Defensive, he said, “I did have costs.”
She nodded.
“Many scum will be rich. The British Government has declared it will honour all the pledges of British prisoners.”
“I’m happy for you, Huang fu. You are a good man. You deserve it. You helped suffering people and it was dangerous.”
He seemed satisfied with her response. “We go now,” he said. “Mr. Hawatyne will be waiting.”
She felt in tune with Huang fu as they walked down the hill to the Peak tram. He had done his best in difficult times; she respected him.
Through the tram window, they watched the labourers with pickaxes, shovels and wheelbarrows clear a site of war debris.
“People will rebuild,” declared Huang fu. “Building makes people rich. Many people will want pieces of China’s history, not now, but soon.”
“Yes,” she said without interest. She wouldn’t be building anything. “China believes in its history, its ancestors.”
Huang fu beamed. “First customers will be Europeans, but later will be Chinese.” He looked around the tram. It was empty except for three men in the back who dozed. “I hide many pieces C267 I buy during the war.” He looked away and mumbled, “Some were yours.”
“Oh,” she said. She didn’t want to embarrass him, better he had bought them cheap than someone else who might have used them for firewood, melted the brass down for cash, or donated them to the Japanese war effort. “I’m glad you have them.” She didn’t bother to ask which ones.They were like friends who had moved away. Now, she no longer remembered what they had shared in common or why they had been friends. It seemed so long ago.
He shook his head. “No. I bought them for business for the both of us. I supply the capital, the Peak house becomes our showroom and you and Mr. Hawatyne can live there.”
Astonished, Leah sat opened-mouthed.
The tram stopped, its motor throbbing. Huang fu stood and put on his linen jacket. His eyes were bright and he seemed taller. Leah realised that Huang fu had planned this. Oh, not all at one time, but over the years as her antiques were pillaged and sold off in the market and as his friendship with Jonathan grew. It wasn’t greed so much as making the most of an opportunity in a depressed market. “I have nothing to offer for this generous arrangement.”
Huang fu gave a small cough. “The Peak house will become very valuable property. I will have a half interest in it. Of course, we will have to draw up a contract.Mr. Jonathan will want that.” He beamed.
The uniformed conductor opened the door to the carriage. They walked down Garden Road. “I’ll have to consult Jonathan, Mr. Huang fu Ping before I can agree.”
“You do that, Leah,” replied Huang fu. They shook hands, acknowledging they had crossed into new territory.
She was happy she realised, genuinely happy. She felt as though a weight had been lifted. In the noise and building dust of Hong Kong, it was a sign, a secret sign from An-li and Theo from beyond the grave: life goes on.
HUANG fu was amazing.He found them a tiny temporary flat in Mid-Levels through another cousin of his. He arranged for a cook.Together the three of them visited the site with a builder and a geomancer. Leah and Huang fu talked endlessly about what should be built. Jonathan allowed their happy talk to swirl about him. If Leah asked Jonathan a direct question he’d shrug or say ask Huang fu.When she persisted, he’d say only that he wanted to be able to lie in bed and watch the clouds move. She asked the builder about a skylight in the bedroom. The geo-mancer said it was bad feng shui. She was still considering it. None of Jonathan’s suggestions were practical or gave an insight into what he really thought. At night, she’d unroll the blueprints on the dining table, placing cups and saucers on the edges to keep them flat, and pore over the placement of windows and doors, power points and built-in shelving.
In the small flat, Jonathan and she rubbed along. A round of small celebrations was held to mark the departure of yet another group of soldier friends or long-term residents—old China hands that Leah thought would never leave—sailing back to England. After each departure, Jonathan withdrew a little more and spent the next few days mooching around the tiny flat hardly saying a word. She tried hard to be understanding and not pressure him.
In Huang fu’s company, Jonathan brightened. He insisted that Huang fu obtain independent legal advice about his contract with Leah. Leah exchanged a questioning look with Jonathan—she had always understood that the three of them were to be signatories. He was oblivious to her looks. Afterwards, in bed Jonathan turned away on his side and pretended to be engrossed in The South China Post’s business page.
