamy days, we would not be sightseeing, looking outwards at what lay in the world beyond. No, here we would look inwards, at what lay within the worlds of our two selves. So my photos here were not of things, but of us, particularly of Emily. Emily in her bikini, feeding fish; Emily, outmatching in beauty the brilliant tropical sun dropping into the sea behind her; Emily in the resort swimming pool. Here is one of both of us, taken by another young couple, eating an enormous meal of fish and tropical fruit. And here is my favourite. She is in a bikini of an iridescent white, her body is turned threequarters towards the camera, her nearest leg lifted and bent at the knee, her arms behind her head, and she is smiling the most ravishing smile, straight into the camera. See? Her extraordinary beauty is not just my biased perception. Here is the objective evidence. I feel like a film director, who has toured the world in search of exactly the right star, and here she is, in the classic pose of a star. Aiyaa, looking at it now, I suddenly realize it was the pose Siu Ling adopted, naked, on a beach in Lantau. I turn to the next photo. Underwater, Emily took to scuba diving like a fish. I did not know she could swim so well. I must say that I myself felt uneasy with all that water around me, below me, and especially above me. But not her. I bought an underwater camera, and here are the results. Here she is, reaching out to a dozen, small, brilliantly coloured fish. They had a radar system. No matter how carefully, or how quickly, she reached out to them, they immediately placed themselves a constant eighteen inches from the tips of her fingers. By the end of our stay, Emily’s skin — her skin that the world could see, that is — was the colour of strong bo lei tea, with a splash of milk.


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She was so pleased about that. She was impressed by the dark, brown bodies of so many Australian women at the resort, especially those with bright yellow hair. They looked so healthy, so sporty, she said. I disagreed, and still do. Anyone can turn brown. But very few women have that lovely, creamy-white perfect skin, the epitome of classic Chinese beauty. It is the skin that Emily has naturally. This reminds me of an incident during our day in Cairns. I shuffle through the photos. Yes, here we both are, standing beside the tour bus, where we had stopped at Mareeba, on our tour through the Atherton Tableland. The tour guide was explaining: ‘We had our own gold rush here, last century,’ he said, his gravelly voice rumbling up from the feet of his long, white socks, ‘further west, out Mt Mulligan way. Hordes of people came to try their luck. Much the same happened here as in the Victorian and New South Wales goldfields. Lots of Chinese came, and worked so damned hard, putting up with conditions the white man wouldn’t, the locals didn’t like it. They were undercutting us. That’s what eventually led to the so-called White Australia Policy. In those days, they thought the country would be overrun by the Celestials! ‘Nah, that’s all changed now, of course. Australia’s a liberal country, and we are very tolerant people.’ He went on, looking at Emily and I as he spoke. ‘We welcome the Celestials now, especially if they — ’ He paused, and held up his hand, rubbing his thumb and index finger together. ‘Are you with me?’ Most dutifully laughed, but we did not. It was the one sour note in all our stay. What was so absurd was that at that stage of the trip, Emily’s complexion was whiter than that of most of the sun-tanned gwaipors around us. We take nearly three hours to relive these experiences and then it is time for bed. I am slightly disappointed to see that Emily is wearing a creamy, white bikini still.

III

CHAPTER 27

M

artin drops into my office. ‘Seen Ming Pao? There’s a picture of a certain friend of yours.’ He passes me the paper. The camera has picked out a face in a crowd of marchers. It is Siu Ling’s face. She is holding a placard: ‘We want Democracy in 1997.’ She is in a march to the Xinhua News Agency, protesting the draft set of proposals that have been rammed through the Joint Committee. Szeto Wah and Martin Lee were the only committee members who voted against the proposals. If adopted, they effectively mean the end of democracy in Hong Kong. ‘I see our old classmate is lining up with the pro-democracy movement.’ Martin looks up, eyebrows raised, fishing for my reaction. ‘That’s no surprise. She does a lot of Legal Aid work. She always has supported the underdog.’ ‘Supporting the underdog is one thing. Getting involved in politics, this sort of politics, is another thing. It will not be good for her legal career.’ ‘Why not? She’s in excellent legal company with Martin Lee, isn’t she?’ ‘He’s digging his own grave. His stance on the Basic Law Drafting Committee, challenging everything the Chinese side puts up, will not endear him to his eventual lords and masters. Neither does leading protest marches.’ Martin is showing a side I had long suspected. ‘I wouldn’t be in his shoes in nine years time. Less, if he keeps stirring up this turmoil.’ ‘Well, I think he is right to oppose the Chinese position. They are deliberately redefining the Joint Declaration to suit themselves. The last thing they want is Hong Kong to hold elections. See how they stopped those scheduled for this year.’ ‘I think you will find it was Governor Wilson who chose not to hold the elections. Don’t you remember how cleverly he stacked the public opinion poll last November? He actually provided figures suggesting

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that the Hong Kong people themselves didn’t want elections — when in fact they did! A brilliant master-stroke.’ ‘Brilliant? I thought it was cowardly and dishonest.’ Martin’s lips curl upwards into something approaching a sneer. ‘Hmmm. Maybe you should be out there marching with your friend Siu Ling. I think Vincent Lo and his friends in the Group of 89 are correct. Democracy is bad for business. Which means bad for us. Us being Beddoes, Tang and Chow.’ ‘Oh, let it be, Martin. You remind me of my esteemed father-in-law.’ I don’t want to argue. Pragmatically, I suspect that Martin is right. But in my heart, I know that Siu Ling is right. ‘I’ve had this bloody brilliant idea,’ Bill announces. ‘I’ve called it The Beddoes, Tang and Chow Christmas Reconciliation Party. The legal fraternity is all ballsed up, politically speaking. Some pro-China, some pro-democracy. So this is what I say. Let’s all drop our differences and just have a good, old, friendly piss-up. Western grog for the prodemocracy lot, mou tai for the pro-China mob. Or maybe that should be the other way round.’ ‘And if any British come, what would you give them?’ I ask. ‘They are neither for democracy nor for China. So what about lukewarm English bitter beer for them? They are lukewarm, even water-skin as we would say. And we Chinese are bitter indeed.’ ‘Good one!’ Bill slaps his knee. ‘No Poms then. That’ll solve that.’ If only we Chinese could be so relaxed. Bill hires a function room at the Jockey Club at Happy Valley. I am glad to be showing Emily off to my colleagues, who haven’t seen her since our wedding. It is a cool night and around her shoulders is an elegant woollen shawl I bought her in The Rocks, at a splendid speciality shop. Bill is standing inside the door, a tall blonde woman beside him. I haven’t met Bill’s wife yet. She was in Australia when we were married, for the birth of a grandchild. She is tanned, good-looking in a masculine kind of way, loaded with large, chunky jewellery. She is wearing a vivid yellow dress, with a plunging neckline. It tells us that the wearer is indeed female, massive breasts dispelling any doubt on that score. ‘Meet the little lady at last!’ Bill grabs my hand and pumps it up and down. He then turns to Emily and hugs her, kissing her on the lips. She looks embarrassed, but I warned her. This is how older Western males will greet young, attractive Chinese females. ‘Beryl, meet Chris, my upand-coming star lawyer, and his gorgeous wife, er — ’


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‘Emily,’ I supply. We all laugh. I shake Beryl’s hand, pre-empting the need to kiss that manly face. Immediately, a waiter offers us drinks from a tray. Emily takes a white wine, which she has decided will be her standby in our new social life, while I have a beer. I want to do the polite thing and pay our respects to my senior colleagues. Cyril Tang lectures Emily on the need for a wife to be a prudent manager, while Old Chow smiles like a nice old crocodile and says how much her father respects my financial acumen. By now the room is filling up with guests from other firms. Some I know by sight, others I do not know at all. Of course, Bill invited some British. He is always saying things he does not mean. Martin joins us, looking important in a dinner jacket. He takes it on himself to introduce me to ‘people who might be useful one day’, as he puts it. Well they might be, but I have the feeling that Martin is doing this to demonstrate how many influential people he knows and that this is for his benefit, not for mine. I also think that if these people remember anyone from Martin’s round of introductions, it will be neither Martin nor I. It will be Emily. Am I alone in thinking she is the most memorable person in the room? I do not think so! ‘Hello Emily, hello Chris.’ We turn to face Siu Ling, smiling easily, dressed in a sophisticated dark trouser-suit. As at the wedding, she kisses Emily on the lips, presenting just her cheek for me to kiss. She then turns to a gwailo, standing quietly beside her. ‘Meet my partner, John Ashley. Emily and Chris Wong. Chris is a lawyer with this firm.’ He is dressed in a reefer jacket, without a tie. He is slim, fit-looking, with a thin, gwailo face. He smiles pleasantly. ‘Pleased to meet you both.’ He offers me his hand and true, to my prediction, bends forward to kiss Emily. She backs off, presenting her cheek to him. ‘What part of Australia are you from?’ I recognize his accent. ‘Launceston,’ he says, looking annoyed. ‘I don’t reckon you’d have heard of it.’ ‘Oh, indeed I have! It’s in northern Tasmania.’ Emily and I used to amuse ourselves finding Australian towns in the atlas. I am winning the points here! ‘John’s teaching at Hong Kong U,’ Siu Ling steps in, using Cantonese for Emily’s benefit. ‘Psychology Department, and he’s doing research with Social Welfare. That’s where he met Fanny, and she introduced us.’

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She turns her face up to his, warming him with a smile he cannot possibly deserve, and returns to English. ‘I was just explaining how Fanny was our matchmaker. Chris and I were students together, weren’t we Chris? Good catching up with you again. Bye-bye.’ She waggles her fingers at me, treats me to her mischievous monkey grin of old, links her arm through Ashley’s and steers him away. I feel I have lost many more points than I thought I had gained. I wanted to congratulate her on her political stance, but she had gone before I had the chance. Emily is watching me. ‘What do you make of that?’ I ask her. ‘I think it is more important what you make of it.’ ‘Nothing. It’s good to see she has a boyfriend at last.’ Is it good? If I am honest, I would admit to being in two minds about that. Emily and I have done our duty. We really do not like these formal gatherings, so we agree to leave at this point. As I turn towards the door, I stop dead. There, in a dark corner of the room, I see Siu Ling and this Ashley person. She is rubbing her face into his. That I do not like at all. Emily follows my eyes. She abruptly takes my arm and we head for the door. ‘As I said, I think what you make of Siu Ling’s behaviour is the important thing.’ We take a taxi home. In the back seat, she clings tightly to my arm, her head resting on my shoulder. From time to time, she raises her head and, under the flickering of the street-lights as they flash past, she studies my face, silently. It is like she is trying to assess my feelings for Siu Ling. And, as if she is not quite sure about the answer, she is holding on to me, preventing me from running to her. As we near the top of Cotton Tree Drive, I look down to meet those searching, beautiful eyes. Her full lips are slightly apart, her hand, which had been resting on my knee, moves up my thigh. Gently, she begins groping me. By the time we arrive at our apartment, I am frantic. I reach into my wallet and push three twenty dollar notes into the driver’s hand when two would have been generous. I drop the door keys. More precious seconds are lost. The door crashes open and we race straight to the bedroom, shedding our clothes as we go. We fall on to the bed, naked. When I am reaching my climax, she lifts her face and rubs it into mine. She relaxes under me, laughing. ‘You didn’t tell me that you rubbed faces with Siu Ling! There, that’s done. Anything else left to tell me?’ Emily, Emily, Emily. How clever and how sweet! Is it possible to love you more than I do now, at this very moment?


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We are living in a cocoon, protected from the increasing turmoil surrounding us. Our private lives are rich and tranquil. Emily has given up dancing. She attends other classes, cooking, handicrafts, and loves visiting her old school friends. She often catches a tunnel bus to Grantham College, where she has lunch with Lucy and Flora. She tells me her days are like a busy holiday. But her evenings, our evenings, are designed for one purpose only: to maximise our love for each other. It does not matter what we do, the result is the same. One decision we reach early, and act upon swiftly. We book the honeymoon suite at the Silvermine Bay Hotel for June 3, 1989, our first wedding anniversary. Around us, it is a different story. The question of the Basic Law still has not been settled. We see in the papers and on television the absurd and demeaning spectacle of Martin Lee and Szeto Wah, who represent the wishes of the great majority of Hong Kong people, playing tug-of-war against the combined team of the Chinese and British governments. This upsets many people. More people than ever are emigrating, if they have the money, or the sort of skills that they can sell overseas. I read in Ming Pao that the quickest way to obtain a Canadian working visa is to be a noodle-maker, like those you see in good Peking restaurants. It takes seven months to obtain certification that you can bang, slap, fold, thump, stretch, dust, fold, thump and stretch a large lump of dough until it is magically transformed into strands of fine noodles. And when you have that piece of paper, you can walk into a good job in restaurants from Vancouver to Montreal. But we are not only losing theatrical noodlemakers by the score. We are losing our skilled workforce across the board. The papers now talk of a ‘brain drain’. The one destination denied to all, no matter what their skills, is Great Britain, whose passport we Hong Kongers hold. I am not a political person, but more and more I share Siu Ling’s anger at the way we are being treated. Only months ago, the Portugese Government granted full citizenship to all the Chinese people in Macao. They can settle not only in Portugal, but in any country of the EEC, including Britain itself, the very place where we so-called British citizens cannot settle! I had not understood what the term ‘perfidious Albion’ meant before. Now I know, now we all know. A few days ago, Dame Lydia Dunn, the most powerful woman in Hong Kong, whom I admire tremendously, broke down. She wept in public, pleading that Hong Kong citizens should be granted their full

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British nationality, including residency. It was very moving, her of all people displaying such emotion. Nevertheless, I preferred the way Siu Ling and other members of the pro-democracy movement reacted. They did not beg for favours. On the contrary, they expressed their contempt for the British. They assembled outside the Legislature and they burned their worthless British Dependent Territory Citizen passports, under the watchful eyes of television cameras. I meet Siu Ling at a legal function three days later. This time I do have the opportunity of congratulating her on her political courage. ‘Why Chris, I always saw you as an Anglophile. I thought you loved the English. Or some English!’ She would throw that in. ‘I was pro-British once, but not any longer. There’s this passport issue and then the way the visiting panel treated Martin Lee, attacking him, rather than listening to what he was telling them about the views of Hong Kong people.’ Her eyes light up at that. ‘Good old Chris! Do you want to join us then? You would be very welcome. We need all the support we can get.’ Now this could be a serious source of misunderstanding between Emily and I. She is not political at all. If I start going off on marches with Siu Ling, when Emily is out of sympathy with the cause — ‘Yes, Siu Ling, I would like to. In principle, that is,’ I quickly add. ‘But I must do so with Emily’s knowledge and support. Please ring me at home, at night, if you would like to contact me about this. Then we can all discuss it together.’ As soon as I said it, I could see it was pompous, even offensive. She looks at me coldly. ‘Do you think I am stupid?’ Then the sun breaks through the clouds. It takes a death to make it happen. The death of Hu Yaobang, on April 15, 1989. He was not very important as such. He was one of the original communists who really did believe in democracy and was unhappy at the present corruption and the tyranny of so many public officials. When he died, he became a symbol. Hundreds of students marched from Beijing University to Tiananmen Square, crying, ‘Long live Hu Yaobang! Long live democracy!’ No-one stopped them. So they return, the next day, and the next. The crowd grows larger and larger each time. The workers, then the farmers, find their voices. It seems that not only Hong Kong, but China itself is demanding democracy. And Secretary-General Zhao Ziyang is smiling. We Hong


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Kongers are overjoyed. Our dearest wish now seems possible. After 1997, all China will be one happy united family, at last! The British can go and good riddance. Euphoria hits the streets of Hong Kong. Emily is now happy to join in these demonstrations. To her, to her family and to all those families who fled so many years ago, it is a reprieve. They are no longer in exile, they are free to visit the Motherland. Emily is on the phone constantly to Siu Ling, who asks her to stand at Star Ferry, collecting money to send to the students. More than a million are now camped in Tiananmen Square, a million optimistic people. Just as suddenly, the heavens fall in. Premier Li Peng declares martial law. Zhao is forced to resign. In Hong Kong, the heavens fall literally, as Typhoon Brenda shows what she thinks of events in China. Siu Ling rings breathlessly: ‘Call everyone you know, and ask each of them to call all their friends! On Sunday there is to be the biggest demonstration ever! Chater Garden, at noon. Never mind the rain. Bye-bye!’ One million people, as many as in Tiananmen Square itself! Every fifth person in Hong Kong turns out. Shops empty, workers leave construction sites. Pro-democracy, pro-China, it doesn’t matter. Even Martin turns up. Outrage and bitter disappointment unites Hong Kong. We want democracy. Now. But nothing happens. Here, or in Tiananmen. The students build Nike, their Statue of Peace, which looks awfully like the Americans’ Statue of Liberty. This is badly judged, I think. The security forces swap smokes and drinks with the students. It looks like the old guard, the senior cadres, are being ignored. Optimism seizes us again. Emily and I go to Lantau as planned, the day before our wedding anniversary.

CHAPTER 28

I

intend that we dine slowly, return to our honeymoon suite, the same room as one year ago. It is exactly as we left it. There, we shall gently talk, perhaps watch television and, at 11.30, Emily will go to the bathroom, as we did exactly one year ago, to prepare the spa. I hope to prolong our pleasure so that our act of love spans midnight. We shall farewell our first year of marriage with an ecstasy extending into our second year. And, if that same act is blessed with fruit, our cup would be full indeed. I marvel as I gently remove her clothes. I have seen her body bloom a thousand times under my gaze, but each time is like the first time. Can her skin be a size too small? I ask, because every contour of her body is so finely revealed. Her nerves are raised expectantly on the thrumming drum of her skin, ready to tingle at my touch. Her dancer’s shapely calves are sheathed in flawless skin, her thighs flow as she walks, and between — ah, there is silence, as always. Her private parts are for me alone to see, to touch, to kiss. To enter. Again, she hides her treasured body in the bubbling spa. Visible only are her exquisitely sculptured shoulders and her aristocratic face. She smiles her love at me. We wrap ourselves in towels again, unselfconscious now, and go to the bedroom. We time it well. Our two years of marriage are spanned with that precious arch of mutual delirium. ‘We have spanned the years, darling!’ She responds with that look of hers that pierces me to the heart. I am lying on her, in place still, my head nestled in her neck. ‘Aiyaaa!’ She jerks upright, pointing to the TV whose intrusive sound I had silenced already. Over my shoulder, I see tanks running into a crowd of people. It is only a war film. I am surprised, annoyed I must confess, that she has shattered our peace so abruptly. Then I see Nike, the students’ Statue of Peace. My God, it’s Tiananmen Square!

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Our bliss turns to nightmare. In the next few hours we try to piece together what has happened. Only one thing is clear. The Chinese Government ordered the PLA to murder Chinese people. Three thousand of us, that is the latest estimate. The breakfast room next morning is hushed. Every face displays fear. So many families came to Hong Kong precisely to flee Mao’s army and, like Emily’s family, many were millionaires within twenty years. Hong Kong is kind to those with vision and perseverance. Many people at breakfast are weeping openly for that Hong Kong, so generous to the hard-working. We now know that the new Hong Kong, after the Handover, will not be so generous. However, my ancestors are generous that night. For on June 4, 1989, Wong Kit Fai, James, is conceived.

CHAPTER 29

W

e return by midday, to find Hong Kong in deep mourning. In Central, we join a crowd that moves in slow procession to the Happy Valley Racecourse, where it has been hastily arranged that we Hong Kongers will be able to express our feelings. During the march, the mood changes. Grief and fear give way to anger, then to defiance. By the time we arrive at Happy Valley, hot, our clothes wet and clinging, we find Szeto Wah speaking. He is on a makeshift stage. He calls for a general strike on Wednesday. ‘All Hong Kong will close. That will show the Butchers in Beijing that we will not be intimidated. I will not leave Hong Kong in 1997, even if Li Peng is still premier!’ Szeto shouts. The crowd booms agreement. He steps off the stage and collapses from heat exhaustion. There is speech after speech. Martin Lee tells the Chinese leaders to stop their murdering. ‘You cannot kill a people. Kill one Chinese, one hundred will arise in his place!’ There are many other speakers. One is Siu Ling. She looks so tiny and fragile up there on the distant stage, dressed in mourning, in white shirt and trousers. She is clearly distressed by the heat and by the occasion, but her words, magnified many times by the PA system, are powerful. ‘Do not lose your faith in democracy, my friends! We in Hong Kong will be an example to the world. We will show the devious British, who sold us out so shamefully. We will show the cruel tyrants in Beijing, who use the blood of their own people to maintain their power. We will show them all that power, real power, lies with the people. With us!’ She drops her voice. ‘With us.’ Emily squeezes my arm, tears in her eyes. ‘Aren’t you so proud that she is your friend? I am.’ We stay until half-past four, when there is an even more emotional moment. There is a call for two minutes of silence, to remember the dead. A million people are profoundly silent. Except some who, like Emily, cannot control their sobbing. Many are not only weeping for

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those at Tiananmen, but are, like Emily, weeping for their relatives, murdered not early this morning, but many years ago, and by these same butchers. But with all the tears and anger, life continues. The Hang Seng rocks violently a few times, but manages to settle down higher than it was previously. Sir Geoffrey Howe, the British Foreign Secretary, comes to tell us how much Britain is doing for us — except the one thing they actually could do, but will not. That thing is to give us British citizens what we are entitled to be given: residency in Britain. For his pains, he is loudly told, on television, that it is ‘a bullshit speech’. He is jeered on his way out. Next morning, Emily vomits. It is not a political gesture. A life is developing. But perhaps, after all, it is a political gesture. So many Chinese lives have been lost, while we have created a new life. At least it will replace one that has been lost. Our focus is now on events taking place inside her body. As soon as we have our hopes confirmed, we tell our parents. Ah Ma, I must say, is wonderful. She turns up just as I am about to leave for the office. She has bags full of cooked dishes in plastic containers. ‘Emily must not waste her energies cooking.’ She pushes her way into the kitchen. ‘Ha, good. I see you have a microwave. Here, I have brought some of her favourites. Here is what she liked most: soy chicken. Remember how she ate so much of that, ah?’ It was Siu Ling who had eaten the soy chicken, but I do not correct her. She is a great help, fussing around, now having the perfect excuse to teach Emily all those things that wives and mothers need to know. Previously, Ah Ma had felt overwhelmed by Emily and her background; she and Ah Ba had kept their distance since our marriage. It was my fault and I feel guilty now, but with the joys of marriage, the demands of my work and the political distractions, we had selfishly neglected my parents. We saw Emily’s parents more frequently. I got on well with Old Wu, I think because I did not take him seriously. Emily’s mother, ah, I feel a great sadness about her. How I wish I knew her when she was in possession of her faculties. She must have been beautiful, poised and dignified, more dignified than Emily, dare I say, who has a streak of fun that I doubt her mother ever had. And here is my mother, also lacking a streak of fun, but with a heart of gold, really. ‘I have to go to work, Ah Ma. Thanks so much. Bye-bye.’


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Ah Ma’s help can only be short term, and even then I cross my fingers and wish fervently that her well-meaning jabber does not drive Emily crazy. The time has come to go to an agency in Central to check out a maid. There is an agency in Queen’s Road. I call at lunch-time. I am greeted by a girl who has the looks and the arrogance of a starlet. I explain we want a live-in maid, who can cook, clean, iron and mind children: ‘My wife is expecting, you see.’ ‘Okay. No problem. Chinese or Filipina, ah? Filipina? Good, take a look over there.’ She jerks her head to a dozen or so Filipinas, crowded on to a bench against the wall, smiling eagerly at me with their mouths, while their large eyes display how stressed and insecure they really feel. ‘Any you want to interview? Or do you want to see their files first? By the way, our fees are $6,000.’ ‘What? I thought it was one month’s salary. That’s much less than $6,000.’ ‘You don’t pay the statutory rate, of course. You just pay her, say, $1,800 a month, $1,500, whatever you decide. Up to you, la. She won’t complain. If she does, she’ll lose her job. Back to Manila. Ha? By the end of her contract you are well ahead. And so are we.’ I stare at her coldly. ‘That’s illegal.’ ‘Who cares? That’s the way we play it. Take it or leave it.’ ‘I care. And I’m a lawyer. You’ll hear more about this.’ I turn and slam the door open with the flat of my hand. I am very angry. I later tell Emily about it and she, too, is outraged. But isn’t it the way of the world? We have our worries. Hong Kong is pressure, pressure, pressure, all the time. And in the end, I don’t do anything about it. Except I do tell my friends and colleagues we need a maid. Cyril Tang responds, ‘We have a girl I would thoroughly recommend. Her contract is up in four weeks and we won’t renew because she doesn’t speak Chinese and our other maid does. We need only one maid now and my wife would prefer a Chinese speaker. Would you like to meet her? We can arrange this without agency fees.’ We go to Cyril’s apartment in Kowloon Tong. Imelda is a pleasant looking woman, in her late twenties, who speaks good English. That is important, we think, because we would like Wong Tsai to use English from an early age, even if a Filipino accent is the price! Yes, she assures us, she would be very happy to help nurture a baby. She is married and has a little girl herself, who is looked after by a relative back in Manila. ‘Wah,’ Emily exclaims, ‘you must miss her!’

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‘Yes, Ma’am, of course.’ She looks at Emily, her eyes hinting pain. ‘I would rather be in the Philippines, but that is not possible. So to look after another person’s child is a help.’ Emily melts. She nods to me, her own eyes now large and moist. Cyril looks embarrassed. ‘Well, have we a deal then?’ We have. The agency has not.

