Deep Night

by Caroline Petit

  Leah looked guiltily away, towards Francisco Park. There was Chang, sitting on the edge of the candy pink fountain, near one of its pink and white-striped colonnades. He ashed his cigarette and walked up the hill above the fountain, moving at a good pace. She found him sitting on a secluded stone bench and sat.

  “Tell me,” he demanded, lighting his clove cigarette.

  Her mouth was dry as she confessed. “He knows. Kenno-suke told him. Sawa knows too.”

  He thought about this for a while, blowing smoke rings, watching them float away. “You’re still alive,” he said mildly.

  Three little girls ran past in bright dresses playing a game of paper, scissors, rock.Every few feet, the children would stop, calling out their choices and showing their hands.The one who won the round then raced ahead and the game began again.

  “The Japanese are going to capture the Portuguese gunboat,” she said. She kept her eyes on the frolicking girls as she told him about the party and the gunboat. “The Japs are convinced the gunboat has been used to smuggle guns and weapons.” She turned to face him. “Has it?”

  The little girls squealed with delight. The smallest girl won for a second time.

  “If we save this boat, your life won’t be worth much,” he said, stepping on his cigarette butt.

  She knew this. Already Teixeira, pushed to the limit by the Japanese, had caved in and allowed Sawa’s men to search anyone’s house in Macau. People disappeared.There were rumours circulating about torture, dead patriotic high school students, money stolen. Monstrous. She didn’t stand a chance. She hung her head. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Chang pulled out a handkerchief.He lifted the tip to reveal a derringer. “Keep it with you always. I’ll make arrangements about the boat.” He left without acknowledging the gift or saying goodbye.

  The derringer was heavy in her lap. An old woman creeping along on bent legs toiled up the path. She stopped in the shade to remove her cloth slippers. Raising her arms, she began her measured exercises, her leg raised, holding her balance, her face calm and at ease.Leah continued to watch the old woman as the sun moved across the sky and her shadow lengthened. Enough. She couldn’t sit here forever. She opened her clutch purse, made a space between her lipstick and compact, and dropped the gun in. The clasp closed with a hard snap. The woman glanced up with a toothy grin. Leah gave a small, brave wave.

  THE party grew louder, noisy and fun. The servants had rigged a stone fireplace. The bonfire was tiny—it was much too hot to indulge in a raging fire. It was like a child’s, but people didn’t mind, they pushed closer to watch the flames crackle even as they fanned themselves.Together, Albemarle and Leah tugged at the small grass-filled Guy with its bamboo hat and threw the effigy on the fire. Sparks shot into the air; people clapped, ohed and ahhed. A group of young men threw firecrackers, women screamed in fake alarm. Even Spencer joined in, throwing crackers, his face red from the heat of the flames. Above the racket, high in the night sky came a loud boom and the crack of distant artillery from the port.The Portuguese military officers and De Rey exchanged confused looks, then raced into the street calling for their cars.Other partygoers rushed out from the garden and stood helpless, panicked and worried, wondering if the Japanese had made good on their threats to take Macau.

  “I should be there,” said Albemarle. “I must see this first hand.” Spencer rounded up the chauffeur and the car. Leah hopped in beside Albemarle. Albemarle shook his head, and ordered Leah out of the car, when Spencer pushed in to sit on the jump seat and urged the chauffeur to go fast.

  When they arrived at the waterfront, the shooting had stopped, but it was chaos. A battered truck containing a troop of Mozambique soldiers screeched to a stop. The men jumped out in full battledress. A group of onlookers shouted out “Japs” and pointed to the water. The troops ran around trying to find Japanese hiding in the empty buildings. They found nothing. Navy men commandeered small junks and sailed out, training flashlights on the water trying to find the culprits. They too could find no trace. De Rey’s men shouted angry questions at a cluster of thin Chinese men, many with scars and tattoos, outside a rundown warehouse. The men scowled and declared they knew nothing, a cache of guns at their feet.