“Which do you want? A Christmas wedding this year or wait until next year, when our house will be ready?” she asked.
He turned and his face was animated, a look of hope and love. “We should be married in England. I want to see my mother and sister.They’ll adore you. It will be perfect. A Christmas wedding at home.”
“But darling, I can’t leave now. There are so many arrangements to be made with Huang fu, the house, the business.We could have a registry wedding now and later we could visit your family.”
“I want to go home,” he said, looking at her intently.
“Oh,” she said quietly, feeling it was a test and she was failing. “Hong Kong is our home.”
In a rush he said, “No, it isn’t. I don’t feel comfortable on the street. I hate the crowds, the heat, people chirping away in a language I’ll never understand. No one lives in Hong Kong forever.”
“Jonathan,” she gasped.
He hurried on, unburdening himself in a way he had never dared before. “Always, I think I might see someone who is Japanese. Then there is this flood of anger. I can’t help it. I’m not proud of it. But that’s how I feel. Even now those bastards believe Hirohito is a god. And our government is aiding them, shipping most of them back to Japan, not holding trials, sweeping everyone’s suffering under the carpet and turning a blind eye to all the dirty dealing. I can’t stand it. I hate it here.”
She struggled to be reasonable. “But you’ve read the papers. It’s all rationing, cold, and war damage in England. Where would we live?”
“It’s home,” he burst out. “Vanessa wrote inviting us to come and stay with her until we find a place. She’s my sister. She wants to meet you. For God sakes, I haven’t been home in nearly ten years. My mother isn’t getting any younger.”
“You never said.”
“I can’t stop thinking about leaving. I don’t think I will be normal unless I—we go away.”
“For a holiday, you mean. I guess I could leave for six months. Huang fu is reliable.”
His mouth was set against her.
“A year,” she offered.
“I need this,” he implored, his eyes watching her every move.
He had never asked for anything. Now, he was asking so much. “Promise that not soon, but later we will return.”
“No,” he said and put his arms around her pulling her into his chest, close to his heart, “because you would always be waiting for that day, while I would be dreading it.”
“But, Jonathan,” she said reasonably, “what would I do in England?”
“We would have a family.We would lead a normal life.We would be happy and together.” He started to kiss her hair, her face as if pleading.
She’d be a colonial wife, only not in Hong Kong, in England, filling up her days with ridiculous things. And then, there’d be babies. She didn’t want to fill her days with children. They simply didn’t interest her. She exited the room when people showed off their babies and small children. She hated the way adults were reduced to making ridiculous baby noises or engaging in stupid conversations with toddlers who always seemed about to cry.They were messy, needy, boring things. She recalled Albemarle’s nursery room, so antiseptic and mumsey. Their children—Christ, hers too—would be sent to boarding schools. All those absurd games and schedules. She wouldn’t have anything in common with t
hem. They wouldn’t want to learn Chinese. It would be cold, depressing, and she would hate it.
Sensing her distance, he stopped kissing and touching her. “You don’t want what I want.” It was a statement, not a question.
She reached for him, but he pulled away to stare at her face as if memorising its planes and angles. “I won’t argue with you. I haven’t the energy. In prison, my thoughts were always of you. Perhaps, I created a picture that never was.” He paused, a far away look in his eyes, as if he were seeing his skinny self in a tattered uniform lying on a cot, daydreaming. Finally, he spoke— even as she hardly dared to breathe—“It was really the loveliest fantasy. And you were happy too.We were in love.”
“I do love you,” she insisted, pulling him close, holding his hand, pleading with her eyes.
“In your way, but not my way. I can’t do this any more.”
“You could come back.”
He shook his head.
Leah felt her heart straining under his words and her mouth going dry under his penetrating gaze. Finally, she fumbled, “I don’t mean now, but later. After some time . . . when you’re better.”
“I’m not sick. I can’t live with someone I can’t understand.”
“That’s not true. You know me. You know all about me. About Theo, about An-li. Everything that’s important to me.”