CHAPTER 30

I

have been up all night, but I feel full of energy and happiness as I tap on Bill’s office door. ‘It’s a boy,’ I announce. ‘Kit Fai, James. He was born two hours ago. He and Emily are in excellent health.’ ‘How about that?’ Bill pushes his glasses up on to his forehead and leaps out of his chair, his hand outstretched. ‘Congratulations, Sonny. Just for that, you can have the day off, on one condition. Mad Dogs, 6pm, on the dot. We’ll all be there to wet the baby’s head.’ ‘Thank you, Bill,’ I must be at the Matilda Hospital by seven, but I’ll have to have one drink with them. Old Wu takes time off to pick up Emily’s mother and off they both go to visit Emily. I take a taxi to Western District. My parents are overjoyed. Ah Ba closes the shop, so we all go together. Ah Fai is sleeping, his eyes screwed shut, spiky black hair sticking up. He looks like Alex! I cannot believe it is my son I am holding. The grandparents reach out in turn; they want to cluck and sway little Ah Fai in their arms. I am terrified someone will drop him. Emily has a look of exhausted contentment on her face. But she puts up a very good front with them. I will be selfish and sneak a few more minutes with her after they have gone. Then she can sleep the sleep she so deserves. Imelda is a gem. You can tell she has had a child, she knows how to hold Ah Fai, to help with his feeding, to speak to him in English. He will be bilingual from a very early age. And now our lives really turn inward. For more than a year, Ah Fai is the centre of our universe, even my work takes second place when it comes to that. We scarcely give any thought at all to political events. We realize that there is still a world out there only when Fanny rings. ‘Listen you two love birds, come back to the land of the living. It’s about time we all had a get-together, while we’re still here.’ ‘Still here?’ I ask stupidly.

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‘Still here,’ she repeats. ‘Some of us are thinking of emigrating.’ How blinkered we have been for the past year. Losing our friends and we hadn’t even thought twice about them. ‘You and Billy — you’re not going to emigrate, surely?’ ‘Let’s just say we’re thinking about it, and so is Oi Mei and a couple of the others. Winnie’s fiancé has already got the papers from the US Embassy. I think it would be a good idea if we could all get together again, while we can.’ I think so, too. I think how, on our honeymoon, we played with the idea of moving to Sydney. Fanny suggests a function room at a restaurant, but I think, no, let’s have all our old friends here. Imelda will help out. I quickly check with Emily. So it is arranged. ‘Wah, how he’s grown since we saw last him!’ Fanny chucks Ah Fai under the chin. Already he knows how to jar giu. He smiles back, so cute. She lifts him high in the air and plants Fanny’s trademark, a big wet kiss, on his face. Billy takes him from Fanny and studies him. ‘Well at least he doesn’t look like Alex any more!’ ‘He sure does! Just look. He’s a leng tsai, like me.’ Alex is inspecting Ah Fai and then grins at Emily. If Emily is appalled at the prospect of Ah Fai ending up gay, she doesn’t show it. She tenderly lifts him from Billy’s arms and plops him in his play-pen. ‘Now, drinks. What can Imelda get you? Eric?’ ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’ Eric points to the full glass in my hand. I adapt Bill’s wise Western words. ‘Christ, Eric, can’t you make your own bloody mind up? I might have chosen pangolin piss for all you know!’ There is a roar of laughter at Eric’s expense. I shouldn’t have said it, I know. ‘Just quoting my boss. He’s a weird Australian.’ Winnie and Terence, her fiancé, arrive, which brings us to discuss the inevitable. ‘A thousand emigrants a week, all of them professionals, or highly skilled. Work it out for yourself. By 1997, Hong Kong will be a hollow shell, all the talent sucked into the West. Even apart from the joys of living in a police state, the place simply won’t work any more.’ Terence is getting quite worked up. ‘We’re getting out while we can, while Western countries are still sympathetic about accepting us.’ ‘Well,’ Martin drawls, ‘I believe Hong Kong will flourish.’ Sighs of disbelief greet this. He continues.


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‘Tiananmen was a one-off. Deng won’t last until the Handover, neither will Li Peng. Deng’s too old and Peng’s too stupid. Our new leaders will not be so stupid as to kill the golden goose. So, market forces will apply. People with brains will be in short supply here in Hong Kong. They will be able to name their own salaries.’ He looks unbearably smug as he sips his orange juice, tonic and bitters, before continuing. ‘I don’t believe there is a brain drain to the West at all. I see rather an equalisation of the global distribution of human intellect, such that, as a result of the current emigration, the average IQs both of Hong Kong and of the West will increase.’ Terence takes a while to understand what Martin has said, but when he does his cheeks flush with anger. I could hit Martin. But the door bell rings, and we all are relieved at the interruption. Imelda admits Siu Ling. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says, looking over-dressed for this occasion, ‘but I’ve just come from a party meeting. I’m standing for election — ’ Wahs and cheers drown her out. We make a fuss of her, to help change the subject. Eric runs with quick, little steps to the play-pen. He picks up Ah Fai. ‘Siu Ling, Siu Ling! Have you met Chris’s baby yet?’ He holds him out to her. Is Eric deliberately being mischievous? Siu Ling gently takes Ah Fai and looks down at him. ‘He looks more like Emily’s baby to me,’ she says quietly. She lifts her face and our eyes meet. Then she closes them tightly, and I see, just for a flash, that terrible statue of the anguished child in Sham Wan. She recovers herself, lightly kisses him, and hands him to Emily. She then extends her arms, embracing them both, her cheek resting against Emily’s, patting her on the back. There is a heavy silence as they embrace. Siu Ling lets Emily go, smiles at her shakily, and turns to Imelda. ‘Could I have a white wine, please?’ Alex revives the stalled conversation. He grins at Siu Ling, in his golliwog way. ‘We were just discussing emigration. Terence is for, Martin’s against. Lei le?’ ‘Need you ask? I’m fighting for Hong Kong. How can I do that from Sydney?’ ‘Try Toronto. More better. That’s where Fanny and I are going. It could do with a boost in IQ.’ Billy successfully reminds us we’re here to have a good time. It’s been a long time since we were all together. There is much to gossip about, much to eat — Imelda’s Chinese cooking is not bad at all

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— and much to drink. It is a good night after all and, as if they can read our minds, they take off en masse soon after ten. ‘Well,’ I say, as we climb into bed, ‘do you agree with Terence, Martin or Siu Ling?’ ‘I think the real point was not mentioned by any of them.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘I would do whatever is best for Ah Fai. It is all very well for Siu Ling to stay and fight, and Martin to stay and maximize, but neither of them have any children. We do.’ As usual, Emily cuts right to the heart of the matter. ‘I could not agree more. Absolutely.’ I pause. ‘But for a moment there, I thought Siu Ling was wishing she did have a baby. Did you see the look on her face?’ ‘I did, but I saw Siu Ling wishing that the baby she was holding was not just her baby, but your baby. And she hugged me to let me know that it was okay.’ ‘Well!’ That had not occurred to me, not quite like that. ‘She handled it so well, so dignified and in control.’ ‘She is a very remarkable person. I like her enormously, Chris. But,’ she gives me her sidelong look, ‘don’t you get too carried away in your admiration for her.’

CHAPTER 31

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t is another year before we seriously discuss the matter of emigrating ourselves. Governor Wilson had earlier proposed a huge project, involving a container port, an international airport on the little, skullshaped island, Chek Lap Kok — which we never did visit — with huge suspension bridges connecting Lantau to the mainland. It is all to show the world that Britain has confidence in the future of Hong Kong. And, as far as business for us is concerned, it works. The Hang Seng, the thermometer that tells the world the state of Hong Kong’s economic health, couldn’t be more optimistic. Then, in July 1992, Governor Patten arrives. We are insulted that he is given the post of being our Governor only because he lost an election in England and needs a job. But we are pleased that he walks the streets, seemingly without a bodyguard, and mixes and talks with the people. Emily does a complete turn-around in her opinion of this gwailo. It is when she and Ah Fai are walking in Queen’s Road Central to do some Christmas shopping. This is his first walk in the Central streets, without a pram or his baby harness. He is so proud and looks so cute, she tells me lovingly, as he walks along clutching her hand, laughing up at her from time to time. Then she sees Governor Patten approaching from the opposite direction, in his shirtsleeves. He smiles and waves to people as he walks. When he sees Emily and Ah Fai, his face lights up and he stops. He bends down to Ah Fai and lifts his chin with his finger. The little Chinese boy and the Governor of Hong Kong laugh into each other’s eyes. The Governor straightens up. ‘Madam, what a lovely little boy you have. And how like his mother!’ He speaks clearly and slowly, so Emily understands easily. She blushes and can think only to say, ‘Thank you, Sir, thank you.’ Ah Fai echoes her, also in English, ‘Sank you, sank you. Bye-bye!’ and waves after him as he leaves. What Governor Patten said was, of course, absolutely true, but what a strange thing for a Governor to do and to say! I think he means well. He promises, at last, that he will ensure that the spirit of the Joint Declaration is met, and that we will have more

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democracy in Hong Kong. The effect of his words, however, is to release a typhoon of boiling fury from Beijing. Patten is breaching the Joint Declaration! The airport is a plot to divert public funds into the pockets of British construction firms! All contracts after 1997 will be cancelled! Patten is at once ‘a turtle’s egg’, ‘the criminal of all time’, ‘a strutting prostitute’, ‘the Triple Violator’! The effect on the Hang Seng is immediate: it plungs 1,000 points in one day. If Patten had been Governor thirty years ago, things might now be different. But he was not, and it is becoming clear to many people, myself included, that his way of doing things, as that of a Western politician, is likely to make things even more difficult than if he had been as remote and as hypocritical as his predecessors. It would have been better, maybe, to continue selling out Hong Kong in the timehonoured fashion. Martin’s theory is that the Chinese are so furious at Patten because they see him violating deals that they thought had been already concluded with the British Foreign Office, particularly on the question of elections. That much seems obvious, but Martin further claims that this newcomer, fresh from local British politics, had not been told about these under-the-table ‘understandings’. While Patten in all good faith pursues his own agenda, the Chinese could not imagine that such a senior person would be operating on his own judgement. Therefore, they see the British Government in general, and Patten in particular, as cheats and liars. Martin’s theory makes sense to me. Patten certainly seems to be himself acting in all honesty. China’s outrage seems equally genuine. So it follows that the British Foreign Office has been acting true to type. If all this is so, then Hong Kong is not likely to be the sort of place after the Handover in which I would like to live, let alone to raise Ah Fai. And as Emily said, he is the primary consideration. So we go to the Australian Consulate in Harbour Road to obtain information about immigration. It seems that at least one of us will need two years total cumulative residence in Australia over a total of five years, one year in the last two years before applying for citizenship. Emily could even obtain her citizenship first and I obtain mine later, on the basis of my being her spouse. We will need to work out the schedule, where to live and where to work, very carefully. It would be important if Bill could agree that I could take leavewithout-pay for extended periods. And it would be ideal if I could work in Sydney head office during my periods in Australia. I ask him. I get a not unreasonable response — for Bill, that is.


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‘So you want to have your rice bowl and eat it, too, eh? God, you bloody people! It’s like your pretty little classmate said. You’re doing your best to chuck the poor bloody Vietnamese boat people out and then you expect other countries to accept you!’ Siu Ling had been in the news recently, lambasting the hypocrisy of middle-class Chinese who deny the boat people the very thing they are screaming for themselves: asylum in another country. ‘That is not fair!’ My voice is raised. ‘I personally think we should do what we can for the boat people. Our emigration is an entirely different matter!’ I should have known better than to mention emigration to Bill. Oh well, I shall have to resign, and do the best I can to find a job in Australia. Bill ignores me. He stares out the window for a moment, then continues, Bill-like, ‘The Sydney office might be able to use someone who knows something about Hong Kong law and who can speak Cantonese. There’s a lot of you Chinese over there. They’ll need to fix up wills, real estate and stuff. Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’ So I am to become a tai hung yan, an ‘astronaut’, along with many other Hong Kong men. My space capsule will be the upper deck of a 747, Marco Polo Class. After a stint in Australia, I will work in Hong Kong and Emily and Ah Fai will join me there, from time to time. When he is school age, they will live in Australia and I will shuttle backwards and forwards in my space capsule, until such time as Emily qualifies as an Australian citizen. Where we shall live then is an open question, the answer to which is out of our hands. If the time ever comes when we could love Hong Kong no longer, we will settle in the country of which we would then be citizens.

CHAPTER 32

T

he real estate agent shows us over the Ryde, Epping area. There are many Chinese here, but we do not want to join a ghetto. It would be nice to be near other Chinese, for Emily’s sake, and near Chinese shops, but we want Ah Fai — or James, as he will be known by his English name from now on — to go to a local school and make Australian friends. I would like him to become completely bilingual. With my investment after the 1987 crash, and Emily’s shares that her father bought her, we could pay about half a million Australian dollars for a house. But it is difficult to be exact. The Hang Seng crashed in November, 1992, but soared to a record high in April, 1993. We shall have to be careful when we sell our shares. From week to week, these fluctuations could amount to fifty thousand Australian dollars or more. So we give the agent what they call a ‘ball-park’ figure, and we tell him what we want for that. ‘Swimming pool, la! Tell him, Chris!’ Emily’s eyes shine as she remembers her fun in Queensland. ‘Four bedrooms, main with en suite, one for Ah Fai, one for Yee Tsai,’ she giggles, ‘and one spare room.’ I translate, and add, ‘Private street, quiet, convenient to Chinese shops — ’ ‘Gotcha. I’ve a swag of likelies here. I reckon that somewhere in this little lot we’ll hit the jackpot. Hang on a sec. I’ll ring for inspections and Bob will shortly be your uncle.’ I really think some Australians deliberately use these weird expressions to confuse us second-language users. It is bullying by words. After we see six or seven places, he shows us Banksia Close in North Ryde. It is in a cul-de-sac, near the end and there is a high fence around the house. We go inside the front door. Immediately, we feel at home, Emily especially. The rooms are large and light. We go through the kitchen, which joins a large, airy family room. Through the full-length glass doors there, sparkling in the bright sun, is the clear blue of a swimming pool. Emily squeaks with delight and goes through the doors on to the patio.

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It is a lovely pool, long if rather narrow, palm trees providing shade, and a broad patio all around. It is totally private. James, stooping, sweeps his hand through the water, laughing with happiness, splashing us. I look up and notice something. I point it out to Emily. The eaves and guttering have been painted a deep yellow. I look back into the kitchen. The curtains are a beautiful golden colour. Here is our golden house. Our golden house, our gam uk, is all we had hoped for. We arrive in August, 1993, and it is cold. Our first action is to buy space heaters. Emily and James look longingly at the pool, but she can only ruffle his hair and promise, ‘Later, la. When it is nice and warm.’ James now has real space in which to play, inside and out. This is a revelation to him. Not that Conduit Road was by any means small by Hong Kong standards, but this is a different ball-game, as they say. James’s pleasure warms our house even more effectively than the space heaters. Bill, true to his word, briefed the Sydney office, in which he is a partner, and it is agreed I should work here for a year, after which Bill will take me back. His generosity amazes me. I am not a Siu Ling, or a Martin. I am not that good that he could not afford to lose me. He warns me that there may be problems later if I need to go back to Australia to complete residency requirements. ‘You can’t just flit back and forwards as it suits you, I hope you bloody realize. A year in Oz, with your Hong Kong experience, and then back with us with your Oz experience, would be useful all round. Well, we’ll keep in touch, sport. Have a good one.’ He held out his hand. Despite his funny ways, I am lucky to have such a boss. The disadvantages of living and working in Sydney unfold on my first day at work. It is not practical for me to drive in that traffic. The nearest station, Denistone, is not on a bus route from Banksia Close and I discover, too late, that unless I am at the station well before eight o’clock, I will not find a parking space. Clarence Street is only a short walk from Town Hall Station, but Chambers, Thompson and Beddoes is hard to find. It is upstairs in an old building, recently renovated. So, on my first day, I am late for my appointment with Oscar Thompson. I had expected somebody like Bill, but I find myself looking at a tall, scraggy looking man in late middle age. He has a thin moustache and is wearing a dark grey suit and waistcoat. I apologise for being late. He takes my hand mournfully.


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‘Never mind, Mr Wong, at least you are here now. Bill has told us about you. A year, then you return to Hong Kong, hmmm? Well, well, I am sure we can find a use for you. We have a few Chinese clients whose English would not be as good as yours, I suppose. Oh dear me, I’m running late now. I’ll have to turn you over to Graham Smithers, our junior.’ He summons a fattish young man into the office. He has fair hair and a round, smug face, with a high colour, as if he drinks heavily. We shake hands and, with a ‘Thanks Oscar, see ya’, Graham introduces me to the office staff, and to Fiona, who will do my clerical work. She is thin and brown, with rather hard lines on her face, which make her look older than she really is, I think. She has a voice on which I could sharpen a cleaver. He then shows me to a very small room with one window facing a blank wall. ‘It’s not much, Chris, but it’ll have to do, I’m afraid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a client coming in five minutes.’ He leaves me to my thoughts, which I must say are not cheerful. I feel rather let down. After an hour in which nothing happens, I go to the main office and talk to Fiona. She is helpful and shows me the office library, where there are case reports and proceedings, and some law books I might like to consult from time to time. I take some books back to my office to study. I finish my first day with little idea of what is expected of me, except that it does not appear to be very much. This matches my salary, which likewise is not very much. I am not qualified to practice in NSW, so I am really working on the level of an articled clerk. Things pick up. Most of my work is conveyancing with newly arrived Hong Kong Chinese. All are professionals and they speak adequate English. I like talking to these new arrivals as they keep me in touch with what is happening in Hong Kong. Some turn out to be friends of friends. Most want to buy near our area, where there are excellent restaurants and Chinese wet markets. So we begin to form a network of Chinese acquaintances. But it would be a mistake for Chinese to keep together all the time. I want to make friends with our next-door neighbours. I have noticed them eyeing us curiously as we drive or walk past their house. They have a fair-headed little boy the same age as James. I hope they become friends. However, we are nervous. What will they think about having Chinese neighbours? I discuss this with Emily and we agree it is better not to force ourselves. I suppose an Australian family would go over, knock on their new neighbour’s door and introduce themselves. But that is not the Chinese way.

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It is James who solves the problem, on the afternoon of our first Sunday. We are in our front room. James is pressing his face against the window, intently watching something. I follow his eyes and see the neighbours’ little boy riding a tricycle up and down his driveway and on to the street. ‘Mummy, can I go out and play with him?’ We quickly agree. James runs out to meet him and soon they are both playing happily together. Emily and I watch them through the window, unsure what to do next. We decide that, after some more time, we will go over to collect James and introduce ourselves. But the woman from next door beats us to it. Minutes later, she rings our front-door bell. ‘Hi! I’m Clare,’ she puts out her hand. ‘I see your little boy and my Shane are getting on like a house on fire. Your little fella’s a real cutie! What’s his name? He said something I didn’t catch.’ She is a pleasant-looking woman with long blonde hair and small, humorous, blue eyes that sparkle. She is shorter than Emily, and more heavily built, her sleeveless blouse showing a lot of brown skin. She is a gwai version of Fanny, maybe. ‘He is called James. I am Chris Wong and this is my wife Emily. Would you like to step inside for a cup of tea, perhaps?’ ‘Not right now, thanks all the same. I’d better look after these little tigers. Tell you what, but. Leave him with me and then come over and pick him up, say fiveish, when you can meet my old man, that’s Phil. He’s doing a round of golf right now. I’ll get him on his mobile and tell him to skip the nineteenth hole this time.’ So at five-thirty we go next door. Phil is shorter than me, thickset, with curly, fair hair. His face is young and set in a smile, so that with his large, red nose, he looks like a friendly clown. I like him. He reminds me more of Bill than Bill’s own colleagues did. ‘Put it there, mate. Pleased to meet you.’ He holds out his hand. I introduce ourselves. ‘I am Chris, this is my wife, Emily. I am a lawyer. What is your profession, may I ask?’ ‘I’m a grog-flogger.’ I have no idea what he means. I must look completely baffled. ‘Come off it, Phil,’ Clare cuts in. ‘Give ’em a break. He’s a wine merchant, that’s what he means.’ ‘Yup, that’s me. So what’ll it be? White, red or something else?’ ‘We both drink white, please.’ ‘You’ll like this then. Goes a bomb with Asian food. It’s a sauvignon blanc from Victoria. A grassy little number.’


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These Australians are at it again. I am sure Phil is not deliberately trying to confuse us strangers, this is just the way he and others use English. We had better get used to it. Emily is going to find it hard. We chat for an hour or so and agree we shall take them to a good Chinese restaurant. We shall have a banquet of many courses and I shall explain each course. Phil agrees to bring the wine. So we are beginning to make Australian friends. At weekends, we go for drives, for the purpose of knowing this place better. Memories of our honeymoon come back, to remind us, if we need reminding, of what we have promised to do before our eyebrows turn white. We have in the past been very imaginative in that respect, but by this stage, I am beginning to run out of ideas. And then, after not quite a year, we agree that I return to Hong Kong.

CHAPTER 33

‘C

heers, Chris! Good to have you back. As the Handover gets closer, property prices continue through the roof! It’s crazy.’ Bill raises his glass of Dom Perignon to me, toasting my return. ‘Crazy is excellent business. I drink to Chris and crazy business.’ Norman Chow raises his glass and Martin his orange juice, tonic and bitters. It is strange. There are blasts of fury across the border if Governor Patten even farts without first consulting Lu Ping, now the head at Xinhua. Yet Bill is right. Business has never been better, the Hang Seng is once again at a record high. Work here is certainly more lucrative and more interesting than working in Australia. I am glad to be back, for this reason at least. ‘To be frank, Bill, I was not happy in the Sydney office. That is why I am back a little early. Fortunately, Emily likes Banksia Close, and is making good friends, so she is happy to stay.’ Bill leans forward confidentially. ‘Why do you think I’m over here, mate? I agree! My Sydney partners are a dreary bloody lot. But one thing that would worry me if I was you, Chris,’ he winks, I think offensively, ‘is leaving the gorgeous Emily over there on her own. You never know what she might get up to with good-looking Australian hunks around. Like me, for instance.’ He looks around the table, a fearful grimace on his face. ‘Ah, but I do know, Bill. Marriage to us Chinese is no light undertaking.’ How do I explain this to a gwailo? They marry out of love. So do we. The difference, I think, is that with us it is more binding. The dai lai may be feudal, but it symbolises the agreement, the contract, not only between us, but between our families. As the male, it is my ancestors who are dominant, and it is to those ranks that James now belongs. Emily understands this, she knows it is binding. I conclude my explanation in lawyer’s terms. ‘It is rather like a business agreement between our families. There is accordingly a token exchange of money to symbolise that. James

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is our capital and I have the title deeds to Emily’s body. No trespassing! She knows that and would never betray me.’ Bill’s reaction is like Fanny’s. ‘Christ, mate, what century do you live in? Does she have title deeds on your body, too?’ Westerners never understand. I simply smile at him and sip my champagne, reviewing my blissful marriage. Emily is everything I could possibly desire. As I am to her, I truly believe. How much I am missing her! Five months before she returns to Hong Kong for Christmas. Can I wait that long? Can she? How I would dearly love to spring a surprise on her and James by suddenly appearing one day, unexpectedly. I will work on that possibility. So this is the famous White Swan. I look around the high foyer, with the double mezzanine, the elaborate decorations and the waterfalls. Wah, this could be Hong Kong, New York, anywhere but Guangzhou. But Guangzhou it is. A Guangzhou-Hong Kong joint venture is holding an exhibition at this hotel and I am here along with representatives from other Hong Kong firms to check out the property deals. There are some problematic legal issues. I am certain there are scams I need to be alert to. As I queue up at reception, I see a familiar figure in front of me. I tap her on the shoulder. ‘Chris! I thought you were still hiding in Australia.’ Siu Ling presents her cheek, sideways. I peck her, a brotherly kiss. ‘No, I’m a tai hung yan these days. I’m back with good old Bill Beddoes now. And intend to stay, until — ’ ‘Until you decide it’s time to run for cover again, ah? I take it Emily and Ah Fai are still there?’ ‘Siu Ling, if you had children, maybe you would be a little less uncompromising.’ Even as I say this, I recall the look on her face when she held James. And yes, her eyes show that I have hurt her. She recovers, instantly. ‘That, my dear friend, is something we’ll never know. Well, see you in the function room.’ She turns to Reception to check in. I note that her room and mine are on the same floor. ‘Siu Ling, I’m sorry I was rude then. Please forgive me. Let’s have dinner together, after this afternoon’s session.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘Why not? I am sure we have some catching up to do. Let’s eat Western. I’ll meet you in that restaurant. Seven o’clock? You book the table.’ While I was waiting in my room, I agonised over what might happen tonight. I thought Siu Ling might have been offering me the occasional


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affaire, when we met that time in Central. But that was seven years ago. No, I decide, I cannot let Emily down. So I enter the Western restaurant with a clear conscience, to find Siu Ling already there, sipping a gin-and-tonic. The air is clear and we talk like old friends, about old friends, about politics, for more than two hours. We do not talk about ourselves, her and I. My mobile phone rings. ‘Excuse me. Wei? Emily! How are you?’ ‘Fine, really, but missing you terribly. I’m in bed. Dragon is awake! She won’t let me sleep.’ Aiyaa. ‘Dragon’ is her word for sex. Poor Emily, she feels, how can I say, the need to masturbate. How I would love to engage with my distant beloved, conjoined by telephone! But even to hint at such a conversation in front of Siu Ling is unthinkable. I blush as I say irrelevantly, ‘And how is James?’ ‘Chris! You sound so distant, darling. Where are you? Are you with somebody?’ It suddenly seems so fearsomely complicated. I try to simplify with a white lie. ‘I’m in Guangzhou, there’s a law conference here. I’m with a group of conferees. I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back. Love you, bye-bye.’ Siu Ling is looking at me throughout all this. Her expression on hearing my lie is worrying. ‘Well, that was short and sweet. Why didn’t you tell her I was here with you? I would have liked to say hullo to my friend Emily.’ Now my blushing persists for two reasons. How could I, after those words, say, ‘Oh, and by the way, Siu Ling would like to say hello!’ The second reason is simply that I have been caught lying to my wife by my ex-lover. What can I say? ‘Sorry, Siu Ling. Really. I was embarrassed, talking to her in front of you — ’ ‘Just a minute.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Why should you be embarrassed talking to your wife in front of me?’ ‘Well, I thought Emily might think, er — ’ She cuts me off. ‘You bastard. So you were thinking you’d fuck your old girlfriend, were you? Just for old time’s sake? While your beautiful wife and gorgeous little boy are languishing in exile in Sydney? Was that it?’ Before I can answer, she stands. She sweeps from the table and heads for the cocktail lounge. When I come down for breakfast in the morning, I see she is already here. She is at a table with Albert Lim, a well-known Hong Kong property

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dealer with very strong pro-China connections. They are cavorting like young lovers. She must be out of her mind! This man is anathema to the pro-democracy people! If her political friends heard that she was sleeping with the enemy, they would suspect her loyalty. They would drop her. When she rubs her face into his, I can stand it no longer. I leave, my breakfast untouched.