  Two Portuguese navy men aboard the ship struggled to provide a coherent story as a medic examined their cuts and bruises. They had been fast asleep. Men in hoods forced their way in, shooting, and tied them up. It was pitch black and they were captive down below. Mostly it was all noises: running footsteps, shouting and shots. Other men clambered aboard. They seem to be battling with the first group. There were more shots fired. They thought this second, larger group—maybe twenty men, perhaps forty—had chased the first group away or thrown some of them into the water.There was a great deal of yelling in Chinese, maybe Japanese. The sailors didn’t know; they hadn’t understood a word.

  Later,Governor Teixeira conferred with Albemarle, as Leah and Spencer stood a little away. Leah heard Teixeira say, “The Japanese have been pushing me hard to stop using the gunboat. I should have known they wouldn’t stop there.”

  “They’ll stop now. They’ve been so inept,” said Albemarle, hoping this might be true.

  Glumly, Teixeira shook his head. “They’re so tendentious. They won’t give up. My army and navy amount to less than four hundred men. And we have only one gunboat.What can we do against the Japanese?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Teixeira lowered his voice. “They’ve offered to buy the boat. Gold. Think of the rice it can buy.”

  Shocked, Spencer turned to Leah and whispered, “Judas.”

  Leah hissed, “Half the population of Macau is starving,” yanking Spencer away by the arm.“You’re eating all right.What about the queues of hungry people who wait patiently for their charity rice porridge? Gold will keep people alive.”

  “It wouldn’t happen in Britain,” sniffed Spencer.

  Albemarle came over. “We should go. It’s in the hands of the Portuguese now.”

  Leah and Albemarle sat on the wide backseat, swaying with tiredness; a morose Spencer on the jump seat. The chauffeur drove the Vauxhall slowly through the narrow backstreets as night was ending.The car swung onto Rua da Ribeira do Patance then turned onto Rua de Julio de Ataujo to idle as groups of workers in singlets and shorts trudged past.

  Two men on bicycles came pedalling fast. At first Leah thought one might tumble onto the hood of the car, but he stopped with a screech. There was a glint of silver. The cyclist took a bead on the chauffeur, who squealed, throwing his hands into the air and taking his foot off the brake. The car leapt forward as the other cyclist came up to Leah’s window. Spencer dived to the floor. In a sweeping gesture, Albemarle knocked Leah to the floor on top of Spencer who kicked out at her.The man fired.

  Leah jerked her head up to snatch her purse and saw the driver slumped over the wheel. The cyclists kept shooting; bullets slammed into the passenger side of the car.Dropping back down, she struggled to open her handbag as the car careened wildly. The Vauxhall struck the curb, bouncing Leah out from under the cover of the consul’s protective body. She let out a high piercing scream of pain and distantly realised it was her voice. The gunmen pedalled furiously, ducking into a narrow travessa to disappear in the grey dawn as the car crashed into a low stone wall with a bang.

  Dazed, Albemarle called, “Oh my God, no,” as he raised himself and tried to lift Leah off Spencer, who lay rigid with fear. “Come on, man,” said Albemarle, “we have to get help.”

  His words roused Spencer and the two struggled to position Leah on the backseat as she moaned and appeared grey as the dawn. Albemarle ripped off his jacket and tucked it gently around her, then touched her sweat-soaked forehead and felt her cold skin. Already, his jacket was darkening with her blood. He leaned forward searching for a pulse on the chauffeur’s neck. Nothing. Dead. Spencer stood in the road, shaking. The consul grabbed Spencer by his shoulders. “Get help,” he implored.

  Spencer
groaned and was sick on the road.

  “You’ve got to get an ambulance, Spencer. I can’t leave Leah.”

  “They might come back.”

  “Get going man,” urged the furious consul. “I don’t want her to die.”

  The words seemed to penetrate and Spencer took off in a loping run. As he felt his own blood surge, he increased his stride until his long legs were going like pistons and his leather shoes hardly touched the bitumen.

  Albemarle bent down by the open door to the backseat and murmured unceasingly, “It’s going to be alright,” as he clutched Leah’s hand and she whimpered. Time moved very slowly. He began to doubt the wisdom of sending Spencer.The man might have collapsed from shock along the way. He looked at Leah’s ashen face. He would never forgive himself. Faintly, unsure if he was fantasizing, he heard an ambulance siren. It got louder. He breathed into Leah’s ear, “It’s okay now, they’re coming.” She muttered something.He thought she was saying sorry. He wanted to cry.