“Leah, you tell me so little.Take your bullet wound. I know you somehow managed to make a life in Macau, knew people whom you never mention. Then, you return to Hong Kong before anyone else, three weeks before the harbour was cleared of mines and a month before the ferry service restarted.” He gave a grim laugh. “I made inquiries,” he said in response to her flash of anger. “Also, I saw a strange Chinese man with liver spots and two thug-like bodyguards or sons come to the Peninsula. He gave you cash. When I asked you about the money, you said it was payment for your flat in Macau. I didn’t ask questions because I naively believed that in time, in your own time, you’d tell me.”
“You could have asked.”
“Ha! . . . I rest my case.”
“You never talk about your war experiences,” she retorted, fighting for him, trying to win him back with words and reason.
“Mine don’t count. I don’t want to remember.Nothing good happened there. It was ugly and dirty and so God damned utterly pointless and fucking stupid.Why would I want to tell you that?” He stopped, breathing hard.
Leah could see he wanted her to capitulate, to tell him everything, to find the words to explain Tokai. But she knew if she told him, he would despise her. She didn’t want his love to turn to ash. It would break her heart as well as his. She wasn’t that cruel.
He held her face in his hands, as if willing her to reveal herself in one blinding flash of insight. She said nothing.
He took his hands away. “I always thought you would tell me voluntarily because there are no secrets between husbands and wives, only trust.”
“I trust you,” she said with passion.“Can’t you do the same?”
“But you keep your secrets.”
“They aren’t that important.”
“That’s not true,” he said, searching her face for clues as if it were a treasure map. “We were apart for such a long time. I think I could accept that you weren’t faithful.” He paused. “Where I was, there wasn’t an opportunity.” He smiled at his grim joke.
“If I told you, you would still leave. You hate it here.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I have decided to go home with or without you. I booked places on the last detainee ship home.”
“I’m sorry you’ll have to cancel one.” She hugged him fiercely. “I won’t see you off. I can’t walk down the gangplank alone. It would break my heart.”
“Mine too,” he rasped as he gathered her up.
They made love for the last time, saying their goodbyes with their bodies to keep from crying.
EPILOGUE
THE SITE FOR her new house was pegged out, the old house demolished. If she stood where the living room was going to be, she could see Hong Kong harbour. Down below she made out Jonathan’s ship. She was glad she couldn’t hear the nervous, excited chatter of the passengers and the shouts of the port hands as they loaded the ship.
It was a beautiful day. One of those really fine December days Hong Kong was known for: mild, a slight breeze blowing and the sky so blue and clear. It was her favourite time of year. She studied her plans and decided the new pond should be moved closer to the showroom.Water was good feng shui.
In the harbour, a horn hooted, long and loud, signalling departure. She turned to see Jonathan’s dun-coloured ship travel slowly and gracefully like a grand old king cutting a foamy path through the calm water. She watched it until it was a black dot. She wiped away tears with her fingers.
Behind her, she heard footsteps and turned to see Huang fu Ping loaded down with plans. He was wreathed in smiles as he announced that the geomancer had declared that tomorrow was the day for building to commence.
She congratulated Huang fu and showed him where the new pond should be dug. He agreed. She gazed back at the empty horizon. She would miss Jonathan forever, but Hong Kong was home.
AFTERWARD: FACT AND FICTION
Few books in English describe Macau life during the 1930s and 1940s. For this reason, I am indebted to the Papers of Jose Maria Braga held by the National Library of Australia. Braga's collected papers provided a window into Macau.
A former Hong Kong businessman fluent in Portuguese and English, a teacher and a journalist, Jose ( Jack) Braga was devoted to the task of telling the world the history of Macau and the role of the Portuguese in its development. He was active against the Japanese and helped to establish a spy network in Macau. His idiosyncratic accumulation of newspaper clippings, treasured books and his own secret documents were invaluable in my research.
Macau was the only place between Alaska and India where there was a European flag flying. The colony really did become a centre of espionage for nationals from Japan, China, Great Britain, the United States and Portugal. Leak Kolbe's story is fiction; Braga's was real.
Caroline Petit Melbourne, Australia
Deep Night Page 24