CHAPTER 34

I

am waiting in the Kai Tak arrivals hall. There they are! James sees me first. He leaves Emily pushing the trolley, while he runs down the ramp and takes a running leap into my arms. Our reunion is joyous. We are, all three of us, chattering like monkeys as we queue for a taxi. Emily is so happy to be back in Hong Kong, but James! I can’t take my eyes off him. Five months have made such a difference to my little boy! And his English is now better than his Cantonese. Ah well, we shall equalise his languages this trip. I tell Emily, ‘While we’re in Hong Kong, you speak to him only in Cantonese, and I’ll use only English. That way, he’ll keep both languages.’ ‘And I’ll lose what little English I have!’ Emily laughs. When we arrive at Conduit Road, Emily gasps as we go through to the kitchen. ‘Wah, I’d forgotten how small it is!’ James pokes diffidently around the flat, rounding his eyes in and out of focus, as if trying to recognize things he once knew intimately. ‘Imelda. Where’s Imelda?’ he asks suddenly. ‘She’s gone. She’s looking after someone else’s little boy,’ I say, unthinking. He pouts and blinks, near tears. ‘I want to see Imelda.’ We have our 1994 Christmas Western-style, because that is what James expects. Soon after Christmas, it is time to make him Chinese again. We visit our parents often and, of course, we go the rounds of all our relatives at Chinese New Year. Ah Ba is beside himself with joy to see Ah Fai again. ‘Ah Yan,’ he chides me when he first meets Ah Fai this trip, ‘he is losing his Chinese! If you do not talk Chinese to him, his Yeh-yeh will! You bring him here every morning.’ I have no time to do that, so Emily takes him by taxi to Western District, where she leaves him. Yeh-yeh tells Ah Fai all the folk stories and fables he knows; he teaches Ah Fai his characters. Compared with other Chinese boys his age, Ah Fai is in fact behind in that

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department, and so I am doubly pleased. I am pleased that he is learning to write in Chinese and so pleased that my son is learning from my father, as I had myself learned. Ah Ma cooks his lunch, stuffing him like a goose. After lunch, Ah Ba brings him back to Conduit Road by bus. Yeh-yeh and his syun are so close. They grow to love each other deeply. I am amazed that Ah Ba is prepared to leave his shop to devote so much time to Ah Fai. He makes me feel guilty that I am not giving Ah Fai that sort of attention myself. But how can I do so with my job? Emily’s parents are different. Sai Ba is roughly delighted with Ah Fai, but he really has no idea of how to talk to him or play with him. Poor Bak Mo is not with us much of the time. Physically she is fit, but she spends a lot of time dancing to music that only she hears. It appears that she has forgotten Cantonese. She keeps calling Ah Fai ‘Ah Jing’, the name of her long dead younger brother. Emily has difficulty communicating with her and not only because her Shanghainese is so basic. It is very sad. Only Sai Ba can talk to her fluently, but he is more at a loss with her than he is with Ah Fai. Months pass. Fanny and Billy have a quick trip to see their parents — and us — with their little girl, Angela, who is so pretty. We see nearly all our old friends. We go for a walk with Alex and Eric, the longeststanding couple out of all of us. Flora and Lucy join us for that trip. Flora wants to show off her new boyfriend, who is actually a dreadful nerd. A doomed last-ditch attempt to make Alex jealous, I wonder? Lucy is engaged to a teacher, who is interested in a political career. I suggest he contacts Siu Ling. Ah yes, Siu Ling. She is the one friend we do not see. We ask her for dinner, twice, but she says she is too committed with her political work to spare the time. But her excuse to us does not ring true, as she does not seem to have a political career anymore. We all thought that she would have been elected to Legco in the Democrat landslide in the September elections, but she did not even stand. Something has happened, but noone seems to know what. I have my ideas. I think the word has got out among her political friends that she slept with this man Lim in Guangzhou. If that is the case, I am indirectly responsible. I was so sorry to see how she had cheapened herself by picking up such a man. She must have done so when she ran to the cocktail lounge, seething with her misplaced anger at me. But worse was the face rub, that personal signature of hers. It was surely a message to me: get out of my life, I’d prefer to sleep with this than with you!


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No, there is no question that we could ever become lovers again. But I still respect her so much, as does Emily, and I would have dearly loved for her to remain our friend. But it seems even that is out of the question. I cannot explain any of this to Emily. It would be admitting to her that I had lied to her on the telephone, in front of Siu Ling. To explain that away by now is just too complicated. Why did I lie? Perhaps I was planning, or maybe just hoping, to go to bed with Siu Ling, after all. Oh, Siu Ling, there is so much baggage from the past! It is so sad.

CHAPTER 35

W

e all return to Australia for Christmas, 1995, after a wonderful year in Hong Kong, just like old times. James starts his Australian school in February, so soon after the Christmas break, I must leave my family again. Emily seems to be looking forward to this chance of establishing our base in Banksia Close. And so life returns to what it was like previously: me in Hong Kong, working, Emily and James in Sydney, earning our citizenship status. Things jog along normally for a couple of months. Then, Bill passes me in the corridor. He stops. ‘Ah, Chris. Heard the latest from the Attorney-General’s Chambers?’ ‘Another gwailo civil servant being protected from vice charges?’ He gives a honk of laughter. ‘Nah, not this time, believe it or not. Another victory for your pretty little classmate! Remember when she shat all over you, Gawd, must’ve been nearly ten years ago? Well, look at this. A criminal case to be conducted in Cantonese! It’s listed for the 14th March.’ He shows me a Government paper. Sure enough, as support for the decision, there is a reference to Regina v. Chan, the case I messed up, and that Siu Ling’s research had clinched. She is not named, but everyone knows whose work it was. She surely would not misunderstand if I congratulated her? It is time we cleared up things between us. The Guangzhou incident still troubles me. Besides, I want to show her I am as gracious in defeat as she was, when she was defeated on another battleground. I pick up the phone. ‘Wei?’ ‘Siu Ling, it’s Chris. Congratulations on the A-G’s ruling. That’s wonderful!’ ‘Chris! I was thinking of you when I read the news.’ She sounds warm enough, but her words allow for sarcasm. She is becoming more and more like a gwailo in this respect. It is sometimes hard to tell what she means. ‘Please do not misunderstand this. But, really, I would like to finish that dinner that ended so abruptly. I want to clear up things between us.’

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‘Chris, Chris, how can we possibly do that?’ She sounds like the caring mother of a retarded child. I, for my part, am beginning to feel like that child. There is only one way to handle this. ‘Will you have dinner with me? Tonight? Tomorrow night? Just dinner!’ I add carefully. ‘Oh, come on, Chris. What do Australians say? Get real.’ ‘I am real. I need to straighten things out with you. Honestly, it’s important. Niccolini’s then. Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. I’ll book. Assume it’s okay. I’ll call you back if there’s a problem. Duk m’duk, ah?’ I hear her sigh. ‘Duk.’ I arrive first. I check the house white, I am told it is a Chilean chardonnay. Good value, so I order a glass. I sip it slowly and she still hasn’t arrived by the time I finish. I am beginning to think she has thought better of it. But then she appears, in one of her usual elegant trouser-suits. She presents her cheek. ‘Are you sure this is wise?’ She lifts a delicate eyebrow. Siu Ling, I should not think this, but you are as alluring as ever. ‘Possibly not wise, but it is necessary.’ ‘Okay then. Let’s get one thing straight. Is Emily in Sydney?’ ‘She is.’ ‘Then let’s get another thing straight.’ She places her left hand flat on the table. She is wearing an engagement ring. An expensive-looking one. ‘Okay? Now order me a gin-and-tonic. Double gin.’ While I order for her, I wonder why my stomach feels as if it has been punched when really this is good news. It means we can now be friends. ‘Congratulations. Anyone I know?’ ‘No. A gwailo engineer at the new airport. Only recently arrived.’ ‘Huh. You seem to have taken to gwailo lovers.’ I do not mean to sound bitter, but I know I do. She leans over, our faces nearly touching. She stage whispers, ‘That’s because they’re better lovers than Chinese. More considerate, let us say.’ Nasty. But I have my wits about me. ‘Funny you say that. I would have said more uninhibited.’ She stares at me for a few seconds, her face expressionless. I think I have gone too far and the evening will be another disaster. But she darts her head forward suddenly, like a pecking chicken. She kisses me on the lips. She leans back, laughing loudly. ‘Touché! Chris, we’re in for a wonderful evening, I can tell. Now order, la!’


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I have got my wish. Here we are, Siu Ling and I, laughing and joking like old friends, with sex not an issue. But this other matter is an issue and I must get on to that before we get too drunk. The food is wonderful, the Tuscany rabbit dish just amazing. But I am astonished at how quickly the Barolo disappears. Siu Ling seems to be drinking two glasses for one of mine. The waiter appears, holding up the bottle. ‘Another of the same, sir?’ ‘No. The Sassicaia, please.’ I turn to Siu Ling, ‘I’d like you to try this. I heard about it at the Wine Club. It’s very special.’ ‘You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you Chris?’ She leans towards me with rounded eyes, already seeming a little out of focus. ‘I think I might be a bit too late for that, don’t you?’ ‘Wow, the sparks are flying tonight! Do you know, Chris, I like you for that. Since you’ve been working with Blinky Bill the Randy Koala and Martin the Creep, you’ve been a big, tame, pussycat. Or maybe it’s since you married.’ She flutters her eyes at me, drunkenly. She’s not too drunk, I hope, for my next question. ‘Well, how about you? You’ve changed, too. Where’s the firebrand politician of old? I would have sworn you’d have stood for the elections last September. You’d have swept in.’ Her face crumples. Yes, I’ve hit something here. It must be Guangzhou and my connection with that. But, as always, Siu Ling recovers quickly. ‘Don’t ask. Off-limits. Tell me about this heavy red here. It’s fantastic.’ She’s not talking. So I tell her about Italy’s best wine unusually for Tuscany, made with the cabernet sauvignon grape, then about Australian wines. It is a short step from there to life in Australia and I tell her, carefully, about Emily and James. We do not discuss what I really wanted to talk about. It’s time to leave. She staggers as she stands up, steadying herself by slapping her hand on the table. She has to go to the toilet. While she is away I calculate: she has drunk more than a bottle of wine, plus the double gin and God knows what else before she came. She returns to the foyer, looking pink-eyed and unsteady. ‘Chris, don’t get me wrong, for God’s sake. But I’m not well. Can you take me home?’ I support her outside and the doorman flags a taxi. She gives the driver an address in Happy Valley. She leans against me, her head on my shoulder and I put my arm around her. There is a faint smell of vomit. Poor, dear Siu Ling. Was this evening so difficult for you, after Guangzhou, that you had to get drunk to handle it? We get out. I pay the driver and tell him to wait. She wants me to take her upstairs and waves the driver to go.

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‘There are always plenty of taxis around here. And don’t worry. I couldn’t even fuck a gwailo the way I feel now, let alone a dumb Chinaman. Who’s already married.’ ‘That didn’t stop you in Guangzhou.’ ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ is all she says, as we enter the elevator. She drops the keys a couple of times and fumbles at the lock, but eventually we enter her apartment. It is small, but beautifully furnished. ‘Let’s have a drink.’ She flops on to a settee. ‘Water only. Lots of it and then you’re going to bed. Alone.’ I have to admit it. I enjoy taking charge of her, caring for her. Whatever the complications, there is something deep and special between Siu Ling and I. I sit beside her with a large bottle of water and a glass and force her to drink as much as she will take. She’ll be up a couple of times in the night, but at least she’ll flush the alcohol out of her system. Phil taught me that trick. She is now only half-awake, drooping with all the alcohol she has drunk. I’ll have to get her to bed. I leave her on the settee while I find her bedroom. The first door I open is her mother’s room. The old lady is inside, asleep. I had met her only that once, after the dinner with my parents. I gaze at her for a moment, dreading to think what she thinks of me now, how badly I had let her darling Siu Ling down. That deep sense of shame returns, and with a lump in my throat, I quietly close the door. I open the next door. This is Siu Ling’s room. I go back to find her now asleep. I drape her arm around my neck and carry her to her bedroom, and lay her gently on the bed. I quietly remove her blouse and trousers, leaving her in her underwear. Flashes of our previous lovemaking zip through my mind as more and more of her once adored, and seemingly little changed, body is revealed in the light from the open door. I am very aroused. Aiyaa, such thoughts are so inappropriate. I am married, Siu Ling is engaged, and now she in trouble. I cover her with the doona. Oh, my poor ex-lover, what has happened to you? My lips touch her forehead, which is cold and clammy as a wet stone. ‘Goodnight, Siu Ling. Goodnight, dear friend.’ She mumbles something. I don’t catch it. ‘Eh?’ Her voice is now loud and clear. ‘I said “Fuck off”, Chris. Just piss off back to your wife, will you?’

CHAPTER 36

M

artin has a sneaky look on his face. ‘Remember when we were wondering why a certain person we both know did not stand for the ’95 elections? Well, another certain person, who shall remain nameless, told me why.’ ‘Martin, I’m not sure I want to know.’ His manner makes me say that, but of course I want to know! Badly. Was it over the Guangzhou business? It would be bad enough if Siu Ling became the subject of sniggering jokes. But if she is going to have her political career ruined by gossip, when my clumsiness created the situation that led to the gossip, I would be as devastated as she. I have an idea. ‘Wait a minute, yes, I would like to know. What are the rumours, then?’ ‘Maybe a little more than rumours.’ He looks at me closely. He wants to see me show emotion. It is difficult, but I hold my face without expression. He shrugs. ‘Oh well, as you might guess, she was a favourite candidate with the Democratic Party; vocal, attractive, committed. But her stance on bleeding-heart issues, the refugees and Boat People in particular, damaged her. Political realists saw that as a vote loser. She wouldn’t compromise, you know her. Then she blew her credibility entirely. She spent the night with Lim Che Keung at a conference in Guangzhou. They were seen flirting at breakfast and we all know what that means. She’s the mistress of the dreaded Albert Lim! That did it. She was done for.’ ‘Do you believe that?’ ‘It is hard to believe, I admit. But,’ Martin drew himself up smugly, ‘my source is impeccable. And there were other things that gave a certain credibility, shall we say, to that story.’ ‘What other things?’ ‘Oh, I doubt he was the only one. I very much doubt it! Just let us say that it seems she has fucked her political career, as it were.’ That word, coming from Martin’s mouth, makes it sound doubly obscene. It suddenly hits me. You bastard, you’re wetting yourself with

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delight! You’re still smarting over the fact that she beat you to the Herbert Tsien Medal. Keep cool, I warn myself. ‘Interesting, but is there any evidence for what you are inferring? You know, we are lawyers, after all.’ I laugh lightly. ‘Well, I can’t reveal my sources, of course. But let us say her behaviour involving certain eminent persons could also be seen seriously to compromise her legal future in Hong Kong. If certain things got out.’ All this roundabout talk. I doubt he knows anything, except for the Guangzhou incident. He’s just revelling in the idea of scandal about his ancient and better rival. Right, Martin, I’m going to stop you in your tracks, even if I have to lie through my teeth. I laugh. ‘Sorry, Martin. It’s a good story. But I think they have got it wrong, whoever told you. I was at the Guangzhou conference, as you may recall. Strictly between ourselves, but Siu Ling was with me that night, not with Lim, or with anyone else.’ Martin’s face is a picture. Please God, may this never get back to Emily. What a risk I’m taking for Siu Ling! I’m not even quite sure why it burst out of me like that. Partly to wipe that smarmy look off Martin’s face, but also because I was responsible. I owe Siu Ling for that, and for other things, long past. She may have been Lim’s lover for one reckless night, but she certainly was not his mistress, or his spy, as apparently she is accused of being. Her reputation must be re-established. The Legco elections may be over, but she could still have a political career. And Martin’s rumour-mongering might even damage her legal career. So, while I’m about it, I’ll tell a whiter lie, to dampen Martin’s overactive imagination. ‘Furthermore, Martin, I know for a fact that she was engaged, to a gwailo actually,’ I elaborate beyond what I know, ‘and is now married, and has been for nearly a year. There is no way she would play around in the manner you’ve been suggesting. She has been set-up, by her enemies.’ You, for one, I think. ‘Engaged? Married? I’ve never been told that!’ How dare people do things he knows nothing about! I am reminded of his reaction to my knowledge of de Crespigny’s honeymoon location. ‘Martin,’ I say gently, ‘I think we owe our classmate something, don’t you? Don’t you think you might go back to your so-called source and tell him or her that those rumours are not true? That she has been set-up?’ ‘My God.’ I can see his mind working, checking out my account from all angles. ‘My God!’ He believes me.


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‘Oh, and Martin, for pity’s sake please swear that you’ll never let on about me and Siu Ling. It could be the end of my marriage.’ The moralistic Martin of old returns. He draws himself upright. ‘Of course not. But oh, my God, Chris! What have you done? Poor Emily. Poor, poor Emily.’ I recall the two of us, leaning against the fence at Bonham Road years ago. No, Martin, you had it right the first time. It is poor, poor Siu Ling. But what has she been up to, apart from Albert Lim? Nothing is my guess. That was an aberration, I’m sure, under a special circumstance created by me. The odd affaire is what she had said to me, but this is not what Martin is implying. No, I do not think Siu Ling is promiscuous. But I do think Martin is a liar. Or rather, to be charitable, that he is more than willing to put his own spin on the half truths of others.

CHAPTER 37

1996

passes like a slide show run too fast. Business is in a frenzy, with the Hang Seng rising and rising, almost as high as the pollution index. Many days now, it is difficult even to see Kowloon clearly from Conduit Road, whereas only three years ago you could see beyond to Tai Mo Shan without any trouble. The pollution and the Hang Seng together explain why I am so frantically busy these days. Deals are being done, money is being made, and one inevitable cost is the quality of the air. Another is the quality of our marriage. I am not seeing Emily and James as often as I want to, nor can I stay for as long when I am with them. But even when I am in Australia, I am often preoccupied with problems back in the Hong Kong office, and keep phoning back. I feel torn in two. Our marriage is like a stretched rubber band that, if we are not careful, ultimately may snap. Emily, I am sure, can see this and tries so hard to ease my concern by stressing how happy she and James are. In June 1996, the Dragon Boat Festival and the Queen’s Birthday fell conveniently close, which gave me nearly a week. Then in September, I took a few days at the Mid-Autumn Festival and, of course, I was there for Christmas. It was at Christmas that I felt, finally, that something was wrong. Even our love-making seemed to be affected. We all know the stories about the tai hung yan setting up with a mistress, even a second, bigamous marriage, but that cannot be the problem in this case. She knows by now I would never be unfaithful, surely. I think it might be as simple as her missing me more than she has been admitting. Poor Emily, I must really make an effort, this year of all years, the year of the Handover. This is the crucial year, when we must see that the band does not break. If we survive that, we will be out of danger. In 1998, I’ll spend another year in Australia with them and that will bring us our citizenship. Our times of living apart will be over, for ever. So this is the year when I must make that special effort to be with her and James, even at the risk of business. James, too, must be growing

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apart from his father and that is such a heavy penalty. When we are permanently together again, I am sure my enormous love for him will reverse that. My chance comes sooner than I had hoped for. Bill calls me into his office. ‘Gunna give Emily a treat this Chinese New Year?’ ‘Yes, Bill, I was just about to book.’ ‘Well, hold your horses. I’ve got some important documents that Oscar needs by Tuesday, Feb. 4. I’d like you to take them, he’ll do his stuff on them, and you can bring them back. I’ll not need them until the 12th. Got it? All up, you get an extra three days holiday. You can fly out Monday night. How about that?’ Excellent! Now we can have some of that extra precious time together. I decide I will give her that surprise I had been thinking about. I will still pretend I am coming on the 6th, New Year’s Eve, but I will arrive two days early. I land at Kingsford Smith and am cleared by 8.30am. Nice timing. It will probably take most of the day to clear the business up. I will go to Banksia Close as soon as I have finished. But Oscar doesn’t have his side of things ready, the old fool. I could come back tomorrow, but I decide it is better to wait, however long it takes. I will then have a whole week free with Emily and James. I send out for some fast food, which, I eat in the office. It is not until after nine in the evening that my taxi arrives at Banksia Close. There is a car parked outside. This is strange. But there is a light in the bedroom, so this cannot be her visitor. I quietly insert my key into the front door and let myself inside. I creep along quietly. How I long to see the look of delighted surprise on her face when she sees me! But I see James’s door is open, his light out, so I will take a quick look at him first. I stand in the doorway and there he is, the light from the street allowing me to see my son, fast asleep. I will not disturb him now. ‘Goodnight, my wonderful boy. Goodnight, James, see you in the morning,’ I whisper to him in English, quietly, not to wake him. I look in the bedroom. A bedside lamp is on and the bed is ruffled, clothes lying around. It is a hot night. She must have been unable to sleep and decided to go for a swim. I enter the kitchen, which is lit by a glow from the pool lights. Ah yes, I see the door to the patio is open. I creep quietly, to surprise her while she is swimming. I hear splashing — and voices. She is not alone! I peer out carefully.


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I cannot believe what I see! Emily is climbing out of the pool. She is naked. Behind her, a large, hairy gwailo, also naked, follows. They now are standing on the patio, facing each other. They embrace. Then, then, she kneels in front of him. Her mouth — I cannot watch a moment longer. It is like being kicked by a crazy horse. My instinct is not to reveal myself. I have to take all this in before I act. I tiptoe to the front door, my stomach rising with every step. I quietly close the front door. By the time I reach the street, I can no longer restrain the build-up of bad food, surging disbelief, putrefied trust and white-hot rage. It slams like a projectile against the side of this vile invader’s car. My world has collapsed. It is clear now what was the matter with Emily at Christmas. She must have been carrying on this affaire for some time. How could she? How could she do this to me, to James, to our families, to our ancestors? Has her exile in Australia driven her mad? The pure Emily, known only by me, has somehow become the plaything of this creature! What can I do? I think only to note the registration number of the car. I then stumble to the taxi rank at the railway station. A taxi takes me to an airport hotel. I agonise all night about what to do. I think like any mortally wounded animal does. I must first return to my home territory, to my own safe haven, to collect my resources. I can’t do anything here. I am destroyed. I catch the next plane to Hong Kong. Throughout that terrible flight, every minute my brain spins. I pray to my ancestors. They hear me. They tell me what to do. My training tells me how to do it. I must divorce her, although I still love her. Yes, still! My intention to divorce her is not because I have lost face, not even when the man who cuckolded me is a gwailo. That makes it doubly unbearable. No, the reason is that she has selfishly put her feelings, her own pleasure, before the heritage and well-being of James. She has broken the sacred trust that I thought she understood so well. There can be only one conclusion. I must obtain custody of James. But even having decided that, I wonder. Do I love her still? Yes, I do. I find I could forgive her this aberration. She must have been driven to it by loneliness. I would so like to reconcile, but that depends on her, too. So I am still in this position of being torn in two. After several weeks of agonising and discussing my legal position with Bill, I formulate a plan.