  The ambulance driver slowed and steered past the increasing crowd of early morning gawkers.The Portuguese medic with his emergency bag rushed out the back of the ambulance. Albe-marle retreated to hover near by.

  Jumping down from the ambulance cab, Spencer barked to the gawkers to get back and shooed them off. The medic knelt and exposed Leah’s bloodied chest. He started probing. Leah emitted a strange high whine of pain, her eyelids fluttering.The medic signalled the ambulance driver to get the stretcher.

  “Will she live?” demanded Albemarle.

  “She’s lost a great deal of blood.”

  Awash with guilt, Albemarle climbed into the back of the ambulance with the medic who placed a blood pressure cuff on Leah’s arm and looked gave. Albemarle crouched down by Leah’s head and tried to keep out of the way. The siren’s blare shocked him to the core. It seemed to be saying, Your fault.

  Spencer stayed with the car and the dead chauffeur. The crowd milled around, then wandered off. He hoped De Rey would arrive soon. Desperately, he wanted to change his ruined evening clothes. He must look such a fool. Already he could see the sardonic eyes of the police chief, bemused at his distress. What would he tell him? It had happened so quickly. He had been deathly afraid. He was certain he was going to die in this hot little street in dirty Macau. And for what? He wouldn’t even be a footnote to history. Even now, he could remember the sensation of his own blood draining away and how he crumpled to the floor, then his mad dash to get an ambulance. He kept imagining killers with slanted eyes chasing him on bikes and shooting, eager to claim the assassination of the British consul’s right-hand man. And when he returned with the ambulance, the consul hadn’t even thanked him, too concerned over one wounded girl, whom Spencer was certain was exaggerating. Women were like that. Weak. He knew her type— adventuress. The consul was gullible when it came to women, look at his wife. Mildred ran rings around the consul and he, poor man, tried so hard to please her: importing tins of potted meat, shrimp and marmite, and standing bravely by as Mildred insisted on inspecting the hands of the servants to ensure they were clean. Often, she spent the hot afternoons snoozing under her fan in the bedroom, a cool G&T not far away. She was unsettled by too much talk about business. It wasn’t nice. She had used the children as an excuse to escape Macau. Of course, he’d been extremely cautious around her and treated her with the utmost respect. Sometimes, subtly, he’d even aligned himself with her against the consul in small matters like the traditions of a Protestant Christmas party even when everyone else was Catholic and had the Consoda, the feast where extra places are set for the souls of the dead. A morbid custom, like the Chinese and their bizarre ancestor worship. He did enjoy playing palace politics with Mildred as an ally. It had provided him with amusement when things were slow. Still, he was relieved when she had gone. Now, unhappily, life was all go and bullets and he felt sick.

  He peered into the bloody car and spotted Leah’s open handbag, its contents spilling out. Even as the bullets whizzed, she had struggled with it.Why? He retrieved it—the bag would only be stolen—and lying underneath it was a gun, a very small gun.What he supposed was a derringer. He had seen them at the pictures, carried by desperate women.Why did Leah have a gun? To protect herself against rampant crime?

  He stared at the bullet holes. It was a miracle Albemarle hadn’t been hit. The killers were aiming for the consul. Spencer was certain of that because he had opened his eyes for a second and seen their murderous intent. He touched one of the bullet holes that pierced the car door. They had aimed low, maybe that was because they were on bicycles, but they had come up on Leah’s side.Why? There was something odd about the glamorous Miss Kolbe. He had sensed it from the moment she appeared in that ridiculous nun’s outfit. How had she managed to escape Hong Kong so easily, when all the other British civilians were rounded up? He pocketed the gun. He would make his own inquiries. The police were bloody useless. Over two years, and they still had no leads on poor Moy’s murder.

  Two hours later, when a very drained Luis De Rey arrived, Spencer was livid. “An attempt is made on the British consul’s life and you take two hours to arrive. Macau is a lawless madhouse.”

  Sighing and placating, De Rey asserted he would do his best. Spencer glared.

  LEAH woke, woozy from the anaesthetic, to see Albemarle, still in his evening clothes, slouched in a wooden chair, his hands resting on the white blanket, holding a newspaper.

  He blinked awake, “Oh, Leah.”