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I return to Sydney to put my plan into action, if I have to. I am still hoping for reconciliation, as my first option. This time I am careful to let her know I am coming. At the airport, I rent the most expensive car I can, a Jaguar. I open the front door and James flies into my arms. ‘Daddy, Daddy, dearest Daddy!’ Trying not to weep, I hug him close. I wonder how I can possibly face this woman who I still love. I turn to her. But how changed she is! She seems stronger, taller, her skin darker. I can’t help my reaction. ‘Wah! Leige peifu sec hochi Bun-mui gam, ga!’ ‘So, I look like a Filipina, ah? Say it in English. It does not sound so insulting.’ I should not have been so challenging. But how could I not, knowing what I now know? But so, too, this is not Emily, the Emily I was so desperately hoping to see. She did not fall into my arms, as she has done before after an absence. My heart is in deep despair. This is indeed someone else’s Emily. But we must not fight. I kiss her on the cheek. Immediately, she turns her head away. ‘Chris, we need to talk.’ All my thoughts of reconciliation, of finding a job in Australia right now if I had to, dissolve. It is now clear what she wants to talk about, and it is not about us, about a new life in Australia, but about this gorilla-like throwback who she obviously prefers to me. If that is the case, reconciliation is impossible. I revert to my original plan, in which James is the top priority. In that case, we must not talk. She must not guess what I am about to do. ‘Later, please. I am not feeling well.’ Eating dinner is unbearable, both of us pretending that everything is all right. It helps that James is so bright, happy to see me, chattering endlessly. She and I avoid eye-contact, but inevitably we find ourselves staring into the incomprehensible soul of the other. Yes, incomprehensible! I cannot even begin to understand what has happened to her. Her eyes are not hard, as I had first thought. She is blinking a lot, her chin quivers from time to time. She, too, is suffering. She sneaks little glances at me. She must equally be wondering what is going on in my mind. I cannot handle this. I explain that I am not feeling well and go to bed early. She sits up for hours, before coming into the bedroom, undressing, and lying down quietly. I surreptitiously move as far from her as I can.


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Sleeping with her in the same bed is torture. It must be like going to bed with a beautiful but diseased whore you must not touch. After a long, long time of stillness and of silence, I hear her whisper. ‘Chris? Chris, are you awake?’ Even in these circumstances, the sound of her voice in bed, makes me erect. ‘Yes.’ ‘It’s over, Chris.’ ‘I guessed that.’ I want to shake her, to demand. Why? What had happened that you could do this to me, to James? Who was this hairy monster you gave yourself to? How could you, you, once so virginal, so sweet? How? But I must remain calm. ‘Chris, I’m so sorry. I cannot tell how sorry — ’ She turns towards me. In the dim light, I see tears streaming down her face. Accidentally or not, her hand brushes against my erection. She closes her fingers around me. ‘Would you like me to — ’ ‘Don’t insult me. You may be a whore, but I’m not your client.’ She turns over, her back to me, weeping silently, but so hard the bed shakes. I am immediately penitent. I turn over and put my arm around her. ‘I’m sorry for that. I’m so upset I do not know what I’m saying.’ She shrugs me off. Somehow, I sleep. I don’t know if Emily does. The next thing I hear is James, sneaking into the bedroom. He is very excited. ‘Daddy, Daddy, is that your new car outside? What a beauty!’ ‘Yes, James. Do you like it? Would you like to go for a drive?’ ‘Oh yes, please!’ ‘Okay, then, after breakfast.’ Emily looks startled at my announcement that I have bought an expensive new car, but says nothing. While she is preparing breakfast, I go to the room I had previously used as a study. I look for her passport in the desk drawer. My heart lurches. It used to be right on the top of all the other papers, but there’s a book there. I must find it! I lift the book up. Ah, the passport is underneath. I take it and casually look at the book, a leather-bound diary. I open the front page. My Dragon Diary, by Emily Wu. That’s her name for sex! I flip through, an uneasy eye on the kitchen doorway. I can’t believe what I’m reading. The later entries confirm what I saw. Emily, Emily, how could you do this? I have read enough to know that this diary will explain the inexplicable.

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I must study it. Maybe I might begin to understand what has happened, why she did this gross, unforgivable thing. She, so pure, so traditional, in her beliefs and upbringing. It also occurs to me that if ever I need evidence for my divorce and custody case, it is here. Incontrovertible. I hide the Dragon Diary under my shirt. After breakfast, another meal of dreadful silence, I take James for his drive. ‘Where are we going Daddy?’ he asks brightly as we turn out of Banksia Close. ‘Like to go to Kingsford Smith, to watch some planes? We’ll even go for a ride on one. How would you like that?’ ‘Yay!’ This is going to be easier than I had imagined. The flight leaves at 11am. I had his seat already booked on the computer and now, with his name on Emily’s passport, I can purchase the ticket. I relax. The hell of last night gives way to the purgatory of procedure and of waiting. But James is worried. ‘Where are we going? Where’s Mummy?’ ‘It’s a surprise trip back to Hong Kong. We’ll see Yeh-yeh! And Imelda. She’s dying to see you, too!’ ‘But Daddy, I haven’t packed my things! I can’t go to Hong Kong without anything!’ I had crammed a few toys and clothes in my suitcase, which I had been able to sneak out to the car. ‘I packed some of your things in the suitcase. Mummy can send, er bring, the rest. Look, here’s Grock.’ I pull his beloved green, felt crocodile out of my briefcase. Grock is a convenient shape, unlike Wilfred Wombat who wouldn’t fit in. James hugs Grock. ‘But when’s Mummy coming?’ We are in the immigration queue. I say loudly as we approach the desk, thinking vaguely that this will let the officer know that James is coming with his mother’s permission, ‘Mummy’s going to follow on later.’ I place her passport, with James’s name and picture, on the desk. Then, I feel like I have been punched in the heart. How could she follow later when I’m leaving the country with her passport? The officer looks at the picture, at James, then at me. He picks up my Hong Kong passport, checks me against my picture, and then back to James and his picture, then Emily’s. ‘Don’t we have a little bit of a problem here, Sir? Didn’t you say his mother’s going to follow? To Hong Kong, is it? How can she travel to Hong Kong without her passport?’


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An idea jumps out at me. ‘Yes, she is. But no problem. Her application for an Australian passport is in process.’ ‘Yeah,’ James chips in, looking so cute, one hand reaching up to the top of the desk, the other clutching Grock so that both he and Grock are grinning up at the officer, ‘Mummy’s Australian. Like me. I’m Australian.’ The officer chuckles at him, ‘Yeah, you look real Australian, sonny.’ Bang bang, each passport is stamped. We are through. We board immediately. In the Marco Polo upper deck, James is thrilled with the pretty stewardess who gives him orange juice and things to play with. Then it suddenly occurs to me: What a stupid lie I told the immigration officer! Surely Emily would have to surrender, or at least produce, her Hong Kong passport to obtain an Australian one? Or would she? I do not know. I sit there, trying to appear calm, but sick with dread, waiting for one of the cabin crew to tap me on the shoulder. ‘Mr Wong? Would you mind coming with me?’ Finally we take off and leave Australia behind. ‘Daddy, you didn’t say. When is Mummy coming?’ ‘In a few days, maybe a week or so. There, it’s a long flight. Like to watch a movie? Would you like to see The Lion King? I can order it specially for you.’ Now I see how hard this is going to be! The lies, the lies. I had not taken James’s feelings into account in my plans. Forgive me, my darling boy, but there is no option, there really is not. When you are older, you will understand. But now, at this moment, he is happy. He watches his movie for a while and then he falls asleep. While he sleeps, I review how it came to this. It is the Wherrett case in reverse. I had discussed all this with Bill before I came. He counselled me, as I would have done in his position. ‘You must prove guilt if it goes to court in Hong Kong. Remember the trouble we might have had with that dreadful, little sod Wherrett? So far, it’s your word against hers. Otherwise, the only ground here is two years separation. Which is probably not a bad idea. It gives you a chance to reconcile. Give it a go. I bloody would if I were you, and Emily was my wife.’ ‘Thank you, Bill. Of course, I am considering that. But she must want to, too, and she may not. And if she does not, I have no choice but to pursue legal proceedings. Evidence will be no problem.’ I had the registration number of that car and traced its owner, a Peter Royce, junior partner in Dixon and Smith, a Sydney legal firm. Bill knew that

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firm; they were good, he said. But it didn’t matter how good they were, now I had the irrefutable evidence of her diary. We agreed that if I did proceed, I would have to abduct James before the hearing. ‘In a bi-jurisdiction thing like this, possession is not nine tenths of the law, it’s ten tenths.’ I would have to show, however, that I could look after James. Yet again, luck was with me. I had thought immediately of Imelda. I traced her through Cyril Tang’s amah. Imelda was indeed looking for her next job. She was sorry about Emily and I, but was overjoyed at the thought of being with James again. And here he is, sleeping beside me, clutching Grock. No doubt he is dreaming of the blue Australian skies he has left behind. And here, too, in my briefcase, is Emily’s diary. I am burning to read it, but I am also deeply afraid of what I shall find. I shall have to wait until I am really alone.

CHAPTER 38

MY DRAGON DIARY by Emily Wu

Saturday, 13th June, 1987 Last night I made the most amazing discovery. Two discoveries! My first discovery was that I had a Dragon lying inside me! She was so fierce, so strong, I could not control her. And yet she was so sweet. To think that such a fierce, darling animal could lie for so long inside her tiny cave, behind its silky, black doorway, without me knowing that she did! Then, when dear Chris gently touched the door bell, she came leaping out, overwhelming me in a pleasure so strong I was suffocated. I did not know what to do. So I cried. Poor Chris. He must have thought I was mad! Today, I made a resolution. It is to write my Dragon Diary. When I marry, my dearest Dragon will fly often, with my heart held tenderly in her mouth. If only I can wait that long! My second discovery was that Chris had a dragon, too. When I left his room last night, I paused outside the door, to kiss through it, and say, ‘Goodnight, Chris. My darling. I love you.’ He did not reply. But his dragon did reply. I heard him roar! Today, when I was alone, I talked to her. I said, ‘Come, dearest Dragon. Sweet Dragon. Shall we go for a little walk? Just you and I?’ Saturday, 3rd June, 1988. My Wedding Night! We were timid animals, exploring our new cave. That big bed, and in the en suite the spa! Aiyaa, how could I take my clothes off in front of him?

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But I could see he was trying so hard to be kind and gentle. I loved him so much for that. I was nervous about what would happen. To delay a little bit, I showed him my wedding pyjamas. I told him about the Seong Tau Ceremony and how stupid old Auntie Chan dropped the comb. I cried. It was not because I really believed in the bad luck, although I wished with all my heart she had not dropped it. He kissed me and held me so tight I felt his hard thing against me. His thing. That was really why I was crying. He understood. He told me to go into the bathroom first and get the spa going, where I could hide my body for when he came in. And after? I trusted him. Then when we were drying each other, I saw him. Aiyaa, how could that big thing fit into Dragon’s cave? I thought they were little, as you see on those old statues. Dragon was frightened at that sight and ran away. We lay on the bed. His eyes, with those lovely, long eyelashes, were so gentle. His fingers and tongue danced like sweet mice over my body. My lips, my neck, my ears, my breasts, ai, my navel, my legs — yeee, he sucked my big toe! Dragon’s cave filled with moisture. Dear Dragon, do not drown! No, she woke up. I moved so he would meet Dragon at last. Ai, it hurt me, a little bit, but then a feeling I had never known before. It was like our two dragons became one dragon with one roaring throat. I was dying! I could not sleep after that. Chris murmured love things to me and then he slept, a smile on his face, his breathing soft. He looked so peaceful. Why hadn’t I been told my wedding night would bring so much happiness, so much fulfilment? All that worry! For nothing. For everything. Then I was crying again, crying for happiness. I leaned over him, watching him. My tears fell, waking him. He sat upright. ‘Darling, whatever’s the matter? Are you hurting?’ ‘Yes, I am hurting. My husband hasn’t given me enough love!’ I laughed then and fell on to him. Saturday 3rd and Sunday 4th June, 1989. Our first anniversary! It all started so well, so happily. We did what we had planned. Soon after the last midnight chime, our two-backed dragon again roared from her one throat. We had spanned the years of our marriage. Then, the most terrible thing. We saw the Tiananmen Massacre. But good walked among all that evil. We made a baby. I knew it.


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Monday 5th March, 1990 I have been neglecting you, Diary, ever since I knew Wong Tsai had taken up residence in Dragon’s cave. My body, and the body of the little one growing inside my body, had a little trouble adjusting to each other at first. Therefore I was sick. Then, when we became used to each other, we smiled and lived and grew together in peace. When Wong Tsai became too restless, he demanded that I eat lychees. Poor Chris had to go to the wet market and buy bags and bags of them. Many times, Chris, my Dragon and Wong Tsai met in Dragon’s cave. Doctor said Wong Tsai would not mind. Dancing is in the past for me. The urge has gone. I express myself with life now, not with art. My baby is everything. Chris booked me a private room at the Matilda Hospital, so close to Father and Mother in Barker Road. Chris was allowed to be with me throughout the labour. I squeezed his hand so hard, his ring bruised his fingers, I noticed later. But he didn’t wince or move a muscle. He said that during labour I cried in pain, but I don’t remember that. I do remember when he came out of the cave and they gave him to me to hold. And there he was. Wong Kit Fai. And there was Chris. Now it was he who was weeping. Monday 25th July, 1994 Dear Dragon Diary, now I am in Australia I am going to write a lot more, particularly as I will be on my own so much. I will write to you in English. It is hard, but it will be good practise. I must learn good English. Chris was right to settle us here, in this golden house that I myself chose. It was not easy for him last year when he worked in Sydney, in that tiny office. Chris told me he was only a clerk. They gave him the ‘shit jobs’ that the Australians did not want to do. And the money, wah, a fraction of what he got with Bill. He hated the long travelling also. So it was also right he went back, sooner than we had thought he would go. James and I will go back for Christmas and stay in Hong Kong, nearly a year, maybe. We will leave this house empty. We agreed James should go to an Australian school, the year he turn six. Then I will live here again, as I shall need to do if I am to become a citizen. That will be over a year after the Handover, so far away. I like so many things here. Most of all, I like looking after James, in this house. It was good to have Imelda at first when James was born, but to cook, clean, look after James all by myself, it is so much more better. Shane and James get on so well and, because of it maybe, Clare is my closest friend.

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Two things I do not like here in Sydney. The first is my poor English, no matter I am here nearly a year already. Therefore I must write more and speak more. My second and biggest dislike is alone in bed at night. Dearest, sweetest Dragon, how fierce you can be! I cry, little bit, just thinking now about it. Only two months to Christmas. Then we shall ‘span the years’ night after night. How I look forward to that! Tuesday 18th October, 1994 Clare was puzzled that we lived apart. I explained. ‘We have to stay here to get citizenship. Hong Kong will not be good to live in after the Handover. But it is important Chris work in Hong Kong. He is given more respect for his work. Besides, the money more better there, therefore I buy more things here!’ I said that because anyone would understand that. Really, I buy little. But Clare surprised me. ‘Gawd, Em, money’s not everything. I tell you what, love. If Phil left me in a strange country on my own, he’d soon have something to think about. Know what I mean?’ She winked at me, a little naughty. ‘No, la! We Chinese see marriage as a — ’ Aiyaa, how to explain what binds us together so strong? ‘Marriage is like a business thing. Partners in a company do not break the contract. That not make sense. Not when there are assets like James!’ I am proud of that explanation. Besides, Chris and I love each other, but of course no need to tell her that. She would know that. ‘Hmm. A business thing, eh? Well Em, you know your own business best, but Jeez, I wouldn’t let my old man out on the loose like that. If you see what I mean.’ I had heard the talk of the tai hung yan and their concubines. Was Chris like them? He would never stray. I knew how I burned with desire, even when he had been gone only a week, but I would never stray. I told her that. ‘No, not possible! He never would, I never would!’ She changed the subject. ‘Tell you what. We’re having a dinner party next Saturday. Like to come? James can doss down with Shane when it gets past his bed-time.’ I felt shy, but I had to agree. I must meet more Australian people and learn how to get on with them. She told me that two other couples would be there, and a single man, Peter, recently divorced. ‘He’s a nice quiet guy, a little lonely, but don’t worry! He’s a gentleman and won’t make a pass at you. If you don’t want him to, that is.’


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Saturday 21st October, 1994 I was out of place. Clare cooked very well and Phil gave us expensive wines to taste, but I could not tell much difference between them. Then with more wine, they talked faster and joked. I understood all the words, but what they said was mostly a mystery. The other men referred to me as ‘a beautiful China doll’, and winked and grinned stupidly. I did not like that. Their wives did not like it also, I am sure. The only man I could talk good talks with was this Peter. He was big, tall, with thin, fair hair, and the gwailo’s sharp face, his mouth in a little smile always, and he spoke in a deep, soft voice. He was a lawyer too, like Chris. He tried to talk to me at the dinner table, but I was too shy to answer properly, when everyone could hear what I said and said so badly. Besides, they were not interested in what I said. After dinner, I said I would go. The others were sitting around in a circle, telling stories and laughing loudly. Peter appeared beside me. ‘Don’t go yet. Sit down and talk to me first. Like a drink?’ It was only nine o’clock and James was fast asleep, so I stayed. He gave me a white wine. ‘I am interested in how Hong Kong people see their future. Do you intend going back?’ He had dark blue eyes, kind eyes, like he was interested in what I said, not what I looked like. I explained how uncertain we all were, why I was here. The main thing was James. We did not want him brought up to be a Communist. I told him we saw the Tiananmen massacre on television. ‘It was the night James was conceived. Oh!’ I blushed deeply as I realized what I was saying. ‘I mean, that is like to say — ’ I was too embarrassed and my English failed. I bent my head and covered my face with my hands. I heard a deep voice. ‘It’s okay, Emily, I understand what you mean. So you created a new life, against so much loss of life. Of course, you want the best for that precious life.’ I looked at him then. His face was serious, but his eyes smiled. ‘Thank you. That is what I want to say. You said it for me. Now, really, I must collect James and go home. Perhaps next time I see you, I introduce my husband.’ ‘I shall look forward to it.’ He held out his hand, but now his eyes were serious. Friday 22nd December, 1995 Our gam uk had been waiting for us for so long with arms outstretched! James was so happy to be welcomed back into those

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golden arms, and so was I. Clare had been wonderful, she cleaned the house for us, and even got a gardener to tidy up. Chris will have Christmas with us but will stay only for a week, before he returns to Hong Kong. In two months, James goes to school. James has lost so much English. We hope he plays lots with Shane and gets his English back before he goes to school. Then he can go to school like an Australian boy. ‘Great to see you back, Em!’ Clare hugged me. James threw his arms around her. ‘G’day, gorgeous boy!’ She kissed James all over his face. So much he wiped his hands over her kisses, frowning. She then kissed Chris on the lips, which I did not like, but I know it is what these people do. I kissed Phil only on the cheek. The boys did not bother with such greetings. They went outside and continued their play as if they were interrupted only yesterday. Saturday 23rd December, 1995 Phil told Chris what wines he should buy. They went to a thing called wine-tasting, which Chris wanted to learn about. He came home with two boxes of wines, his breath smelling very strong. Wah, he will never drink all that! Sunday 24th December, 1995 Phil and Clare had a barbecue. I met their friends again and I introduced Chris. I wanted to introduce him to Peter, but Peter was not there. It was a year since I had seen him. Maybe he has gone away. The men stood around the big barbecue, drinking beer and wine, while Phil cooked sausages, rissoles, chops, steaks, eggs, onions, such a lot of greasy things. A few people were in the pool already. Clare was in the kitchen, making different kinds of salads. I went to help her. ‘Clare, where is Peter? I would like him to meet Chris. They are both lawyers. They would like each other!’ There was a funny look in Clare’s eyes. ‘Yeah, well, Peter said he wanted to see you again. But he’s spending Christmas with his ex and their kid. Next time, maybe.’ ‘How many children does Peter have?’ ‘One. A fifteen-year-old girl, Yvonne. Nice kid. Lives with her mother.’ ‘What happen that they divorce?’ ‘You’d better ask him that.’ She placed some plastic wrap over three salad bowls. ‘When’s Chris go back, then?’ She asked suddenly.


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‘The sixth of January. He has to be back at work the next Monday.’ ‘Uh-huh. Come on, Em, give us a hand with this lot.’ Christmas Day, 1995 James was so excited with his presents! In the morning, we went next door to give them the presents Chris brought back from Hong Kong. We had drinks, drinks, always drinking! We spent the rest of the day just ourselves. Friday 29th December, 1995 Today I noticed a new feeling between Chris and me. Chris was thinking Hong Kong and I was thinking Banksia Close. Chris was on the phone a lot to Bill, talking business. I was looking forward to driving James to school, to talking to James about his school, to gossiping with Clare again, to lazing in the pool. I thought we were like a crystal statue of two people standing on a base. A fine crack had appeared in the middle of the base. That is what happens to a tai hung yan and his family, I thought. Their families were pushed out of Hong Kong by fear, but the men were pulled back. By what? Was it to keep a foot in our real home, ready to return if things did work out well in Hong Kong? Was it because more money can be made in Hong Kong than in Australia? Was it like having cake and eating it also? I believe the crack in our crystal base will heal when we finally settle together. I also think that spanning the years will help the crack not to widen further. Therefore I will see that we make love, every night, until we are exhausted. Monday 12th February, 1996 James and Shane started school today. My days now would be long and boring. It would be the same with Clare. Therefore we see a lot of each other. The weather was wonderful swimming weather. At first, my skin was as Chris likes it, ‘the classic Chinese look’, as he said. Soon, it will have ‘the classic Australian look’, which I prefer. It is strange. Australians try so hard to look dark to be beautiful. We Chinese think pale skin is beautiful. Except me. Perhaps it is because I am Australian already, in a sense. Clare rang me. ‘Come on over. I’m having a swim.’

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I let myself in to her yard, where she was sitting. She was wearing a blouse, but it was unbuttoned, and I saw her breasts clearly. They were brown all over. I suppose I had a funny look on my face. She said, ‘Yeah, I usually go topless. Bottomless, too, come to that, but I don’t know how you would feel about that.’ ‘I would be embarrassed. Even with you. We Chinese are modest people.’ ‘Come on, Em. Husbands don’t like false bikinis.’ She was right about that. ‘Anyway, it feels so bloody good and free. Try it sometime.’ She took off her blouse, stood up and walked until she fell into the water. ‘Come on in,’ she called. ‘I will keep my bikini on, my skin is still fair.’ It was a silly excuse. It only made my ‘white bikini’ worse. Friday 23rd February, 1996 My gate can be locked and the pool is sheltered, so I myself swim naked when I am alone. Clare was right. It did feel so free and I lost my ‘white bikini’. I can swim three lengths underwater now, with no breaths. Clare and Phil often had pool parties in this weather. They invited me always, but I decided not to go every time. For one thing, I felt a little strange still, the only Chinese among all these gwailo. Besides, when I entered wearing my bikini — not my ‘white bikini’ la! — some men still whistled and called out, ‘Hi, China Doll’. I suppose they were shy and do not know what to say to a Chinese woman. Therefore they said what they thought would please me. They were so stupid. Of course it did not please me. Talking to the wives was more easy when I found out two of them had children at the same school as James. I told them I hated the way some men addressed me. I think they liked me better when I said that. Peter was the only man I talked to, as a friend, as one human being to another human being, not as if I was some strange animal. He visits Clare and Phil often, now Christmas is over. And after Chris has gone back. I hope there is no connection. Clare asked me to a party tomorrow night. I said I would go. Saturday 24th February, 1996 The party! Aiyaaa! We were around the pool, the underwater and overhead lights very bright, when suddenly all lights were shut. It was black. Suddenly they


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went on. There was Phil, standing on the diving board, without any clothes at all! ‘Skinny dip!’ he yelled, and jumped in. ‘Wheee!’ shouted someone else, and others jumped in. Women, too! Clare was standing beside me. ‘Be in it, Emily!’ she said, and took off her bikini, both top and bottom. She, too, jumped in. Many people now, men and women, were naked, and in the glare of the light! I was so embarrassed. Peter looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Was he asking me to be naked, too? Never! My blood was in my face and my face was so hot. I said, ‘I must take James home now.’ I ran inside and lifted him sleeping still and went home. That is how different Australians are! But it was exciting, I have to say. I was confused. I talked to Dragon about it. As she roared, I tried hard to think of Chris, but he had a sharp face. Wednesday 28th February, 1996 I surfaced from three lengths and looked up. A man was standing there. It was Peter. I covered my breasts with my arms. I shouted, ‘Go away!’ ‘I think you need this,’ he said quietly. He turned his face right away from me as he held out a towel. I quickly stepped into it and I wrapped myself. We sat at the table by the pool. It was okay, but I was still blushing hard and my heart thumped. ‘Sorry, Emily. I tried the front door but no-one answered. The side gate was unlocked.’ Aiyaa. Today I forgot that. ‘Why you here?’ My English is more worser when I am upset. ‘You mentioned you were interested in the concert next Monday night. You know, the Shanghai Orchestra of Traditional Chinese Music? Well, guess what, I’ve been given a couple of tickets — ’ I am not stupid. The orchestra was brought over by the Chinese community for the Yuen Siu Festival. But it was more than just a concert. Before the concert, and after, couples walk around Chinatown with lanterns. It is a lover’s game. How would a gwailo be given tickets for this? And did this gwailo realize that this was an occasion specially for lovers? Yuen Siu is like their St Valentine’s Day. If I went with anyone, it would be with Chris. But it was true, I did so want to hear such a concert! It was so long since I have heard this kind of music. I like it so much and Chris was not here to take me. ‘Thank you, I would so like the concert. But no lanterns, la!’ He seemed not to understand, but I thought he was pretending. I explained about the lanterns and St Valentine’s Day. I said again, ‘Thank you, yes, but the concert only.’

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The look on his face was soft. It was like melting butter. He swallowed so hard I heard him swallow. We were sitting now. He was wearing shorts. Wah, I saw he was hard! This shocked me. But I have to say, Dragon turned in her sleep. Chris, Chris, where are you? ‘Thank you Emily,’ he said, very soft, in his deep voice. ‘So very much.’ He looked at me, like he wanted to say something more. He shook his head. ‘I’d better go. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Five-thirty on the dot. We mustn’t be late.’ He smiled like a shy little boy. Then he went. I was sorry to see him go, but I was glad he went so easily. There I was, sitting naked but for towel, with a man not my husband. I am not Australian enough to accept that. It was obvious Clare is the one to baby-sit James, I just leave him there. But no, I don’t want her to know about this. I finally thought to ring up a baby-sitting service in the Yellow Pages. Monday 4th March, 1996 When we arrived in Chinatown, we had a quick meal of some noodles in a big food hall. Then, in Dixon Street, we saw so many lanterns for sale. He grinned like a naughty little boy and bought two. ‘You should not buy them! I told you that!’ He ignored me. ‘Let’s walk around. This is great!’ The decorations were good. They reminded me of Victoria Park at Yuen Siu. But Darling Harbour was just across the road, instead of the Causeway Bay typhoon shelter. He took my hand as we walked. I pulled it away. ‘Please, Peter, no. The concert is one thing. Playing lovers is another very different thing.’ I hope I did not hurt his feelings, but he must know that we could not even pretend to be lovers. ‘I should have picked you up earlier. Then we could have had a proper Chinese meal, not just noodles. So many restaurants! You could teach me about Chinese food.’ It was like he was not hearing what I was saying. ‘Concert, la! That is all. But thank you so much for that. It is more than enough.’ He sighed and murmured, ‘Emily, Emily, what shall we do with you?’ As we walked along, he turned it into a little song. Strange, it danced like a Cantonese song I know: Emily, Emily, What’ll we do with you? Emily, Emily, What’ll we do with you?


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Wah, if only he knew what that silly song did to me! He was still singing, in his deep, smooth voice, when we turned the corner into Goulburn Street, where the concert was. It was wonderful for me, the music so romantic, so right for Yuen Siu. I was so grateful to him. I so much wanted to hold his hand, especially during Fisherman’s Song at Dusk, wah, so sweet! I did not, of course. Instead, I cried little bit, so silly of me. I hope he did not notice. The instruments were traditional, guqin, yangqin, pipa, zheng, gongs. I did not think he could have found it interesting. I asked him. ‘I liked it! Honest to God. And the company! Heaven!’ He drove me home and parked outside. He put his arm around me, his lips touched my face. I quickly pecked him back, not sexy, and opened the door of the car. ‘Please, would you drive the baby-sitter home?’ That made sure he went. I went inside. After I paid the girl and saw her into Peter’s car, the phone rang. ‘Hello, darling. I tried earlier, you weren’t in. A girl answered.’ ‘The baby-sitter. I went to a Chinese concert. It was wonderful!’ ‘Who with?’ ‘A friend.’ ‘Uh-huh. I’ve been to a wine-tasting. I joined a Wine School here. Tonight, we compared Old World and New World wines. Tell you what, darling, the Australians came out top!’ So. He was drunk. ‘It is so nice to know you are having such a good time. Not missing me too much, then?’ ‘Of course I am, bo bui, of course. Tell James I love him.’ He rang off. Tell James, he said. What about me? He had forgotten Yuen Siu, when even a gwailo remembered. Monday 11th March, 1996 Clare and I were treading water and chatting. I talked about the party that shocked me so much. ‘Why did Phil do that?’ I did not understand, really. ‘Fun,’ she said. ‘It’s exciting. It usually means Phil and I go at it like rabbits when the others have gone.’ She looked at me naughtily. ‘Sometimes before.’ ‘What? You mean you make love in front of others?’

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‘Not openly. We sneak off into a bedroom. Sometimes it might get a little crowded, when other couples come in. And, well, let’s just say that in the dark it’s sometimes easy to get a little mixed up about who’s with who. If you get me.’ I stopped moving my arms and legs. I stood still as my feet touched the bottom of the pool. ‘Aiyaa!’ I found this hard to believe. ‘Publicly unfaithful, wor!’ She raised her hands above the water and waggled them from side to side. ‘Mmmm, depends what you mean, I suppose. Anyway, we don’t do it often. It can be dangerous, as one or two have found to their cost. But,’ she added, ‘sometimes you have a little bit too much to drink, and — ’ She did not finish. These Australians are as immoral as any court in the Middle Kingdom! ‘Did Peter take his clothes off the other night?’ ‘No, he left as soon you went home.’ She paused ‘Tell me, Em, anything between you two?’ ‘No! I’m married. Well,’ I should not tell lies that a casual glance out a window would uncover, ‘he took me to a Chinese concert last Monday night. But nothing happened. Nothing.’ ‘Well, Em, if you want to go out with him again and you need a babysitter, just park James with us. The whole night, if that helps.’ Thursday 28th March, 1996 He rang me. It had been so long I thought he would not. I hoped he would not. ‘Heard of a Chinese sheila called Gong Li?’ ‘Of course! She’s my favourite actress.’ ‘Seen Raise the Red Lantern?’ ‘No, I missed that when it was in Hong Kong.’ ‘Well, it’s on at the Village Complex at Thornleigh. And there are a couple of beaut Chinese restaurants in the same complex. Real authentic, so they tell me.’ ‘So?’ What could I say? What could I do? ‘Come on, Emily, make my day for me! Look, let’s not muck around. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock tomorrow night. And here’s my mobile number: 0417 463 120. Got that? If you change your mind, let me know before five o’clock tomorrow.’ He hung up. Change my mind? Wah, I hadn’t yet decided what to do! So I did nothing. Then at half-past five the next day, I realized. The decision had been made already!


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‘James, would you like to sleep at Shane’s house tonight?’ ‘Yay!’ he shouted. Yes, that is how decisions are made. And how lives are wrecked, maybe. Friday 29th March, 1996 He rang the bell at six o’clock. Dragon began stirring. I made this promise to myself. I will keep Dragon under control. On the way to Thornleigh I told him about Gong Li and Zhang Yimou, and the other films of theirs I had seen. Dragon went back to sleep. She had heard all this before. The restaurant we chose was very Hong Kong. I ordered a steamed fish, Cantonese style, and then a mixture of Shanghai and Cantonese. It was nice to eat out, with someone I could talk to so easily. ‘Tell me about your marriage. Why break it? Do you mind telling me?’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Yes I do, as a matter of fact.’ ‘Oh, I am sorry, I do not wish to poke.’ He laughed his deep laugh. ‘Not because it’s a secret. Because it was my fault and I’m not sure I’d like you to know that.’ He sounded like Chris confessing to me so many years ago. ‘Your fault?’ ‘Yes, I was unfaithful.’ ‘Oh, and did that break up too then?’ ‘Nothing to break up. They never started.’ He said this carefully. They? Aiyaa, I understood. It was like Clare was telling me in the swimming pool. Exchanging husbands and wives can be dangerous. She may have been thinking of Peter. I am not so sure I liked Peter, now, after this. It must have shown on my face. ‘Emily, I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but many people of my age in Australia came of age during Flower Power. The hippy era,’ he added seeing my puzzled look. ‘We saw sex as a recreation, a game. It was safe, then, and people simply shagged around, if you’ll pardon the expression. Even now, we skinny dip — as you know.’ ‘You didn’t,’ I said too quick. Now he knows that I cared enough to ask Clare about that. So much to think about with all these naughty games. He lifted an eyebrow. He noticed that I had asked, but he continued as if he had not noticed. ‘Anyway, my wife didn’t like it, so she divorced me. And she got custody of my beautiful Yvonne.’ He looked at his watch. ‘But we’d better rush, or we’ll be late.’

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The movie was nice, but so sad. I explained to Peter how the Chinese Government saw the faceless man with the four wives and the brutal ways as a criticism of them. It was true, Zhang Yimou meant it to be so. We arrived at Banksia Close. It was only ten o’clock, but so hot a night, 35˚ already. I wanted to swim before bed. I told him that is what I was going to do. That was foolish of me. ‘May I join you?’ ‘Yes, but you know the rules.’ We entered the pool area. The moon was bright. He then questioned the rules. ‘No need for swimmers. Anyway, I’ve seen you in the nud already. And in broad daylight! Not a problem.’ How did he dare to say that! ‘No!’ My voice was sharp. ‘Tonight you swim Chinese style, with covering!’ He grinned his big, bright, toothy smile. ‘Sorry, Emily. Okay then, I’ll be multicultural and leave me daks on! No worries.’ We took off our clothes to our underwear and jumped in. The water was so cool and lovely. I did my three lengths underwater. I stood in the shallow end, getting back my breath. Suddenly, he swam from behind, neatly between my legs. He then rose in front of me, like a big, leaping dolphin. Before I could think, he took me in his arms, he kissed me on the lips, so gentle. His tongue parted my lips, so gentle, too. This was wrong, and I was trembling. His fingers ran down my back and into my bum. My nerves screeched. His hand unclipped my brassiere, and so sudden he dropped his head. That breast-kiss screamed down my body, right into my womb. Oh, how I had missed being loved! How I loved being loved by Peter! I knew certainly now this was wrong, so very wrong. But it felt so right. Peter was strong. He lifted me out of the water, so I clung to his neck, my legs around him. He was huge. Then, how it happened I did not know. He was inside me! Why was I so shocked? He was where I had wished him to be for so long, if I am honest. But I had to stop this. I had to. ‘Stop! No, la!’ ‘Stop? Now?’ He held me tighter, thrusting and shuddering, then he groaned, long and loud. Aiyaa, I had been raped! I should have been unspeakably angry. But I was only a little bit angry. And then, I have to admit, I was not angry at all. Besides, Dragon was thrashing impatiently. Peter let me go. We stood apart in the water. He looked down, as if ashamed. He then looked at me, his face so soft. ‘Forgive me. Emily,


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please forgive me. But I love you. I couldn’t control myself. I love you, so much.’ I held him. I comforted him, this man who had forced himself into me, and had left his stuffs inside me. Thank God, I was still on the pill! I nearly had stopped taking it. I wanted to say, ‘I love you, too’, but I knew I should not. My lips met his again. My lips told him what he wanted to know, without words. I led him by the hand out of the pool, through the kitchen, and into the en suite where we showered together. I was not shy. We had no secrets now. He was heavily built and so hairy. How different from Chris. Suddenly, I realized. This was the first time I had thought of Chris. And it was too late. I said to myself, Forgive me, Chris, my dear husband, to whom I owe so much, but I cannot help what I am about to do. We stepped into the bedroom. ‘Let me see you, study you. Slowly.’ I, too, wanted to study him. He was the book I wanted to read. We knelt on the bed, facing each other. His hairiness was like an hour-glass, wide across his shoulders, narrow at his navel, then a thick forest, in which his organ drooped. It was long, even when soft. ‘Dai sing sing,’ I said. I patted him with my open palms on his chest, over his shoulders, on his back that was also so hairy. ‘What’s that mean?’ ‘Gorilla’ I whispered in his ear. I leant back to study him again. ‘It is true what they say. You gwailo are a different species. You were still up in the trees when we Chinese had built cities and invented, oh, so many things!’ He laughed, not believing me. ‘Emily, keep talking. Just let me hear you, look at you. You are beautiful, just beautiful!’ His deep, blue eyes were so soft, as they wandered over my body. He looked like a little boy staring in a toyshop window. He lightly pinched my arms and shoulders. ‘Perfect, perfect skin, so firm, so soft, so round.’ His hands reached up, huge hands, covering my breasts entirely. He traced his fingers around my face, my neck. I bent to look into his eyes. There were little tears there. That was so sweet. ‘I think you are right. You Chinese are a different species. Can they all be as beautiful as you?’ ‘You better come to Hong Kong and find out.’ I pushed him back and sat on him. I rubbed my hands through his fur. I worked my way down and came to his long, soft organ. I put it in

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my mouth. Wah, how quickly it swelled up, so hard and filled my mouth! I liked that. ‘Your dragon was too fast for my Dragon.’ I used my love language with him. I sat up and moved forward, and down again. I forced him up, so far it started to hurt. I would have to be careful, he was so big. I squeezed, I twisted, I rode faster and faster. I fell over. Now we were both in a frenzy, rolling across the bed in all positions. There was the loudest roaring in my ears. We slept a few hours. I waked as hands touched my body. They rolled me this way and that way. I opened my eyes to daylight and this huge man was looking at me, eating me with the softest of eyes. ‘Just let me inside you once again, Emily. Just once more.’ He clung to me tightly, as we both cried with happiness at what we were doing, not thinking of the terrible consequences that must follow from this heavenly foolishness. Saturday 30th March, 1996 After Peter left, and I lay in bed, thinking, remembering, laughing, crying. And writing to you, dear Dragon Diary. And then the questions, so many questions. What will happen now? Was this a ‘shag around’ thing? Do we pretend it did not happen? Chris has had his concubines, for all I know. Maybe Siu Ling. I suddenly awared that I did not care what Chris did with Siu Ling. I knew he was still attracted to her, even jealous for her, like with that gwailo at Bill’s party. James ran home at eight. He was so happy. He had eaten a hot gwailo breakfast of egg, bacon, sausage. He likes sausage. I changed him into his school clothes. I needed to get out, breathe some air. I decided to drive him and Shane to school this morning. I rang to tell Clare. ‘Goodo. When you get back, come on over for coffee. I’m all agog.’ I did not know what this ‘gog’ was, but yes, I wanted to talk to her too. She was sitting at the table, a plunger of coffee in front of her with two mugs. ‘Spend the night, did he?’ she asked as I walked into her kitchen. How could she be so direct? I just stared at her. ‘Needn’t answer, Em love, it’s written all over you. You look so bloody happy.’ But suddenly I was crying. No, not with happiness, but at the hugeness of what I had done. Seeing her reminded me that there were other people in this world and that Chris was one of them. I could not just wish he had been bad too with Siu Ling, or with a gai.


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‘Well, you did look happy. What’s up, love?’ She put her arm around me. ‘Chris. What will happen now?’ I was sniffing, my nose dripping. She got me a tissue. ‘One of two things. You’ll have a fantastic love affaire, and it will burn itself out in due course. Then it’s business as usual, just as long as Chris doesn’t find out. Or it won’t burn itself out. You and Peter will be a number and it’s bye-bye Chris. Either way, it’s win-win, as far as you’re concerned.’ ‘And James?’ ‘In Australia, the mother always gets the kid. Not a problem.’ ‘But James will find out! And he will tell Chris, even in innocence. And then even if our affaire is finished, Chris will divorce me anyway. It is lose–lose, I think you would say.’ ‘Look, Em, it’s started now, and I’ll help every which way to keep it private and away from James if possible. Go for it, that’s what I reckon.’ She held her coffee mug, blowing on it and sipping. ‘Jesus, you make a beautiful pair. You really are so bloody nice and so bloody pretty it’s not true! And Peter’s such a beaut bloke, honest to God he is. Better than that dumb bugger of a husband of yours, if I may be so bold, raking in the shekels over in Honkers. He should be here, looking after his real treasures.’ ‘Clare, that is not fair. Chris is a good man. It is our decision we come here. We do it for the family, for the good of James.’ I could tell from the look on Clare’s face she thought I was a mouse protecting my rat. Gwailos do not realize we Chinese women are more stronger than we look. You do not have to talk and walk loudly, as gwaipors do when they want to seem strong. Besides, I could not cut off Chris just like that! He will come back in June maybe, for the Queen’s Birthday holiday, and certainly for the Mid Autumn Festival in September. Then Christmas. Aiyaa, so much pretending! I hope that by June the secret affaire will burn itself out. April-May, 1996 When Peter and I meet secretly, we make love passionately. When we meet in public, with Clare and Phil, and James and Shane, it is like a friendly family thing. Clare and Phil seem to enjoy helping Peter and I in our affaire. They invited Peter and me for dinner, several times. I asked them back and cooked Chinese for them. We went on picnics, as families. James calls him ‘Uncle Peter’. They really like each other.

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Saturday 18th May, 1996 We went for a picnic with his Yvonne. She is a nice girl, good-looking in a healthy gwaipor way, but I would not call her pretty. She has blonde hair, his dark blue eyes and a loud, happy personality. She was not quiet, like her father is quiet. Wednesday 22nd May, 1996 Today I told Peter, Clare and Phil that our secret must last until Christmas. I must give Chris that chance. Not only Chris, but his family, his ancestors. I fear his Ah Ba would die of shame and grief if I gave his beloved Ah Fai to a foreigner in a distant country. I am now really awaring the terrible thing I am doing. I do not think these Australians understand how terrible. There is another way. It is to give James to Chris. By Chinese tradition, that would be the best way. I would die many times if I did so, but I would have Peter to bring me back to life. These thoughts darken my nights when I am alone. When I am with Peter, Dragon sits on them, and my joy is great. Monday 12th June, 1996 Chris home for a week. It was Dragon Boat Festival and Queen’s Birthday coming together that gave him this extra time. No question now that he meet Peter. I told James, ‘Don’t mention Uncle Peter to Daddy. We want to keep it a surprise!’ I felt bad saying that, but James laughed. He has said nothing so far. How do I make love with two men? I try to forget Peter when I am with Chris, just as I forget Chris when I am with Peter. Aiyaa, what am I becoming? Saturday 28th September, 1996 Mid-Autumn Festival, so of course Chris came home to his family. Peter was jealous. He wanted me to tell Chris we are finished, but no, not yet. I told Peter again that Christmas will be the time of decision. I still think it possible that our affaire will end, that my marriage will be safe. So I was extra nice to Chris. We spanned the years so much, but I felt less passion than I pretended to have. I yearned for my gorilla. Tuesday 24th December, 1996 Chris here for Christmas. This Christmas is when I have promised to decide. I was nearly sick thinking about it. I went to bed and cried


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myself to sleep. Clare and Phil have gone away for their holidays. That is something. It seems to give me extra time. Thursday 26th December, 1996 I felt bad every time I looked this man in the eye, this man who brought my womanhood to life, whose love and seed gave me my biggest treasure, Ah Fai. No, I do not believe for one minute that he has been unfaithful to me, as naughtily I did hope before. We made love many times, but only once did Dragon roar. It was when I made myself think of Peter. I felt shame that as I looked at Chris, and felt him inside me, I knew this man could excite me no more. But if my love was dead for him, his love for me was not dead. I could tell. He looked at me sometimes with tender joy, sometimes with a question, a look of hurt. He is not a stone. He knew something was wrong. Saturday 28th December, 1996 The question became so clear to me today. It was not about my love for Peter or about Peter’s love for me. It was about duty. It was about family blood. I went through The Three Options. The First Option is to give up Peter and keep James, and live in the ashes of a marriage. The Second Option is to follow my love, and give up James as the price. The Third Option is to follow my love, and keep James, but destroy all that I have been brought up to believe. Sunday 29th December, 1996 I cried as I drove Chris to the airport. I suppose he thought it was because I would miss him. He could not know that it was because I was about to destroy something that was dearest to me. It is up to me to decide what is the dearest something that I will destroy. I do not know yet. And Christmas is over. Sunday 5th January, 1997 I have reached my decision. Yesterday, Peter, James and I drove to the Blue Mountains. We ate dinner at Leura, we arrived back late at night. James went to bed a tired and happy little boy. I tucked James in, kissed him goodnight, and stood a moment staring down at this little creature who is my life. I then thought that my love for Peter was now huge. It is funny how love create love. The more I loved

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Peter, who is not even the father of James, the more I loved James. How can that be possible? I returned to the lounge-room, where Peter was waiting to say goodbye. I said instead, ‘Stay the night. It is right. I know it is right.’ We went to the bedroom. We undressed each other. I ran my hands through the fur of my dai sing sing. I was choked with love. I just wanted to be held. Not even to make love. We went to bed. I rolled on my side and pressed my back against my lovely, big gorilla, who was protecting me with his long, hard sword. I did not know why I did this, but I wetted my hand with saliva and, behind my back, rubbed it over the glorious, purple crown of his sword. It was very slippery. Then I eased back against him. ‘Emily,’ he whispered, ‘what on earth are you doing?’ ‘Love me,’ I said. Slowly his mass filled me. It was not sex I felt, just fullness. I was full of Peter, so full. His hand reached over, his large finger moved in my front. He slid his other hand under my face, and placed a finger into my mouth. ‘Darling, I am inside every bit of you it is possible to reach.’ His tongue then filled my ear. I was a light bulb that Peter had switched on. Dragon was not only roaring, she was shrieking, blasting flames from her jaws, she, too, was lighting up the world. I could not help it. I screamed. ‘Mummy, Mummy, are you alright?’ We heard the thump as James leapt out of bed. ‘Shh. Don’t move. Just stay there,’ I whispered. The door crashed open and James ran to the bedside. ‘Mummy, are you hurt?’ The room was dark, but I could just see his head beside the bed and his big, frightened eyes. ‘It is all right, darling. I had a strange dream. Come here.’ I wanted to reassure him. He climbed into bed. I do not think he saw Peter behind me. He snuggled against me. ‘Mummy, you haven’t any clothes on.’ ‘It is hot.’ ‘I’m not hot.’ I wrapped him in my arms. He rested his head against my chest. I was breathing into his hair, smelling his hot, little-boy smell. Soon he was breathing deeply, he was asleep. Behind me, Peter, moving so gently, was in me still.


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In his sleep, James’s lips searched and found my nipple. I was suckling my son, as I suckled him years ago. The feeling was intense. It ran to my womb, to Peter’s fingers. My son was attached to me, my lover was inside me, filling me. I was the conduit between the man I love and the son I love. My body was the bridge between these two people who I love so fiercely. Two such different people, of two different races. My boy’s flesh, my lover’s flesh, were joined through my flesh. We were one flesh. My decision was made. Peter would be the father of my son. Saturday, 4th January, 1997 I waited nearly a week before I told Peter. I wanted to test myself. Was this really my decision? Would I change? By today I still did not want to change. I had no doubt. Peter came round on Saturday morning. We were going for a drive to the Hunter Valley. While James was getting ready, I took him outside to the pool area. ‘I have decided.’ My eyes told him my decision. ‘Oh, Emily.’ He held me tight, we kissed, my tears running down his face, his tears running down my face. He then said, ‘Poor Chris, I am so sorry for him.’ His voice was uneven, deeper than usual. ‘When do we tell James?’ ‘Not yet. Not until the divorce is ready to go to court.’ It made it easier to put it off. My happiness was watered with sadness, with pity and with guilt. So much guilt now. Tuesday, 21st January, 1997 Chris rang tonight. He is coming for Chinese New Year. He will arrive on the 6th, in just over two weeks. I will have to tell him then. I am terrified when I think about that. My heart is weeping for him already. Wednesday, 5th February, 1997 Something strange this morning. There was vomit all over Peter’s car. We did not hear any drunks last night. I am very nervous indeed. When will I tell him? The first night he is here? Or on the 12th when he leaves? Peter said to tell him immediately. I think he is right. How could I live with Chris for a week knowing what I had to say? How could Peter think of me living with Chris for a week when I am Peter’s already?

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Thursday, 6th February, 1997 Chris rang from Hong Kong saying he could not come because of business pressure. He would let me know when he is coming, in four weeks, maybe. How very strange. There is no business in Hong Kong during Chinese New Year. Perhaps he has a concubine! I pray that is so. Saturday, 15th February, 1997 Peter is impatient to file for divorce. That is very tempting, but I say, ‘No. I must first tell him face to face. It is only right. He will be coming soon.’ Friday, 14th March, 1997 Chris called and said he would be coming on the 18th March. At last, we can be honest. I feel a burden has lifted, but I do not look forward to this. Then I shall tell James also.

CHAPTER 39

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he evening we arrive back, I begin reading, as soon as I am on my own. At first, although I know what is coming, I am touched by her revelations about her love, her sensuality, in our relationship. So that was when she dreamed up this ‘sweet Dragon’ theme of hers, the night I came, seconds after she left the room! Her version of our wedding night makes me cry for minutes, so overwhelmed am I by her tenderness and joy, and the other side of that coin, my present immeasurable loss. Then her reference to my bruised ring-finger at James’s birth. Yes, Emily darling, it did hurt, very much. I thought it was something that might offset your own physical pain. I am weeping again. I’m suddenly aware of the noise I am making. I pray that Imelda or James do not come out and discover me in this state. The second return to Australia, that Christmas in ’95, was the turning point. As I read on, I see how this same loving, sensual, trusting Emily was being manipulated. Yet in part it was my fault. My phone call at Yuen Siu. Yes, I was drunk, I recall. Yuen Siu had completely slipped my mind. I should have remembered and, had I done so, it is quite possible none of this would have happened. We would have murmured those sweet things that separated lovers say to each other on special occasions. It might easily have inoculated her against plausible devils like this Royce. He knew all about Yuen Siu and had skilfully exploited it. And the treachery and sheer immorality of my supposed friends, Clare and Phil, especially she! She was no more than a procuress, scheming and plotting with this Royce to undermine our marriage! They were all criminals, except what they did was, regrettably, not a criminal offence. Yes, Emily for a long time struggled to behave honourably, but I had left her to struggle alone, while I pursued my career. But that was a joint choice! We both made it, we both knew what we were doing. Tragically, we did not. I did not. She did not. She, poor weak thing, was so easily seduced. No, raped!