  She smiled and shifted her weight in bed, wincing.

  “You’re going to be all right. The doctor said the bullet glanced off your collarbone. There’s some muscle damage.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm.

  “No. It will heal. The doctor says it will take time, but with proper rest, then exercise . . . it will be good.” He reached across the bed to hug her.

  A nursing sister poked her head into the room.

  Albemarle jumped, jostling Leah, and she cried out. The nurse frowned, then clucked with hostility. She tapped her watch pinned to her habit. Guilty, he pleaded to stay.

  The nun said in stumbling English, “You leave now. Lady needs sleep.”

  Albemarle squeezed Leah’s good hand. “It’s all my fault,” but already Leah’s eyes were closing and she didn’t respond.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised as he reluctantly left under the nun’s cold stare.

  LEAH read the article:

  GUNMEN ATTACK BRITISH

  CONSUL’S VEHICLE

  The British consul, Mr. Stephen Albemarle, reported gun-wielding robbers on bicycles attacked his car, killing his driver Mr. Chau Feng and wounding his female assistant.

  “They stopped us at an intersection and demanded money,” said the consul, aged 51. “When we refused, they started shooting. It was terrible.”

  “It all happened so quickly,” said the consul’s brave assistant, who requested her privacy be respected and her name suppressed. “I supposed hunger drove them to it.What other explanation could there be?”

  The Bureau of Economic Development concedes that there has been a 300-fold increase in the cost of a catty of rice. Police are asking anyone with information to come forward.

  Then she searched again for news of the battle for the Por-tugese gunship.Nothing.Not a word. The governor must have clamped down hard on the press and, probably, the Japanese exerted more pressure. As for asking for information about would be assassins, no one would come forward. It would mean death.

  The dragon-nursing sister bustled in. Grim-faced, she tugged at the Macau Tribune. “No read. Sleep,” she commanded, shaking out tablets. Meekly,Leah put the paper aside and swallowed the pills.

  In her dream,Theo was alive, though his skin was the colour of sludge. She was a little girl, peeking in from the doorway as he tossed and turned in a mound of bedclothes. The more she stared, the more it seemed as if he were having a fight with the sheets and couldn’t escape their clutches. She knew she ought to do something, sc
ream or run in and remove the coverings, but she was rooted to the spot, unable to move.

  She awoke in a panic and the word that ricocheted in her head was Run. She half-draped, half-pulled the hospital dressing gown around her. A slice of pain ran up her shoulder. The dragon wheeled in the dinner trolley and let out a rush of Portuguese, her big nose becoming red with anger. Defeated, Leah sank back against the pillows and obediently ate her fish soup.

  She had no idea where she could hide. Her flat was too vulnerable; anyone who wanted could break in. She could hire a bodyguard but he might be susceptible to bribery. In any case, he would eventually discover Tokai. Then what? Why, he would tell others how she had a Japanese lover unless she paid him a lot of money. Then, he would ask for more money. Had she talked about Tokai under the anaesthetic? Now, she was being paranoid. The doctors and nurses didn’t speak much English. Could Chang help her? Somehow, she doubted he would lift a finger to save her. It might put his organisation in jeopardy. Her shoulder throbbed. The odds were against her. Many people preferred her dead.

  Albemarle entered with an enormous bouquet of peonies and the flat-footed dragon followed behind. The nun sniffed at the flowers as if they were unclean. Albemarle requested a vase as the flowers dripped water onto the polished floor. The nun harrumphed and hurried off.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” declared Albemarle. “You must stay at the consulate. It’s safer. I’m sure the Japs are behind this. I‘ve hired bodyguards.”

  Tears welled in Leah’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  The nurse returned and plonked the vase down on the side table, expecting grateful thanks. Instead, Albemarle announced Leah was leaving.

  “No partida,” declared the dragon nurse,miming that Leah needed rest.

  Albemarle gave the nurse a note. In Portuguese it said the doctor was releasing Leah into the consul’s care and the governor had arranged for an ambulance to convey her there. The dragon stopped snorting and let out a rush of soothing Portuguese. Leah supposed she was saying that Miss Kolbe would be well very soon. Leah thanked the nurse. She was certain Miss Kolbe would feel a great deal better and protected at the consulate.