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I have to stop at that scene and rush to the bathroom. Emily had been raped, and she wanted it to happen! Again, I hope that Imelda and James will not hear my retching. Aiyaa, many times, I tell myself: I must stop! I know the outcome, why torture myself by reading this? I put it down many times, but each time I pick it up again. It is like some horrible addiction. Then, the excruciating scene where Emily is sodomised in the presence of James! What I personally witnessed was nothing compared with the sheer wickedness and depravity of that. And it was that — that! — that nearly cost me my son! Peter will be the father of my son. Oh no, he won’t! How dare she make a decision like that under such depraved circumstances! My mind is in complete turmoil. Fortunately, I have some sleeping pills, otherwise I feel that my agony would be protracted enough to haul me into insanity. I wake slowly. I am groggy from the pills, but the pain has subsided a little. Whatever else, I do have my son. Dearest James. You will be safe with me now. Safe from all those evil people. No, I don’t include Emily in that. Despite what I read last night, I don’t think of Emily as evil, just deeply misled. James, my dear son, this does mean that you will be separated from your dearest mother who adores you and who you love so much. And so do I. But that is a price that must be paid. I must act today. My first decision is easy. I will not use her diary, even though it would completely clinch my case. I will not even tell Bill I obtained it. It is not simply that it is too private a document to be read in a public court, even though I could ensure that this part of the proceedings would be closed. No, the sense of Emily in her diary is so strong. She is still the same Emily for all those years, you can see that, but an innocently corrupted Emily. Her love has been diverted from me to Royce. In a sense that is all that has happened, but it is devastating for me. I must live with that now. I can see there is no point in reconciliation. Her love for me is dead. She wrote it herself. So no, I cannot possibly use any of it against her in court. I return it by courier with her passport. I say I inadvertently picked up the two documents with other papers, that she can be assured nothing I had read would be used in court, and express deep regret at my carelessness. I love her enough still to want to spare her feelings, so I add that I read only enough to confirm that adultery had occurred. I did not finish it. How I wish that that were true. ‘Royce is playing hardball, Chris. They intend to marry and will fight tooth and claw to get James. Unfortunately, you’re offside. Stealing her


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passport was very, very naughty.’ He wags a large, misshapen finger at me. ‘Send it back immediately. Then we must get an expedited hearing. I’ll pull what strings I can.’ ‘I’ve already done so, Bill, on the way here this morning.’ ‘Goodo. Well, you know the ropes. Just leave everything to me. I’ll get the wheels turning for an interim court order for custody and an expedited hearing. They can appeal all they like after that. You’ve got the kid and you’ve got the interim orders. A piece of cake. I suggest you toddle off to your office and take things easy from here on in.’ He treats me to his gruesome smile and a wink. I feel confident with the legal side of things. My confidence is well placed. Bill’s connections work perfectly. The interim orders are all in my favour. As Bill said, in a case like this, possession is ten tenths, and I am the one who has James. Then, on Tuesday May 6, 1997, it is all finalised. In under half an hour, we are divorced, and I am awarded custody of James. Emily’s lawyers immediately give notice of an appeal to the custody order, but I am not seriously worried. They would need new evidence, unavailable at the original hearing, and there isn’t any. Neither can there be. My only problem now is within me. It is my grief at losing the most precious part of my life. I suspect that is something that time will eventually cure. And meanwhile, I have James with me to help me in that process. I quickly find out that is not to be the case. The one error in all this was my failure to take into account how James would react to losing his mother. Now he knows he is to live in Hong Kong and she is not to be with him, he cannot be comforted. He misses his mother terribly. His love for me, real enough once I am sure, has turned sour. James, James, can’t you see? I miss her, too! But it is too late. For both of us, for all of us. Daily, she rings up from Australia, distraught, sobbing, begging to speak to James. This only upsets him even more. I long to say, ‘Emily darling! Bo bui! I forgive you, I love you! Please come back.’ But I can’t say that. The die is cast. There can be no turning back now. I foolishly try to explain to her over the phone, when James is not within hearing, that she has made her choice and that she must accept what has inevitably flowed from that choice: the order of the court. But she will not accept that. She shouts back at me that whatever the circumstances, the place of James is with her, his mother, and she is appealing on that ground, and on another ground that I will find out about in due course.

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She is bluffing, of course, and these conversations are worse than futile. Her notice of appeal, with or without this so-called new evidence, does not worry me. The appeal will be heard in Hong Kong and it will be settled on the fact that James is now with me and I can look after him. I finally have to tell Imelda to hang up on Emily if she calls again. We are like any two people caught in this terrible and dehumanising situation. We can communicate only through our lawyers, as I have told my own clients on innumerable occasions. I am hating myself for this, for all this pain that is being caused. But was it not she who caused all the pain in the first place? I can only hope that time will heal the pain that James now suffers and that he will forgive. Forgive who? His answer to that question, and my answer, are so different. His Yeh-yeh is thrilled that James is back. He is the only one to whom James will relate. I think that with Yeh-yeh, James finds peace and understanding in a world he cannot understand. It is a world that Ah Ba himself would not understand, if he really knew what had happened. But I don’t tell him any details. I don’t really understand what has happened myself. I find some drawings under James’s bed. Many are of Emily, with writing, ‘Dearest Mummy, how I miss you’. One is titled ‘Uncle Peter’. It is of a fair-haired giant with bulging muscles, a child’s expression of admiration. This stabs me and I have just enough sense to put it back. I can imagine my ancestors telling me, their ancient voices shrill with anger, ‘Strike Ah Fai across the face with it! Tear it up, throw the pieces into his face! Forbid him to draw such things in future!’ Sadly, I know that would make matters worse. James is, as people say, a ‘banana’: yellow on the outside, white on the inside. Chinese he may look, but inside he is Western. Chinese ways no longer impress him. But now that he lives with me, it is my duty to make him Chinese again. But James will not speak to me in Cantonese. I address him in Cantonese, he remains silent. I address him in English, he replies. Our ancestors would not like this at all. I lose my temper one day. I grab him by the shoulders. I shake him. I shout at him in Cantonese. I use his Chinese name. ‘Ah Fai! Speak the language of your ancestors!’ An Australian voice shouts back, ‘Fuck my ancestors!’ For a quick and shocking moment, I agree with my ancestors. I do strike him across the face. I send him spinning across the room. He picks himself up and walks stiffly towards the door. He stops in the doorway.


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‘And fuck you, bum, bastard, shit!’ He stamps out. Then he returns. He shouts. ‘Fuck Yeh-yeh, too! I hate him.’ He then turns and yells down the corridor, ‘And you, Imelda! Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ What have I done to my divinely handsome little boy, heartbreakingly like Emily, to change him so? He is so full of hatred. He hates me now. He truly hates me. He hates both of us. He makes Imelda’s life hell, when she raised him from birth, loving him as she would her own child, when she now tries so hard to comfort him Days after that incident, she comes to me, her large, brown eyes brimming tears. She tells me what I know already. ‘Pardon me, Sir, but he must go to his mother. There is no other way.’ Today is the last day of British rule. James and I agree on a truce for such a day as this. In the morning, we join the crowds of people walking around Central, taking photographs of the remaining emblems of the British: the Union Jack, now flying so free, soon to disappear from Hong Kong for ever, and the Royal Coat of Arms on the Government buildings. The afternoon sees Governor Patten and his family leave Government House. The Union Jack is lowered for the last time. Chinese as I am, the moment stabs. Wah, so much is changing. I think for a moment of what we are losing. Despite my contempt for the British, I think of my education, my pride in my use of English, my teachers, the old colonials, those indefinable things that are part of me and of my family. My eyes are wet, not only from rain. Chris Patten, my namesake, stands in his lounge suit in the pouring rain, receiving the flag. His daughters cry. I am sure his eyes are as wet as theirs. That night we go on a junk trip, organised by Bill. We go first to Lamma Island for a seafood banquet, then to the fireworks in Victoria Harbour. The heavens weep, the cloud is low, and the fireworks explode secretly, in a shroud of regret. The gods do not want to see these celebrations. On our way home, many boats race against a strong wind. Surging, slapping waves add to the chaos. We clear one boat by inches. James is so excited he lets me hug him. After midnight, we see the royal yacht Britannia leaving, the last Governor on board with his weeping daughters. A fire-boat weeps four arching towers of water in sympathy. Hong Kong is now Chinese, baptised with human and celestial tears. What will the future hold, I wonder, now that we are to be ruled by those from whom so many Hong Kong people fled in terror?

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Next day, I tell James he is going to have a very special treat. We enter the foyer of the Mandarin Hotel. Emily is standing there, waiting for us, as arranged, looking so lovely my heart stops. When James sees her, he explodes with joy. His face is happier than I have ever seen it. He rushes into her arms. She stoops and, as she draws him tightly to herself, she raises her face. Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, stream their gratitude. For a tiny moment, I thrill that I have given them such happiness. Then I realize the cost. Who I am, what I have. I am nothing, I have nothing left. I manage to say, ‘James, a kiss for Daddy?’ He turns and, with a wonderful smile, he throws his arms around me. I am forgiven. At least I have that.

IV

CHAPTER 40

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have to tell them and how I dread it! How can they possibly understand? I ring Ah Ba to say I will be over to dinner the next Sunday. As I walk through the door, Ah Ba is all smiles. ‘Ah Fai! Where is Ah Fai?’ He peers over his half-moon spectacles, searching behind me. The showdown is coming faster than I want. I will have to stall until after dinner. Struggling through the meal after breaking this awful news would be unbearable. ‘He is with Emily tonight, visiting her parents. Her mother is not well.’ ‘Oh, we see him later then.’ Even a day late in seeing Ah Fai is a major disappointment. What they will feel when they realize they may never see him again is something I dare not imagine. I shall have to make something up. I don’t want them to know Emily was unfaithful to me. She, the guilty party, ends up with Ah Fai! That is just so contrary to all they believe in, about marriage, rights, male lineage and duty to ancestors. If there was to be a separation, to them in itself so unlikely, there would be no question but that Ah Fai goes to his father and to his father’s family. The fact that she is now living with her illicit lover, and a gwailo at that, makes my handing Ah Fai over to them worse than incomprehensible. They would see my agreeing to that as the act of someone who treated his family obligations, and his ancestors, with contempt. They would never forgive me. Never. No, I shall have to say that Emily divorced me. On what grounds? My adultery, which never happened? Desertion? I was on my own for a year, near enough, which with a bit of twisting I could say is grounds in an Australian court, but unfortunately Australian courts always give custody to the mother, not to the father. But never mind Ah Ba, I shall say, he will visit Hong Kong regularly. But will he? In handing over Ah Fai to Emily, I also handed over my rights as far as the Hong Kong jurisdiction is concerned. Any visits to Hong Kong by James will be entirely up to Emily’s goodwill, unless

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or until I commence complex litigation in Australia. I content myself with the meagre thought that, however self-indulgent Emily may be, she is not malicious, definitely not. But even thinking about Emily, and what I have lost, makes it difficult for me to talk at all. Fortunately, my parents do most of the talking over dinner. They discuss the Handover, what a lovely man that Governor Patten was. PLA soldiers on our streets, what a disgrace! My parents, so traditionally Chinese, seem to have a loyalty to the British that is surprising. I think it more likely that it is not loyalty, but resistance to change. They knew and understood the British Hong Kong. A Communist Hong Kong is something they cannot possibly imagine. Just like an adulterous Emily taking their syun away from them is something they could not possibly imagine. My only solace throughout dinner is Ah Ma’s cooking. If only Imelda could cook half as well — and she is a good cook. Ah Ba is cutting the durian. I let him finish. ‘Ah Ba, Ah Ma, I have terrible news. Emily and I have divorced. I was exercising my visiting rights when Ah Fai was here last time. His home is now in Australia.’ ‘Aiyaa.’ Ah Ba looks thunderstruck. Ah Ma stares at me, and for once is silent. She reaches for a tissue and starts crying quietly. There is a long silence, then she finds her voice. ‘How could she divorce you?’ She sniffs. ‘You have always been a good and generous provider, and a loving father.’ ‘Desertion. Don’t ask me how it works. It’s Australian law. I lived away from my family for too long. And Australian courts always give custody to the mother. But never mind,’ I add quickly, ‘it makes no practical difference. I’ll have my visiting rights, so Ah Fai will come here just as often as he used to. You will see him as much as you always have done.’ ‘That’s not the point,’ Ah Ba is angry. ‘Your rights have been taken away! Our rights. A son’s place is with his father, and with his father’s father.’ ‘Yes, Ah Ba, I agree. But unfortunately, that’s not the way Australian courts see it. They say that a child should be with his mother, especially if he has been living with her all the time. For the past year or so, I have hardly seen him at all. And that’s the problem. That’s how it all happened.’ It is weak, but it is all I can think of. Ah Ba glares at me while am talking. I can see he does not believe me. ‘That damned gwaipor!’ he bursts out. ‘I don’t know about desertion, but I do know what men do when they are cursed by the Wu Lei Jing!’


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Oh God, not that again. Not that it’s my fault, of course, I am just acting under the curse of the Fox Demon. At least I don’t believe that nonsense any more. My parents are stumbling around in a fog of bitter incomprehension. I leave them, my sorrow compounded. I have no doubt at all that James was closer to his mother than to me. I am Western enough to believe that I was right to hand him over, but I am Chinese enough to feel that I have failed my own family, my own ancestors, in doing so. This realisation produces its own bittersweet outcome. As James is closer to his mother, so I become closer to my mother. Dear Ah Ma, who used to irritate me so much, senses it, too. We share a depth of unspoken understanding. The effect is to soften my grief, to increase my acceptance that, however unfair the circumstances, James is indeed better off with Emily and her creature, than with me and my maid. Being closer to Ah Ma makes me feel this and, feeling this, makes me closer to Ah Ma.

CHAPTER 41

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melda is also upset at the way things have turned out. When we first left for Australia, she said goodbye to the cutest and most loving three-year-old. When I asked her to come back to help me look after James, she was so looking forward to continuing that relationship. Instead, she found an unmanageable brat of a seven-year-old, whose only pleasure in life was trying to make things difficult for her. Now he is gone. But, as for me, I still need her help to do the cleaning and cooking. I ask if she would like to stay until the end of her contract. She agrees to do so. When Emily was living here, Imelda always ate with us, unless we had guests. After our meal, she retired to her own little room, where she had a small television and radio. The pattern continues. So I eat dinner, night after night, with an attractive young woman. More attractive, I now see, than I had first thought. She knows all my personal details. She knows where I keep different articles of clothing, what medication I might be taking, what eating preferences I have, what I read. She washes my sheets, and knows when I seek solace in my fantasies. At least she does not know who those fantasies include. I, for my part, am learning more about her personal life. She is a university graduate, I am surprised to discover, with a Liberal Arts degree. She would like to teach, but her husband, Ernesto, cannot find employment, and her teacher’s salary, even if she could obtain a post, would not support a family. So she works as a maid in a foreign country and sees her family about two or three times a year. Her daughter, Rosita, is also aged seven; Imelda hardly knows her. It is a common story. Many amahs are better educated than those whom they serve. And as far as Rosita is concerned, it is not unlike my position with James. So here are two unattached people of the opposite sex, living in the same house, sharing a common life based on detailed knowledge of the other. It is like we are in a marriage, but a marriage in which sex is forbidden. Sometimes Imelda looks at me with a strange expression in her large brown eyes. I read pity there, pity for me in my obvious loneliness and

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misery. I read liking, too. I like her as a person and I can see that that feeling is mutual. All this is compounded by the difference in status that exists and that so many employers, Chinese more than most, I fear, like to rub in. But I also read something else, quite separate from all these other layers of communication. It is a certain wariness, no, a warning: Don’t try anything. So I do not try anything, although I would lie if I said I was not tempted. I would like to say to her, pretending to joke, ‘You know the old saying, Imelda? You made the bed, you must lie in it!’ I wonder how she would react to that? I dare not find out. I could not bear to lose the respect of this person who I pay, in effect, to be the most intimate friend who remains to me. I suspect that sexual longing may be more part of my nature than it is of many others. Martin, for example, is interested in sex, but only in the sex of others; he is a spectator. I am not. I yearn for a woman’s love. I shall have to marry again. Ah Ba is praying that I do, that I give him another syun to love, and to bring up in Chinese ways. Whatever Ah Ba says about the Fox Demon’s curse, I’m sure I will fall in love again, sometime. I must, I will, but there are no prospects in sight. Lucy, Flora, Oi Mei, Winnie, Fanny. All are married and Siu Ling must be, too, by now. Siu Ling! My heart stirs at the thought of her, but it is too late. Our present relationship is founded on misunderstanding. Engaged, married, whatever, I want to straighten things out with her. I want to tell her what has happened to me. That I am divorced, that I have lost Ah Fai. But as I read her present mood, she would see that as me crawling back to her when it suited me. Nevertheless, I did ring her office, several times. Her secretary told me she was in China. I left my name and number each time and asked her to call me back when she returned. She did not. Poor old Chris. I consider procuring the services of a gai to tide me over. I am sitting in the corner of the living-room thinking these thoughts. I have switched the light off. I prefer sitting in semi-darkness when my thoughts are ranging so widely, so feelingly. The only light in the room comes from the glass balcony doors opposite, the chaotic lights of Hong Kong. They are like strobe lights in an enormous strip-joint. Whatever happens to any one of us, that extravert world thunders on. I have a glass of whisky and ice resting on the sill of the small window on this side of the room. Outside, the Peak rears upwards. As I reach for my whisky, I notice for the first time that, from this angle, I can see clearly into Imelda’s room.


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The curtains are not drawn and she is sitting on a chair, in her dressing gown, looking into a small mirror, rubbing some cosmetic into her face. I study her. Yes, she definitely is pretty, in a typically Filipina way, those flattish features and large, owl-like eyes. It is different from the finely chiselled prettiness of attractive Chinese women, but appealing nevertheless. She shrugs off her gown and turns around, to lay it on the bed. My God, she is naked! Her breasts are beautifully formed, fuller than typical Chinese breasts. She has dark skin, the colour and texture that Australians would die for, her nipples a couple of shades darker than their surrounding spheres. My excitement mounts and with it my guilt, which only adds to my excitement. It is the boatshed feeling all over again. I feel like a naughty thirteen-year-old once more. The knowledge of the naughtiness of what I am doing only increases the pleasure I am receiving. I know I should stop this at once. But I do not. I do worse. I remember the theatre binoculars Emily bought to watch the ballet. They are in a drawer in the sideboard. Guiltily, urgently, I get up and open the drawer. Yes, they are here. I settle myself back, pressing far into the corner, so I will not be seen. Imelda is now standing, facing the window, looking over her shoulder, inspecting her back in the mirror. Her breasts are showing to best advantage, in profile, her body facing the window, full on. I focus the binoculars on to her rich, dark pubic area. I am sweating with guilty, schoolboy excitement. She stops her inspection and walks towards her little bathroom. On the way, she looks up at the window and stops. She seems to be staring straight at me. Oh God, can she see me? Surely not. I am sitting well back, in darkness. She moves swiftly to the window and draws the curtains shut. I have a split-second vision of upheld arms, flashes of puboid under-arm hair, darkly enticing breasts — and then the wholesome, opaque glow of backlit curtain. I shut my eyes and pray that her action was only because she’d noticed the curtains weren’t drawn, not that she’d seen me. I sit back, torn between the desperate urge to relieve my excitement manually and the fear that she might have seen me peeping. How low have I become! I promise myself I will never look out this window again. Never again. Suddenly the door bursts open and the light is snapped on. Imelda is standing in the doorway, her gown wrapped around her. She notices the binoculars in my hand still. Her face contorts with anger. ‘So it was you! Go on then, Sir. If you want to look at me, go ahead. Have a good look! Just don’t spy on me!’

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She steps into the room and flings her gown wide. Her nakedness accuses me with an accuracy more deadly even than her words. My shame is total. I look away and cover my face with my hands. ‘Imelda, I am so ashamed. Can you possibly forgive me?’ My voice breaks. I hear the slap of her bare feet as she runs runs back to her room. I want to die. I have done the very thing I least wanted to do. I have lost Imelda’s respect. I am the lowest of the low, a peeping tom. It would have been better by far to have made an honest pass at her, and to have been rejected. At least I would have acted like a man and not like some despicable and cowardly haam sap lo. A salty, wet man. How well the Cantonese expresses the right degree of contempt. I stumble to my bedroom. This is the end. Imelda will leave. Ah Ba was right after all. The curse of the Wu Lei Jing remains to destroy me. I lie on my bed, staring at the doorway. Sleep is impossible. A white shape appears in the doorway. Has the Fox Demon come to torture her victim further? ‘Sir? Sir, I should not have spoken to you like that. I am sorry.’ It is not the voice of a demon. ‘No, Imelda, I am the one who must apologise. What I did was unforgivable. I am more sorry than I can say.’ ‘Sir, I know how hard things are for you. It is understandable. You must be very lonely.’ She moves towards the bed. I am overwhelmed by her understanding, her forgiveness. Her gown drops and she slips into bed with me. She takes my face in her hands, she kisses me. She presses her body against mine. ‘Sir, we are both lonely. We can comfort each other.’ Oh, how right she is! I kiss her in return, my hands caress her. I am overwhelmed with relief, with reawakened lust, with amazement at her understanding. But what I say is so banal. ‘Imelda, do not call me “Sir”.’ She laughs. ‘Imelda, you are married, and you are a Catholic. How can we — ?’ ‘No problem, si — Chris. I know where you and Ma’am used to keep these.’ She switches on the bedside light and unrolls a condom on to me. My maid is now on public display as my concubine. I take her to restaurants she would never have experienced in her life before. Sometimes, I meet acquaintances. You can read their faces.


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‘See what Wong has come to nowadays? Screwing his amah, poor bastard. Fair enough, but flaunting it publicly! That’s a bit much.’ A few senior colleagues in the legal profession are even less charitable. They cut me, not acknowledging my greetings, fierce disapproval written over their faces. Of course, we never receive social invitations as a couple. I don’t care. My strength — I call it that — in ignoring these social messages comes from thinking about Siu Ling. How she followed her instinct of what she thought was right, an instinct that was at first so principled, and which later became flawed. But never mind that, the fact was that she steered according to her own compass. So I do not care if they think I am paying Imelda to be my concubine. I do not see her as my concubine, any more than she sees herself that way. She does not receive a dollar more — not directly — now that she sleeps in my marriage bed. It is just a natural extension of our previous life. The only difference now is that sex is not forbidden. Sex is both a solace and the joyful means of creating a friendship deeper than would otherwise have been possible. Her forgiveness for my despicable behaviour is a continuing source of wonder. That she could be so forgiving, after her immediate reaction of such justified outrage! Further, she is a devout Catholic. In all her years alone in Hong Kong, she had not to my knowledge strayed from her marriage vows, unlike many amahs who, in their unnatural and unfortunate position, use their sex to sweeten their miserable lives. I feel privileged to have this intimacy with such a person. It helps greatly to heal me. My relationship with Imelda may not quite be one of love yet, but it is right. I feel it in my bones. It is right for both of us, at this time in our lives. We are both happy and for that to be the case, given where we were, especially where I was, just a few months ago, is nothing short of a miracle. But it cannot last, we both know that. She raises the matter, in bed, a couple of months later. ‘Chris, I shall have to go back to Manila. We are getting too deep. I am married and can never divorce. Anyway, I want to see my child.’ ‘I understand. Will you be coming back to Hong Kong on another contract?’ ‘Not if I can avoid it. I have saved up some money. With that, I can keep Ernesto and Rosita for a while. I need some time with them. I am afraid that the longer I stay with you, the more difficult it will be.’ ‘Imelda, I shall miss you terribly, you did a wonderful thing for me.’ I kiss her. Both our faces are wet.

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‘Chris, another thing. I am pregnant.’ Oh God! We did take a risk, more than one, three weeks ago. She said it was her safe period. My thoughts are in turmoil. ‘Imelda! Then in that case, you must stay with me.’ Yes, I would marry her, and Ah Ba would have his new syun. He would love him or her I am certain. As would I. Oh yes, I would! ‘No, Chris. All the more reason to go back. I have only just found out, and Ernesto need never know. Each time I return to him, after these long absences, we make love all the time. And he wants another child, as do I. So it is important I leave as soon as possible.’ ‘Imelda, how can you do that? Deceive Ernesto about his own paternity? I mean, surely he will find out, when he has a Chinese-looking child?’ ‘Ernesto is part Chinese. Many Filipinos are.’ I am dumbfounded. I am also beginning to feel cheated myself. This is my child, too! And I have lost one already. But mostly I am shocked at her amorality. I thought I knew her. I switch on the light. I pull up her nightie and stroke her brown stomach. I lay my head against it. I hear only the gurgles of her dinner settling down. ‘Too early for any signs, Chris. Make love to me one last time. And we need not bother to be careful.’ Next morning, she is just as determined. I again raise the morality of what she is doing. ‘You do not understand us Filipinos. What you and I did was right for us, but it is time to stop. Some sins are relative and some are absolute. I cannot abort, that is absolute. My family, too, is absolute. We both want another child. Father de Rivera will negotiate with God concerning my relative sins.’ She smiles at me with love, a relative love. ‘Imelda, you have nearly two and a half years still to run on your contract. Had it not been for me, you would have worked until the end of it. I insist I pay you up until the end.’ ‘No, Chris. I am not after your money. I am not your concubine, although other people, even your friends, seem to think so. Just pay me to the end of this month.’ I do a quick calculation on the remainder of her contract. ‘I make it about $95,000 still to come. Call it maintenance, paid in advance. After all, we are talking about my child.’ She bows her head, thinking long and hard. Then she smiles a brilliant smile, ‘Chris, are you sure?’ Before I can answer, teeth


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flashing, eyes dancing, she continues, ‘That would solve all our problems! We could set up a business over there with that sort of money. I needn’t be a domestic servant ever again.’ There is not an available seat for Manila until the next day. So, on our last night together, we go to dinner at the Vong restaurant in the Mandarin. We go home, a mixture of sad happiness. Our love-making this time really is final. I will remember it until I die. Next morning, I cancel all appointments at the office and go to Chek Lap Kok with her. At the departure gate we cling tightly, saying nothing. It is all beyond me. What I feel cannot be put into words. Except I can truthfully say this. We crossed the line between respect and friendship very early. We then, finally, crossed that further and more distant line. The line that separates friendship from love itself. Even if it was only a relative love.

CHAPTER 42

O

ne Sunday, some weeks after Imelda has gone, Emily rings. ‘Chris, we are in Hong Kong. Mother is going fast. While I am here, I think we should talk about James. You do want to see him?’ The sound of her voice sets my heart racing. Such a mixture of emotions I feel! I decide to be as coolly polite as I can. I must not show my feelings. It could so easily get out of control, with me shouting what I had in my blacker moments internally shouted: ‘Well, are you happy now, you fucking slut? Who I still love! Now that you have completely wrecked my life and made my son fatherless?’ Stop it! No, I must keep control. As for her, what must she be feeling? Remorse? I wonder. I think she probably does. She must. ‘Chris, Chris, are you there?’ ‘Yes, sorry, it’s such a surprise hearing you like this. And yes, of course I want to see James! So would my parents. They are devastated about what has happened. We need to regularise things, visiting rights and all that.’ ‘That is why I am ringing. How about this morning? Now would be a good chance to talk alone. James is showing Peter around the Peak. He’s fine, by the way, and I’ll tell you all about him when we meet. Shall I come to Conduit Road? Er, can you handle that?’ ‘Come on Emily, I am not a child. Of course I can.’ Maybe. We shall see. ‘I’ll be there in about half an hour.’ I open the door. There she is, looking self-conscious and apologetic. She is wearing a T-shirt and shorts, showing off her long legs, now a deep brown. She tentatively holds out her hand. ‘Oh, come on.’ She looks relieved as I use her hand to pull her to me. It is all I can do not to throw my arms around her, hug her tightly, thrust my tongue into her sweet mouth. But I only kiss her cheek. We go inside and she looks around. The living room is untidy. ‘Aiyaa, Imelda is slacking.’ ‘Imelda has gone back to Manila.’ ‘Why? You need a maid. That much is obvious.’

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I’m both annoyed and pleased about her wifely interest in my domestic affairs. I decide to be honest with her. We shall certainly need to be on other matters. ‘We grew too close. It had to stop.’ She laughs. ‘Well, well, naughty old Chris! But you never did let a chance go by, did you?’ ‘That’s unfair! I was never once unfaithful to you during our marriage. Not once!’ I stop myself saying, not like you, you hot bitch. ‘Oh? That’s not what a little bird told me!’ ‘Eh? What are talking about?’ ‘Come on, Chris. Guangzhou. When I phoned you, you were with Siu Ling, weren’t you?’ ‘Yes, I was. We were having dinner, as a matter of fact. And that is all. We did not have sex. Repeat. We did not have sex. Then, or at any other time in our marriage.’ ‘Well, that’s odd.’ She obviously believes me. She pauses, frowning. ‘A few days after you obtained the order for custody, I received an anonymous letter. I was going to use it in our appeal, because it changed the order of events. Your adultery preceded mine — .’ ‘Emily, I told you there was no adultery. This is outrageous!’ ‘Can I finish?’ ‘Sorry, go on.’ ‘The letter said, printed and unsigned: “It is your right to know that your husband has been unfaithful, with a certain colleague. It was at a legal conference, November 15, 1994. A friend who cares.” Get it? That was before Peter and I —’ ‘Fucking Martin!’ I shout. ‘The treacherous bastard!’ She looks astounded. ‘Martin?’ I explain what happened. She is not pleased. ‘Really! You must have thought a lot of Siu Ling to risk putting our marriage on the line? Our marriage as it was then, that is.’ ‘Would you believe that much of the reason I said that was to wipe the look off Martin’s face? I wanted to put the sneering, supercilious bastard in his place. And then it seems he felt it his duty to tell you. I insisted to him that what I had said was in the strictest confidence.’ She shrugs. ‘Maybe it wasn’t him. He’s a creep, but he does have some principles.’ ‘Well, if it wasn’t him, he must have told someone else. No, it has to be him. That wording, “a certain colleague”. That’s him all right. He’s still jealous of Siu Ling over the Herbert Tsien Medal.’ I pause. Yes,


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I think I can follow his self-serving moralistic thinking. ‘So it was soon after my custody order? Now Martin would know that I probably would have not obtained custody had I committed adultery first, and had you defended. So here was ammunition for you to appeal — ’ ‘Which is precisely what we were going to do. That was the “new evidence” I referred to on the phone. Then when you handed James back, there was no need to use it, of course.’ I’ve got it. ‘Yes. If you had appealed, my alleged adultery with Siu Ling would have been all over the papers here. It certainly would have damaged her in a political comeback, and probably would have damaged her legal career, as well. In Hong Kong, men can be promiscuous, but not women. Not like Australia.’ I add, with a hard look. Her face flares, but she doesn’t say anything. ‘Yes, this has Martin’s stamp on it, no doubt about it. I forced him to retract his previous attempt to damage Siu Ling, so here was another chance, on a stick, on the pretext of serving justice.’ ‘Are you going to say anything to him?’ ‘I’ll choose the moment. Anyway, that’s not what you’re here for. Drink? Tea?’ ‘Please. I’ll get it.’ How easily, in our old flat, she falls back into her old role. I study her, while she moves around the kitchen that was once so familiar to her. Her skin all over is darker and that is a pity. Her face is a little harder, there are fine lines appearing around her eyes. She is different, more outgoing, more confident. Australia has definitely changed her. I prefer the old Emily, yet even so I long to touch this Emily, to hold her in my arms, to kiss her. Emily, this is where you really belong! Here, with me! She suddenly jerks her head up, looking at me, as if the force of my thinking had turned my thoughts into words that shouted at her. Her eyes well up. She takes a deep breath. She breaks the spell. ‘While we’re waiting for the water to boil, I’m intrigued about you and Imelda. Tell me more.’ I am relieved. My story steers me from my morbid agonising. ‘It’s almost inevitable in our circumstances. Two lonely people living so closely and so personally.’ I do not tell her of my shameful spying. ‘She must have had a long way to go on her contract. Why did she want to leave?’ ‘We became too close and she was worried about her own marriage.’ This I cannot resist: ‘And she was pregnant.’ ‘Chris!’ She stares, eyes wide, mouth gaping.

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I tell her all about that. I am not ashamed. As I speak, she pours the tea and we go back to the living room. She sips, and then says, looking amused, ‘Imelda is a very clever woman.’ ‘She is, but what makes you say that?’ ‘Well, she arrives back in Manila over two years early, with a $95,000 bonus in her pocket. I would say that’s pretty clever, wouldn’t you?’ ‘But that was only because she was pregnant.’ ‘Exactly. How do you know it was her safe period? It obviously wasn’t.’ She lets that sink in. Then she continues. ‘Come to that, you have only her word that she was even pregnant. Either way, it seems to me like she understood our principled Chris only too well.’ I am stunned. Then an even worse thought hits me. Not only might she not have been pregnant, but she orchestrated the whole episode as her revenge for spying on her. If so, any ‘relative love’ existed on my side only. Have I been cheated by Imelda, too? Is every woman I make love to a Wu Lei Jing? Emily reads my face. ‘Sorry, Chris, I shouldn’t have said that. You know her better than I do. I’m probably quite wrong. Imelda sounds like she has been a good friend to you. She had no reason to cheat you like that.’ Hadn’t she just! I am angry that I have allowed Emily to see me so vulnerable. We sit beside each other on the sofa. She is holding her cup up to her mouth. I see two beautiful eyes look at me with genuine concern, even with pity, but not with love. I feel a bubble rising in me, pushing me both to laugh and to cry. Then — what the hell! It doesn’t really matter about Imelda. She helped me at a time when I needed it. All she did, if she did lie, on either count, was to her the means justifying the end. The relative in service of the absolute. ‘Oh Emily, I don’t know. I’ll never know. Call it maintenance, call it rehabilitation therapy. Whatever.’ She puts her cup down. ‘Well, enough of that. We must talk arrangements.’ ‘You said James is well?’ ‘Very, as you’ll find out tomorrow. That is, if you want to.’ ‘Of course I want to!’ I think hard. I’ll take some holidays. ‘Could he stay here with me for a few days. How about a week? If he wants to. That would be wonderful and my parents would be thrilled. They have missed him so much.’ ‘Sure. I’ll talk it over with him. We return to Sydney at the end of next week.’


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I swallow as I ask the hard question, ‘Does he ever ask about me?’ ‘Frequently. That’s one reason why I’m here. I also think it is your right to have James visit you.’ ‘Thank you,’ I say with exaggerated politeness, ‘I would have to agree with you about that.’ But I spoil it. I have to ask, ‘And how does he get on with, with, The Creature?’ ‘Don’t feel hurt, Chris, but Peter is lovely with James. They get on very well together, but it is always made clear that you are James’s father. He is not taking over, in that sense. He’s quite a nice old creature, really. But no matter what has happened, Chris, James is better with me.’ ‘I came to that conclusion myself — ’ It is starting to hurt again. ‘Yes, given the circumstances. Which I did not create.’ ‘Oh, Chris, please.’ She reaches across and presses my hand. Those marvellous eyes swell out at me. ‘Can’t we come to an agreement about James? He can visit here in school holidays and, if you come to Sydney, you can see him there. You could stay with us, if that would help.’ ‘In what was my own house, or in his?’ I snatch my hand away. ‘I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive.’ She sits back, sipping her tea. She is on the edge of tears. I must stop being petulant. We have to finalise arrangements. And finalise where we are, Emily and I. But it is so hard to do that here, in our old home, our first golden house, which we established. Together. I suppress that horrible lump that is rising in my throat. The details of my visiting rights we easily agree. I then suggest regular maintenance. It makes me feel I have a stake in James, more specifically that he is mine, not The Creature’s. Anyway, if I am paying for a hypothetical child in Manila, I might as well pay for a real one in Sydney. Chris, the lawyer, finalises. ‘Let us draw up a legal agreement and have it sworn while you’re still in Hong Kong.’ ‘Good. I’ll leave it to you. Let me know when it is ready. We’re staying at my parents’ home.’ We stand, facing each other. I’m about to ask what her father thinks of her new domestic arrangements, but I don’t. It’s none of my business any more. Which reminds me. ‘Emily, I want to apologise for stealing your diary — ’ Her eyes flash with anger. ‘Perhaps you had some sort of right to steal James, but you had none whatsoever to steal my diary.’ ‘I know. That’s why I sent it straight back. I’m genuinely sorry about that. I didn’t finish reading it and I didn’t use a word for legal purposes.

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But, Emily, I read enough to make me wish I had seen it before I found out what was going on. Had I really known how you were feeling, how deprived of love, all this might not have happened.’ She shrugs. ‘Who knows? But yes, how did you find out about Peter and I? It was obviously before you took the diary.’ ‘Bill let me take the Chinese New Year break early. I paid you a surprise visit. Only it was I who got the surprise. I saw you and him in the pool. Rather, getting out of the pool, and then — ’ ‘Oh, Chris! Stop it!’ Her face flames scarlet. She is obviously remembering exactly what I saw. ‘The vomit all over the car! We thought it was a drunk. How shocked and hurt you must have been!’ ‘I was. Believe me.’ She just stares at me, tears trickling down livid cheeks. Tears not only of shame at what she had done, I think, but of genuine sympathy for my pain, now she can relive the scene as I saw it. She pulls a small tissue pack from her shorts pocket. ‘I knew I’d need these! What I did was terrible. For you, for James, for your parents.’ She tries to smile. ‘Maybe I’m a Wu Lei Jing, too — ’ But it doesn’t work. She’s openly sobbing. Suddenly, she’s in my arms, her face on my chest. ‘Chris, can you ever forgive me?’ Oh, the surge of desire! It is unbearable. I must crush it. I let her go and step back. I force an easy smile I do not feel. ‘I guess I don’t have much option, do I?’ ‘Mummm,’ she pouts that strange little sound of hers. ‘I hope that was “yes”.’ She dabs her eyes again. She is penitent, yet she is also strangely innocent in her wrongdoing. She is as sweet as she ever was. She doesn’t love me any more and she is grieving for that dead love, and what it once meant. So am I. Only my grief also includes a love that is still tragically alive. ‘Yes, Emily. It was “yes”.’ I kiss her cheek. She gives me a wobbly smile. ‘Thank you, Chris. I’ll send James around tomorrow. Nine o’clock?’

CHAPTER 43

E

mily’s visit leaves me greatly relieved that the matter of James has been settled so easily. Beyond that, I am doubly depressed. I am depressed about Imelda. If it is true she lied to me, then she hadn’t forgiven me at all for my unspeakable behaviour. In that case, it remains as a festering source of shame. Further, I was deluding myself in believing that we had shared something sweet and tender. But then, I recall the tone of her voice, her spontaneity, some sweet, caring gestures. We made love, unprotected, after she had said she was pregnant. She must have been pregnant, otherwise she wouldn’t take that risk. No, I cannot believe she could be that manipulative. But the doubt has been planted now. It worries at me, like a loose filling. But I am much more depressed about Emily. Seeing her again, hearing her voice, holding her in my arms, reopened wounds that were only just beginning to heal. Her visit was a graphic reminder of the collapse of what I had once believed was a truly perfect marriage. And I find my desire for her is unabated. Her Australian veneer notwithstanding, she is still the most desirable woman I can imagine. I throb with a residual, savage longing for her, knowing we will never make love again. I have to get out. I need company. On the spur of the moment I phone Alex. He and Eric had often suggested I join them in their favourite drinking place on Sunday nights: a gay bar in Wanchai. Oh well, it will be different, after this morning’s emotional intensity. They are like an old married couple now. Eric still has his mischievous sense of humour, if it is humour. I remind him of his comment to Flora at Amah Rock. ‘Yes, I meant it! She has such a cute, little bum. For a girl.’ I don’t know whether to laugh or not. I look around me at the people here. Yes, I suppose they would think that funny. Different strokes, I guess. But Alex seems to agree with me. ‘Yes, Dai-dai, but it was way over her head. She was a sweet kid and you hurt her.’ ‘Oooh, in love with her then, were we?’

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I can see Alex is annoyed. I really wonder why he puts up with him. Love? I do not understand. I am increasingly irritated by Eric, so I raise a matter that has long rankled with me. ‘Eric, remember our reunion at my house? Why did you use Ah Fai to tease Siu Ling? She was deeply hurt by that. You know what our relationship was.’ This time, I do puncture that camp façade. He flushes, looking uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t want to hurt Siu Ling, I just thought she would like to hold your lovely little boy. No, I am really sorry if I hurt her. I think she is a wonderful person.’ But he would have to add, ‘For a woman.’ No point in dwelling on it. We drink on and chat about old times, but it is not working. It is time to go. I yearn for sex, but what is readily available here is not to my taste. I walk along Lockhart Road towards Causeway Bay. I have decided to do what I had concluded was my fall-back position that night — that now so ambiguous night — when Imelda came to my room. I will visit a prostitute. I had never done that before and would not, I imagine, ever again. But it seems appropriate the way I feel now, so depressed yet so excited by my longing for Emily. There are a few gais standing around. My stomach surges briefly, but no, not a street pick-up. I look around for those tell-tale yellow characters. Ah, a neon sign: ‘Lucky Golden House.’ Any qualms about taking the next step are dispelled by the name. I guess that is why they chose it. There would be plenty of girls in this golden house. I pass the door and look inside. It seems quite stylish, a cut above the ordinary brothel, I imagine. A middle-aged woman is behind the desk, overweight, and wearing a revealing bodice. Years ago, she would have been very attractive. She reminds me of Fanny, a comparison I must tell Fanny one day. It would appeal to her sense of humour. ‘Good evening, Sir. Would Sir like to look at our catalogue?’ She passes me a large leather-bound folder, like a posh dinner menu. It contains photos of girls in revealing underwear. Some are quite beautiful. Filipinas, a couple of Thais, mostly Chinese. Here is one, a Northerner, who reminds me strongly of Emily. My smouldering desire roars into flames. ‘Her,’ I point. ‘Number 23. Her name’s Azure. Let me check. Yes, she’s free. How long?’ ‘An hour.’


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‘$1,000. Pay now, and then go up the stairs, turn right and carry straight on until you get to Room 23. I’ll phone through and tell her you’re coming. Oh, and by the way, I am sure she would appreciate a little gratuity if she provides you with the sort of service you desire.’ I tap nervously on the door. ‘Yap duk lai, la.’ Her Cantonese is accented. I enter. An attractive girl, in a semi-transparent short robe, is reclining on top of the bed, her knees drawn up, her back propped up by a pile of pillows. She has Emily’s large eyes and a similar shaped face. But now I look at her in the flesh, the likeness is not nearly as close as the photograph suggested. I am glad to say I am relieved. I would not like to cheapen my memories of Emily by seeing her as a whore. Yet, and yet, I am also disappointed. She gets up from the bed. ‘Hi, handsome. Let’s give you a shower first, then a nice rub-down.’ She helps me undress. ‘What do I call you?’ ‘Martin.’ ‘Okay, Martin, come in here.’ In the corner of the room, through frosted glass, is an ensuite. She shrugs off her gown and takes me through, turns on the shower and washes me carefully, especially around the genitals. I notice she winces slightly as she walks. I look down, patches of skin on her feet are peeling and raw. I nod towards them. ‘What’s the matter with your feet?’ This is worrying. ‘Don’t you worry about it. Occupational hazard.’ ‘How come?’ ‘You try having ten or more showers a day, your feet never getting properly dry. Your skin peels. It clears up with Tiger Balm, after a few days off. No problem.’ Azure rubs me down with a scented oil. It is very sensual, her leaning over me, her breasts inches from my face. She is sexy, but she has style, too. Seeing her in the street, I would not guess her profession. She takes me over to the bed and produces a condom, which she puts on me. ‘Okay, Martin, go for your life.’ This is the least satisfactory part. Whereas before she was active and chatty, she is now withdrawn. She turns her head to one side, her eyes staring at the wall. I try hard to think of her as Emily, but in profile she is not like her at all. I then close my eyes and imagine Siu Ling, but I am surprised to find I cannot, it does not seem right. So, I am back to Azure,

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still staring at the wall. Is she thinking of her impoverished family in Hebei Province, perhaps? Thinking of what she has to endure in order that they may survive? I wonder what sort of private pain she is going through, what her story might be, so that she is prepared to submit her body to ten or more men a night. And here am I, grasping cheap pleasure from that same poor, abused body. I finish, feeling bad. I feel I have added to the degradation of someone who is already living a tragedy. ‘Azure, you looked so thoughtful then, so far away. What were you thinking?’ I put my hand under her face and gently turn her round. Her eyes meet my own eyes, now so close to tears. ‘I was thinking that since you’re my last customer tonight, I’ll grab a bite to eat on the way home. They’ve just opened a new McDonalds a couple of blocks away. A nice Big Mac, that’s what I’d like.’

CHAPTER 44

B

ill was cooperative about me taking my holidays and James did stay for a week. He was a delight, the anger and hatred of his previous stay entirely forgotten. His only disappointment was that Imelda had gone. I have to admit that I had no doubt in my mind that he was living in a loving home. I even thought I might be able to meet The Creature in time. Certainly what James said about him was all positive. But James, bless him, always emphasised that he was only his step-father. He called him ‘Daddy-Peter’, he explained, whereas I was always the real ‘Daddy’. I heard that with mixed feelings, but James meant well. We spent most days of that week at my parents’ house. Ah Fai loved to help in the shop, as I used to do. Ah Ba was back in his seventh heaven, resigned to the fact that his beloved syun would visit just a few weeks each year. Ah Fai was coming on well with his characters now. When Emily took him back to Australia after the Handover, she enrolled him in a Saturday School, where Chinese children keep in touch with their culture. Ah Ba was delighted with Ah Fai’s progress. When James left at the end of the week, he left a large hole in my heart. But I will see him again. There is a future for us both. As for me, I am back where I started in Western District, many, many years ago. There is still no girl in my golden house. Here’s Martin again, with that look on his face. Now is the time. I will raise the matter of the letter to Emily and then I might suggest a good night with Azure. It would do him a power of good. But he is the one who accuses first. ‘I thought you said Siu Ling was married!’ ‘She was certainly engaged and, as I understood it, she later married. I haven’t heard from her for a couple of years. I’ve been a little preoccupied, you might say.’ ‘Well, if she was married, she’s not now. Or at least if she is, she has a somewhat peculiar way of spending her time.’

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Here we go again. ‘Martin, I’m sick and tired of your snide innuendo. Get to the point. And then I have something to say to you.’ ‘Hmmph. Methinks he doth protest too much. Oh well,’ he shrugs. ‘Now, if you’d like a drink and a pleasant chat with a certain colleague, I suggest you try the new wine bar at the Regal Kowloon. She sits there with a bottle of wine most weeknights, after eight or so. She seems to be neglecting her husband, wouldn’t you say? Or perhaps he is neglecting her. I wonder which?’ I suppress the desire to punch him. ‘That’s none of my business, Martin, or yours. Now it’s my turn. I have just learned that Emily received an anonymous letter, pointing out that my alleged adultery with Siu Ling preceded hers. You are the only person who knew about that. What do you say?’ ‘It wasn’t necessarily me! I’m sure it is likely that you were seen by others, at breakfast for example.’ ‘It was necessarily you. For one simple reason. It didn’t happen! I made it up for your benefit. Or rather, for Siu Ling’s benefit.’ I fix him with my cross-examination stare. He looks thunderstruck. Then he draws himself up, returning my look, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles. ‘Well, if you’re prepared to perjure yourself, that is your decision. And your problem. As for me, I was acting on principle. Naturally, I would assume that what you told me was true. And, assuming that it was true, it was a vital piece of evidence in a custody claim. It needed to be examined in court. I presumed Emily would appeal and, that being the case, she needed to have that vital piece of evidence.’ ‘And, of course, there would be plenty of collateral damage, in the form of extremely negative publicity for Siu Ling.’ ‘That’s as may be. I can’t help that.’ ‘Martin, do you know, I think that that was your real motivation. I think you’re still jealous of Siu Ling, after all these years, because she beat you to the Herbert Tsien Medal. And she’s still ten times the lawyer that you’ll ever be.’ He stands in the doorway, frozen. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing happens. A tear forms in one eye and rolls down his cheek. He takes off his glasses with one hand and wipes his eye with a sleeve. Then he turns and slams the door behind him. My computer screen shakes momentarily. Well, he deserved that, every last bit of it.


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But whatever is Siu Ling doing? I had tried to contact her, several times, but it seemed that she didn’t want to know me. I assumed she had married and simply dropped out of circulation. Her professional life was mentioned in the Court notices, appearing in this case or that case, but nothing remotely resembling news about her had cropped up. Until Martin’s most recent bit of gossip. Dear, dear Siu Ling! How I long to see you again, even if you are married. Even if you wouldn’t call me back. I notice she is appearing in court in a couple of days, so she is likely to be in her office. Swallowing my pride, I dial her number yet again. This time she answers herself. ‘Siu Ling, long time no see!’ ‘Hello, Chris.’ She doesn’t sound exactly pleased to hear from me. ‘How are things?’ ‘So-so. And you?’ ‘They have been excruciatingly terrible over the past eighteen months, but now I’m settling down.’ ‘I’d heard you and Emily had divorced. I’m sorry for her. She was nice.’ ‘Sorry for her? What about me?’ This is outrageous! ‘And why should I feel sorry for you? You not only got your girl, you got Ah Fai, too.’ ‘Siu Ling! What are you talking about? I divorced her on the grounds of her adultery. She’s now living in Sydney with her new husband and with my son. And you feel sorry for her! What sort of sisterhood crap are you on about?’ I’m ready to hang up on her. Damn her! ‘What?’ The shock in her voice is genuine. She must have heard the wrong story. ‘Siu Ling, my dear, you and I have a lot to talk about it. Now is not the time. Let’s say tonight. What about the new wine bar in the Regal Kowloon?’ ‘You have chosen my favourite watering hole.’ ‘Martin told me you like to go there. Hey, let’s make it six o’clock, and then we’ll eat in The Restaurant de France next door.’ She laughed. ‘You’re way out of date. It’s called Maman’s Kitchen now. But sorry, I can’t. I have to attend a finger food reception at the office. Oh Chris, I’m so glad you cleared that up. You’ve no idea what I’ve been thinking about you and why I didn’t call you back. Yes, a drink would be a very good idea. Make it nine. You eat first.’ I’m playing with a glass of South Australian shiraz when she arrives. Dressed stylishly as usual, but she looks drawn and unhappy.

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I stand. I embrace her full on, my cheek resting on hers, but we do not kiss. Then we sit, looking at each other warily. It has been a long time. She looks as though she has been through as much shit as I have. We are both cautiously fishing, to see where we stand with each other. ‘Poor Chris, it seems that I got it all wrong. I’m sorry.’ ‘My dear Siu Ling, you don’t have to apologise — here, just a minute.’ I signal the waiter. ‘What’s yours?’ ‘What are you having? I’ll try that. After the Sassicaia, I trust your judgement. On wine,’ she adds with a wry grin. I look at her closely. Her eyes are nested in a filigree of fine wrinkles, giving her a sunken, defeated look, so unlike her. Her mouth is turned downwards, thinning her once full lips. Apart from that she has hardly aged. Her face is still cutely delicate, her smile as captivating. I sense that her mischievous look could return in a flash, but it is not here now. ‘What are you looking at?’ ‘You, Siu Ling. Do you know, you have hardly changed in all these years!’ ‘Nice of you to say so, Chris, but so wrong. Cheers.’ She raises her glass. ‘Well, let me straighten you out about things. First, my own little drama. Typical tai hung yan stuff. Only in this case, it was not the husband who was playing around. I found out about it when I paid a surprise visit. I was the one who got the surprise. I caught them, in flagrante.’ ‘Oh Chris, how awful for you! I got it completely wrong. I didn’t read the notice myself, my secretary told me about it. She said the ground was adultery and yet you were awarded custody. I naturally assumed any adultery was yours.’ ‘Given everything, I suppose you would.’ She is looking at me, really looking at me, for the first time since we broke up more than fourteen years ago. The games, the bantering, the anger, have gone. ‘I must say I’m astonished, Chris. Emily seemed so straight, so nice. Far too nice for you!’ She pushes me playfully. ‘Looking back, I’m not altogether sure I blame Emily. I didn’t stop to think how she might be reacting to our separation. We both agreed to it, for Ah Fai’s sake essentially, but to Emily I suppose it was all too long term, too abstract, in a sense. Emily, at bottom, was a simple person and a very sensual woman. She loved the house and being with James, but she was bored. She missed being loved, directly, physically. She was seduced, cleverly and ruthlessly. I guess she got desperate.’


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‘We all know that feeling.’ Siu Ling looks away as she says that. ‘Anyway, it’s taken a couple of years, but I’m back together again. So is James. I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else, Siu Ling, but his stepfather is a good guy. The only thing wrong with him is that I hate his guts. But that’s my problem, not his. Anyway, how about you?’ I look down at her left hand. I pick it up. ‘Last time I saw that, there was a ring on it. What happened, may I ask?’ ‘Nothing happened.’ ‘But you were engaged to a gwailo, on the airport project.’ ‘That was a dress ring. My easy defence against a certain married man getting a bit on the side.’ How completely we had misunderstood each other! I am a little hurt that she would use this subterfuge. But then, how can I complain? It was soon after the Guangzhou incident. I must raise this. ‘Siu Ling, if your low opinion of me had to do with Guangzhou, I must tell you that I had no intention of going to bed with you that night.’ Her eyes widen. ‘Of course, I badly wanted to, assuming you did, too, but I had already thought through all that beforehand. I had decided I wouldn’t make any such suggestion.’ I snort. ‘For Emily’s sake.’ Siu Ling’s expression is unreadable. ‘When Emily called, she was telling me that she couldn’t sleep, because she wanted sex. So, she was starting to tell me that she was going to take the Dragon for a walk, as she put it in her pet language. Er, you know?’ Her lips move in a faint smile. ‘I was simply too embarrassed to talk to her about that in front of you. You, of all people. That’s why I lied.’ ‘Oh Chris! I don’t know if I want to hear this! How insanely stupid I was! The cost of what I did then was enormous.’ ‘The ’95 elections?’ ‘Exactly. Somebody had seen me consorting with Albert the Enemy and I was given the push. The mistress of Albert Lim had no credibility in the democracy movement.’ ‘You could have stood as an independent.’ ‘No, I couldn’t have. It would have split the pro-democracy vote and that would have hurt the cause immeasurably. And then,’ she takes a sip of wine, ‘and then, an amazing thing happened. I was approached by the movement and asked to rejoin. There were profuse apologies. They’d got it wrong, they said. I had been the subject of a smear campaign and please, would I return to the fold? I was tempted, but by this time, I’d had

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politics up to here.’ She raises her glass to eye level. ‘And then my Mother died. That broke me up. Mother and I had been very close, ever since my father died.’ ‘I’m so sorry.’ Tears are running down her face. She opens her bag and takes out a tissue. ‘I’m sorry, Chris.’ She recovers. ‘And now, today, two years post-Handover, a career in politics, my sort of politics, is a lost cause. We’ve no hope. Even Anson Chan’s not going to last against this lot and she’s Chief Secretary. I’ll take bets on that.’ Poor Siu Ling, such a courageous fighter, and for so long. I take her hand. ‘Well, here’s some good news then. At least, I hope it’s good. I felt responsible for your mistake over Lim. That wouldn’t have happened but for the gauche way I behaved over Emily’s phone call. So, when Martin blabbed the Guangzhou story to me, plus dark hints of other misdeeds of the notorious Siu Ling, drooling with the delight of it all, I convinced him the stories were mistaken. I told him I had been with you all night in Guangzhou.’ Her eyes widen. ‘And further, that as a respectable married woman, there was no way the other stories could be true.’ A smile slowly spreads over her face, until it is sunlit. ‘You mean you risked your marriage to stop rumours about me?’ I nod. ‘As I say, I felt responsible. And, I have to say, I felt an overwhelming compulsion to wipe that smug leer off Martin’s face.’ ‘Oh, Chris, come here.’ She leans over and cradles my face in her palms, kissing me wetly on the lips. She blinks rapidly. ‘That was the nicest thing anyone has done for me in years. Thank you.’ I silently thank Martin for being the cause of this meeting. I do not know where Siu Ling and I are now heading, but after that spontaneous kiss, my heart is soaring in a way it has not for a long, long time. We replenish our drinks. I then ask the question that has bothered me so much. ‘How on earth could you go to bed with Lim? A creep like that?’ Now her monkey grin appears. ‘I didn’t.’ ‘What? I saw you — ’ ‘You saw me in the breakfast room. That’s where I first met him, only minutes before you came in. It’s known as Siu Ling’s Revenge. Remember Alan Pang, by the turtle pond? And John Ashley, at the party?’ ‘Siu Ling!’ A hot lump hurts my throat. ‘Chris, after all these years. We got it wrong. So wrong.’ She looks at me, such a soft look, a look I had adored on that lovely, little face so many years ago.


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I wrap her in my arms. I kiss her. She responds with her tongue. Her small, fragile body jerks rhythmically in my arms as she sobs. It must be with happiness! After minutes of kissing, and little squeaking noises, she draws back. Her eyes are glowing. ‘Chris, I have something I want you to read. It is desperately important.’ ‘Read? What?’ ‘A letter I wrote you fourteen years ago and never sent. It’ll answer some questions, maybe. Now,’ she holds up a controlling finger, ‘no more questions. Let’s get a taxi back to my place.’ She gives the driver the same Happy Valley address. We settle in the back seat, holding hands in silence. She lets us in. ‘You didn’t drop the keys, this time.’ ‘Oh Chris, don’t remind me. Yuk!’ She laughs and we go inside. She waves me to the sofa and goes inside to another room. After a minute, she returns with an envelope. She pulls out a long letter. ‘Here. Read this and cuddle me while you’re doing it. And don’t ask any questions until you’ve finished.’ She kisses me on the cheek. I read.

CHAPTER 45

Sunday 18th December, 1983

Dearest Chris, I want to write to you about me. When I was 10 I had always thought my mother and father were happy together. As happy as they looked in a big photograph hanging on the wall in the kitchen. They were dancing, Western-style, dressed in such elegant clothes. He was tall and handsome, with a moustache like a starlet’s eyebrow, black and thin, only straight. She was so pretty. How I wished I could look like her! Although she was small and he was tall, they fitted together like a blossom fits on a tree. They held their hands out on one side, his other arm around her little waist, hers resting lightly on his broad, high shoulder. They were both looking into the camera, smiling. How happy they looked. I asked her one day. ‘Tell me about that picture, Ah Ma.’ She made such a deep sigh. ‘We danced a lot together. It was the rage in those days. I was a professional partner. That was my job. And that was how I met Ah Ba. He would come especially to dance with me. He and I were the best couple. And then we were married.’ I loved hearing her say that. ‘Wah, you must have been good to be a professional dancer!’ She smiled at me, a funny smile. ‘I suppose so, Little Pet.’ And there the picture stayed. Until one night, I remember it so clearly, it was just before my tenth birthday, after his drinking started. He came home late, making a lot of loud noises. I could hear them talking through the wall of my bedroom, which was next to theirs. ‘Ah Bing, you smell of perfume. You told me you would not — ’ ‘Shut up, Lo Por. Don’t tell me what I can and what I cannot do.’ ‘But it’s not fair, Ah Bing. I am your wife — ’

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‘Only because of that brat in there. If she’s mine. Ten to one she’s not.’ ‘Shhh, Siu Ling will hear you!’ ‘Ah, but she may not. So we better make sure she does, ah? Siu Ling! Come here! To our bedroom,’ he shouted through the wall, his voice as loud and frightening as a diving aeroplane. I dared not disobey. My mother was sitting on their bed, head bowed, tears running down her face. He was standing, his shirt hanging out, his face red, white spit on his lips. ‘Ah, come in, my dear little daughter. Tell me, did you know what your mother did for a living before she married me?’ ‘Yes, Ah Ba, she was a dancing partner. You and she made the best-looking couple. I can see that for myself, in that photo! You look so handsome!’ I had found Ah Ba would be more gentle if I flattered him. ‘A dancing partner. Yes, Siu Ling, you are correct. She made some money by dancing on her feet. But she made much more by dancing on her back! Yet just now she tried to tell me what I may do and what I may not do! Pah! What do you think of that? Ha?’ I did not see the connection. I caught Mummy’s eye. ‘Dancing on your back, Ah Ma! That is even more clever! Joutau!’ I smiled at them both, in a hurry, and raced back to my room while I could. Next morning, the morning of my tenth birthday, when I went into the kitchen to eat my breakfast, the picture had gone. It was years before I understood what my father had meant. When I was 11 Have you ever had a doll, or a soft toy, with fierce eyes? Eyes that frighten you? And when you cuddle her, she is hard and sharp? It should not be like that. A toy is for you to love and it is for her to comfort you. After that night, the night before my tenth birthday, my father became more and more like such a fierce toy. When he hugged me, which was now rarely, he, too, was hard and sharp. His voice was loud and harsh, even when he was saying only ‘Joutau’ when I was going to bed. I think it was because he shouted at prisoners all day. One morning at breakfast, it must have been during school holidays, he was complaining about some illegal immigrants that had been sent to Victoria Prison, where he was working. We lived in quarters in Sai Ying Pun. ‘They sent us a dozen Mainland illegals. They were caught landing in Mirs Bay. God knows where we’ll put them. We’re crowded enough


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already. What trash! They come here, stinking, lazy, expecting pensions, housing. Pttt.’ He spat into an empty rice bowl. He often talked like this. I did not like it. It made him seem a cruel man. I had to say, ‘But Ah Ba, they stink because they are poor, they have not had a chance to clean themselves. Didn’t you and Ah Ma come from the Mainland, too? And look at you now! Clean, hard-working, respectable!’ I had learned that I could sometimes talk back to him when others could not. His words to most people are like a jet of water from a firehose, to walk into it seems impossible. Therefore they do not try. But I found I could talk back, if I jar giu him also. He became softer when I played being cute to him. ‘She, her,’ he jerked his thumb at Ah Ma, ‘came direct from China. But when my parents came, long before, things were different.’ He slurped some tea. ‘Well, then, would my little girl like to see the prisoners, ah? Today, this morning, ah? Then you will see that Ah Ba is right. You really know that, ah?’ ‘No, Ah Bing, the prison is no place to take a little girl.’ Ah Ma looked worried. ‘I’ll be with her all the time.’ He turned to her in contempt. ‘You want her not to learn about the world, ah?’ I had to go. I had to see for myself. I could not believe that these people could be as bad as he said. He always said others were bad and yet many times when I met them they were not. That is what being a prison guard makes you be like, maybe. We caught the minibus to Old Bailey Street. We walked to the side entrance of the prison, this tall, handsome man, in his spic and span uniform, holding his little daughter by the hand. She was dressed in a new, pretty, pink and white, frilly dress, little white socks, and neat brown shoes. The guard at the gate stopped us. ‘Officer Lai, you should know it is against the rules to take nonservice personnel inside.’ ‘Jousaan, Sergeant Tse. Meet my little daughter, Siu Ling. She is so eager to see where Ah Ba works. Aren’t you, darling?’ He squeezed my hand, hard. I nodded at the sergeant. ‘Yes Sir, please Sir. I would like that very much.’ The Sergeant winked at me and said to Ah Ba, ‘Quickly then. But not beyond the gate of the exercise yard, okay? And don’t let her be seen.’ ‘Thank you, Sergeant Tse. No problem.’

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We walked on. Even outside the prison, as we were, it was gloomy, constant noise, doors clanging, men shouting in harsh man talk. We came to a huge, iron-barred gate. ‘See? That is the exercise yard. You heard what he said. Keep close to me, it will be all right. The other guards won’t argue with me. Wei! Pang! Come here.’ Another guard came over to the gate, from the other side. He touched the peak of his cap with a finger. My father ordered him through the bars. ‘Get a few of those illegals that came in yesterday over there, in that corner away from the admin windows. My daughter wants to see them.’ A few minutes later, Pang came back leading five miserable-looking men. They looked like anyone else, as far as I could see, except that they were all thin, their eyes moved quickly and their clothes were old and torn, with holes in them. You could see bits of skin underneath. ‘Line up over there!’ my father shouted. ‘My daughter wants to see what shit crosses the border these days.’ They stood there, looking as frightened and as unhappy as anyone would if they were treated like that. One man at the end of the row put his hand behind his back. He seemed to be scratching his bottom. He pulled a clenched face. Suddenly, he drew his hand away and threw something in our direction. It sailed through the bars and hit me on the front of my new dress. He shouted in a strong Guangdong accent, ‘Then let her smell this. Sweeter than yours, ah?’ Pang drew out his truncheon and charged the man. I heard a horrible, hollow thunk! as he hit the man on his head. He fell into a kneeling position, both hands clasping his head. Pang kicked him and he fell over. ‘Pang! The fire-hose! Give them a good hosing down! Then take them back to their cells. Dirty, fucking animals!’ My father turned to me. ‘You all right?’ I burst into tears. The smell was bad, my dress was ruined, but the humiliation was worse. Worst of all was when I tried to rush into his arms and he pushed me away. ‘Don’t wipe that shit all over me, you stupid girl! Here.’ He picked up a piece of paper from the ground. ‘Brush it off, on the ground, anywhere. Pang will see to it. Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up.’ Pang, in a very few seconds, unreeled a nearby fire-hose from a big, red wheel on the wall. As my father dragged me away by the hand, I turned around to see the whole group, forced into the corner by the powerful jet, their hands over their faces, yowling, pleading.


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My father’s face was bright red, so fierce looking. He hauled me at high speed into the building, through some corridors and into an office, where a policewoman was sitting. ‘Rose, can you get my daughter cleaned up? One of those fucking illegals threw shit at her. Now I’m going back to ream any remaining shit out of him.’ He left. The woman jerked her face up in surprise. Then she smiled at me, ‘Hello, there. I’m Constable Chan. I’ve heard about you. Siu Ling, isn’t it?’ She wrinkled her nose, ‘Poo! Never mind, sweetie, all in a day’s work for a copper. Let’s get your dress off first, eh?’ After the raw fury of my father, she made me feel better immediately. She was tall, with a big, broad face and pretty lips. She murmured nice, soft things to me as she helped me out of my favourite new dress, now ruined for ever. I was sniffing tears and was so embarrassed, stripped to the waist. She was able to see my breasts were going pointy. ‘Aiyaa, we’re going to need a thorough wash. Here, put this on.’ She went to a cupboard and took out a service shirt. ‘Not the best fit, but never mind, at least you’re properly covered.’ She pulled out a plastic bag and dropped my dress inside. ‘Want to keep this? It could clean up. It’s such a pretty dress.’ I couldn’t bear the thought of wearing that ever again, even if it had been washed a thousand times. ‘No, thank you. Please throw it away.’ Together, we rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and hitched it around my waist with some string. I prayed we would not meet anyone, as she took me along a corridor to a toilet the policewomen used. It had a shower cubicle. She gave me a cake of dark, yellow soap. ‘This is not very elegant, but it will get rid of any nasty germs. Go in there and have a good scrub. I’ll wait outside.’ Back in her office, we made a game of turning the shirt into a dress for me to go home in. She cut off most of the sleeves and cut off the shirttails until the length was right. It was a bit baggy, but it didn’t look too bad. I was ready to go home, when Father entered the office. His fury had gone, but his eyes were as fierce as ever, his voice as loud and as harsh as ever. ‘All fixed up then, are we?’ He looked me over. ‘Rose, you’re a genius. Okay, Siu Ling, you go home now. Rose will take you to the gate. Learned your lesson, ah? Ah Ba was right, wasn’t he, ah? Remember that. Oh, and tell Ah Ma I won’t be home until late. Rose and I have some important business to do, hai ma?’ He winked at Rose. He disappeared again. Rose stared after him with empty eyes. She then turned to me and her eyes were full again.

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‘Oh, so Ah Ba was trying to teach you a lesson, was he? What lesson did you learn?’ Rose asked, smiling. We were walking outside towards the gate. I thought hard. ‘I learned that if you treat people badly, they will behave badly.’ Rose stopped and stared at me, her mouth open. I was puzzled, too. ‘So, if that is the case, who’s fault is it? The fault of the person who behaved badly? Or the fault of the other person, who made that person behave badly?’ ‘Haiyaa,’ she said, ‘you’re not your father’s daughter, that’s for sure! But you’re a sweet kid and I like you.’ We passed the sergeant. He looked surprised. ‘Hey, she was wearing —’ I was frightened I would have to tell the story, but Rose cut in. ‘My fault. I split a bottle of ink all over her new dress. I’ll have it cleaned for her.’ She took me outside into Old Bailey Street and we walked together, down the staircase, to where the minibuses lined up. ‘Here’s your bus fare. I bet Ah Ba forgot to give you that. You okay now? Bye-bye, sweetie.’ She stooped and kissed me on the forehead. Not your father’s daughter. It was funny she said that. He had said it, too, that awful night. I so wished that it was true. I hated being his daughter. But I liked Rose. She was so kind and sweet to me. When I was 15 Father’s drinking grew worse. He came home late most nights, except when he was working shifts. I would often hear things through my bedroom wall I did not want to hear. I knew now what Mother did when ‘dancing on her back’. He required this of her many nights. I heard him. Laughing loudly, he would order her: ‘Back dance, la! Your favourite step, ah?’ The rhythmic squeaking of their bed soon after frightened me. Whatever was happening in there, she was being humiliated. Then the most awful night ever. I was not yet asleep. I heard the front door open, more quiet than usual. Then I heard my bedroom door open. I lay there, wondering. He must have opened my door by mistake. I could see him in the gloom, taking off his trousers. He climbed into my bed.


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‘No, Ah Ba! You’ve come in the wrong door. This is my room!’ It was no mistake. ‘Shh. Don’t make a noise. Turn over. We want our little Siu Ling to be a virgin for her future husband, don’t we, ah? Not like her slut of a mother, ah?’ He pushed me over on to my side. He then began pushing something very hard at me. When the pain started I realized what he was doing. I kicked and pushed. I bit the hand that he held tightly over my mouth. My teeth met through his flesh. He let me go. I screamed, as loudly as I could. Strong as he was, my hatred and disgust were stronger. I burst through his arms. I shot out of the bed like a rocket. ‘Ah Ma! Ah Ma!’ She was in my room in seconds. I switched on the light. And there was this devil, my father, on my bed, his privates exposed, sucking his bleeding hand. The very next second, there was a loud banging on the front door. When I was 16 The Government does not like civil servants to be involved in scandal. They already knew of my father’s violence with prisoners, particularly with illegals. They already knew of his drinking and of the loud noises that sometimes came from our flat in the staff quarters. But they did nothing, until he tried to rape me. Then they had to do something. They did not charge him as a criminal. They should have, but I suppose that would have raised too many questions. Instead, they sent him to work at the high-security prison at Shek Pik. We had to move from the staff quarters, but they gave us enough out of his pay to rent nearby. They were our best times. I continued at St Stephens, my wonderful school, where I had my scholarship, and which was only walking distance away. More important than that, even, Ah Ma and I could love each other, all over again. It had been hard before when my father had been so cruel, hurting us both. Then we heard the news. He had been working on a quarry site, overseeing some prisoners. There had been a mysterious landslip. He was buried under tons of falling debris. I want to say ‘thank you’ to those prisoners! When I was 17 On my seventeenth birthday, Ah Ma told me. We were sitting in the kitchen, after breakfast.

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‘Siu Ling, my darling girl, now you are old enough. Now you should know. That man was not your father.’ Her voice was soft, her head bowed in shame. I really knew it. I felt so happy to know for certain that no blood from that evil person ran in my veins. I only laughed. ‘But, darling, don’t you despise me, hate me?’ ‘Ah Ma, it is the best news I have heard for years!’ Her face was such a picture of relief, of love, as I said that. Then the obvious question, the one she had been dreading for seventeen years. ‘Who then is my father?’ She whispered, looking away from me, ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I didn’t know all their names. But I do know it wasn’t him.’ I felt I had lost something I should have, and never would. But then I looked at my poor mother, slumped in her chair, looking completely crushed. My heart jumped from my bosom to her bosom. ‘That is good, Ah Ma. It is like the virgin birth they tell us about at St Stephen’s. It makes you and I very special to each other.’ Now I am over twenty Chris, my old friend and newly found love, I want you to read this one day. I do not want to tell you, face to face. I would cry. I want you to read and for you to hold me as you read. Then you might truly understand me. I so look forward to that. Perhaps when we are married, ah? You taught me the most important lesson of my life, in the tent two weeks ago. You taught me our bodies were instruments of love and sweet pleasure, not of pain and humiliation. My father wanted me to be a virgin for my marriage. I suppose he thought that was important because he felt he had been trapped. But his reasons cannot be my reasons. Now you have taught me about your body and about my body and, loving you as I do, I am sure it is right for us. We decided something, didn’t we? It must be mutually agreed beforehand. Yes, that is the secret of love. With my father nothing was ever mutually agreed. Chris, I am ready! Your loving Siu Ling.

CHAPTER 46

I

glance down at Siu Ling from time to time as I am reading. I do so want to interrupt and ask questions. But each time I meet those eyes of clear, liquid chocolate, gazing steadily at me, waiting for me to finish. So I read on to the end. At the last lines, tears are streaming down my face. So much has happened since she wrote those wonderful words, ‘Chris, I am ready’. I place the letter on the coffee table and next thing we are in each other’s arms, both weeping now. My poor, poor Siu Ling! What she had gone through! ‘Oh my darling. That explains such a lot.’ She nods, lips compressed. Then it hits me. ‘The beach! Oh God, the beach.’ I thrill with self-disgust now, as I suddenly recall how my selfish attempt at a new sensation had awakened such a terrible memory for her. And then, my Siu Ling had to endure it all over again, compounded many times over, when she realized that that act had revealed my treachery, my infidelity. I slump back my hands covering my eyes. I am like an animal trying to render itself invisible. ‘Don’t, Chris. You weren’t to know.’ ‘And what about Sham Wan?’ ‘Well, of course, that was when it all came together.’ Oh God, can I hear the rest of this? I am burning with a shame that hurts as much as if a red-hot iron had been applied to my body. I look away. ‘No, Chris. It’s okay. It’s all in the past. Honest.’ She kisses me. ‘Now listen. The real moment of truth was not that, it was that I suddenly realized I was dangerously close to repeating some of the mistakes Mother had made. She was pregnant when she was married — ’ ‘Pregnant? Siu Ling!’ ‘Yes,’ she looks down, her chin quivering, ‘you didn’t know. Remember when we went to the love hotels? And I told you I was fitted with a Dutch cap? Well, I wasn’t.’

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‘But — ’ ‘I was almost certain you had been unfaithful to me, but I wasn’t absolutely sure. And because an inch of uncertainty allows a mile of forgiveness, I forgave. I thought a child, our child, would bring us together. The three of us would then live in that golden house you were always talking about.’ ‘Oh Siu Ling! What happened? Did you — ?’ ‘Yes. I aborted it.’ ‘Why? Oh, my God, why Siu Ling? That would have changed everything! If only I’d known!’ I’m horrified. Then I recall the night Eric handed her Ah Fai to hold. And the anguished look on her face. Eric’s mischief hurt her far more even than I had imagined. It must have been a knife through her heart. Emily must have sensed something like that, but I didn’t, not then. But Siu Ling is continuing. ‘Your knowing wouldn’t have made any difference. Not by then. I decided in Sham Wan, when you finally admitted the truth. There was no uncertainty left. While I was kneeling there, my body frozen but my mind whirring like a machine, you calling to me, pleading with me, I saw the choices that lay before me. ‘Mother married a man who was constitutionally unfaithful. I at least knew you were the father of our child, and certainly you weren’t violent, but the thought that you, my father and that gwaipor had that exotic taste in common. That was more than I could handle. ‘Then the baby — ’ ‘Our baby,’ I interrupt. ‘Our baby would have arrived at exactly the wrong time. I could not have graduated. I would not be able to do what I had set out to do. Remember when I told you that I wanted to be a lawyer, so I could help those who’d been bullied by authority, like prisoners, illegal immigrants? That was my choice. On the one hand, it was you, and the poor little halflife inside me, and, on the other hand, it was my vow to correct the evils done by people like my father. ‘So that’s what happened in Sham Wan. I made a life-changing decision that excluded you.’ I was nearly going to say ‘and our child’, but I stop myself. ‘My first goal was to win the Herbert Tsien Medal, to be seen publicly as the best lawyer of our year. That would send me off to a flying start. If I could do that, then it would be all right. I did do that and it was all right. It came apart only after Guangzhou. So here I am.’ ‘Here you are. Back with Chris?’ I look at her questioningly, but I know the answer.


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‘Haiyaa.’ I adore the way she says that! We kiss, again and again. Between kisses, I say, ‘Darling, I’m so happy. At last.’ ‘Yes, at last.’ She wraps her arms around me, tightly. She whispers into my ear, ‘And now, you can take me to that golden house we were just talking about, la.’

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