The Far Side of the Night

by Jan-Philipp Sendker

  II

  Since their return Paul had been seized by a barely containable urge to keep moving. Every morning after breakfast he left the house with David. They walked to Pak Kok, to the northern tip of the island, and counted the container ships that were anchored only a few hundred meters away.

  Each time his son was impressed anew by how the huge ships kept afloat despite their size and how he sank in the water even though he was small and light.

  They walked to Hung Shing Ye beach or on to the isolated bay of Lo So Shing. When David could walk no further and started whining, Paul hoisted him onto his shoulders. On the way back they often had a meal in one of the seafood restaurants.

  Today he planned to do something different. He wanted to go for a short walk by himself first and then pick Christine up from the ferry. He had asked her to take the afternoon off because he wanted to go for a walk with her and spend some time just with her. She was often too tired in the evenings and the weekends were for David.

  Paul said goodbye to his son and his mother-in-law, put another water bottle in his bag, tied his boot laces tighter and set off. He went down the steps to the valley and walked past the small fields in which old men and women were weeding, breaking up clumps of soil, or digging for beetroot. They greeted him with a nod; he was a familiar face to them. Paul returned the greeting.

  _________

  Christine was one of the last to disembark. Her dress flapped in the warm autumn breeze. She was no longer the same, but no less lovely.

  They hugged, not in an exaggerated way, but affectionately.

  They strolled through the town and bought some warm waffle-balls to take with them. Christine did not want to take the dirt track on the ridge over the hills because she did not like the many stray dogs there. So they took the main path instead, on which they encountered only one or two people walking towards them.

  It was here that they had met for the first time on a cold, rainy Sunday afternoon. He had been on one of his daily walks and she had been looking for Sok Kwu Wan village and the ferry back to Hong Kong. Paul had sought shelter in a viewing pavilion on the top of a hill and had been looking at the leadengray, choppy waters. He had jumped when she had spoken to him from behind. The rain had fallen on her back and she had stepped a little closer to him.

  He had liked her immediately, though it had taken him a long time to admit it to himself.

  Now they were standing on the same spot. A calm, deep blue sea stretched out before them, glinting with the light of the sun.

  Was she reliving the same scenes or were her thoughts still in the office? Or in Shi, in Beijing, or with Da Lin?

  He took her hand. She looked into the distance and was silent.

  “Christine,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” she said pensively, without looking at him.

  Paul did not know whether to believe her.

  “And you?” she asked. “Are you thinking about that cold, rainy day in February?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Do you think so?” The way she had said that did not sound good. Defeated and withdrawn. Far away. A story without any meaning in the present.

  “Nearly seven years.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  He wanted to talk to her. He had been wanting to talk to her for days. He wanted to hear how she was. Did she feel safe in Hong Kong now or was she frightened? Did she think about Da Lin often? What did the friendly way in which they kept their distance from each other mean? He could not read her silence. Paul searched for the right words to begin this conversation, but could not find them.

  Two seagulls circled above them before they dropped down to the water in an elegant swoop.

  “Paul,” she said in a serious voice, “can you imagine living somewhere else?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. He had not expected this question. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just because.”

  “Just because? I don’t believe that. Are you frightened, living in Hong Kong?”

  “No, not frightened.” A lone hiker passed them. “But I don’t feel comfortable in the city any longer.”

  Paul thought about this. In the thirty years and more that he had lived here, Hong Kong had become his home, the only home that he had ever known.

  “I don’t know,” he said evasively. “I’ve never thought about it. Where would we go?”

  Christine continued looking at the sea. “No idea. Australia? Maybe Sydney?”

  “Hmm.” He heaved a great sigh. “Hong Kong is my home. I don’t want to be driven from it by anything.”

  “I don’t want to drive you away from it,” she retorted.

  “I don’t mean you,” he said.

  “Who, then?”

  “Whoever or whatever is responsible for making you feel uncomfortable.” He paused and added, “You’re not alone.”

  “I know.”

  They fell into a pensive silence.

  “Come on,” she said and tugged him on to continue their walk. “It was really just a thought.”

  They followed the path and turned right shortly before Sok Kwu Wan to Lo So Shing. There was a snake on the warm rocks a few meters away from then. Christine stopped short, startled. Paul stamped his feet hard, but the snake did not move. Only when he threw a stick at it was it shocked into movement, disappearing into the undergrowth.

  There was no one else in the bay. Even the lifeguards’ hut, where there were normally a couple of men repairing buoys or nets to keep the sharks out even in the off-season, was empty.

  The sun cast long shadows but it was still pleasantly warm. They walked down a few steps to the beach and sat down under a palm tree. Christine lay down on the sand and closed her eyes.

  Paul watched the gentle lap of the waves and considered taking a swim.

  “Will you come into the water?”

  Christine sat up, looked at the sea in silence and shook her head.

  “Kiss me,” she suddenly said.

  Paul gave her a kiss.

  “Not like that. Properly. Like before.”

  He hesitated for a moment. Like before. If only it were that simple.

  She kneeled down in front of him. Took his face in her sandy hands.

  “Close your eyes,” she said quietly.

  The tips of their noses touched. Their lips. Very gently at first. Tentatively, shyly, as though it was their first time. Then the passion returned.

  Aroused, she whispered, “I want to make love to you.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Here?”

  She nodded.

  Paul looked around. There was no cover to be seen anywhere and the undergrowth was full of insects and snakes. But the bay was isolated and not overlooked in any way. It was very unlikely that another hiker would stumble upon Lo So Shing at this time of day. But the uncomfortable thought of being surprised by someone outweighed any desire.

  She kissed him even more passionately.

  “Come on,” she whispered, pulling him to her.

  Little by little, he succumbed.

  He felt more and more uplifted with every passing minute of their passion. He had seldom felt so protected in his life. Everything fell away from him in their movements. His fear and his doubt. His sadness and his gloom.

  III

  The day did not start well. Christine missed the ferry at 7:50 and the next one was twenty minutes later. To be at work on time she would now have to rush through the city. She hated arriving anywhere bathed in sweat.

  On the ferry she noticed three men she had never seen before. Of course she did not know who every passenger on the morning ferries was, but after four years she knew almost all of them by sight. She noticed totally unfamiliar faces. Especially as the men were dressed in a way that made them stand out. Their ill-fitting suits did not blend in with the other commuters on their way to offices in Central, Admiral
ty, Wan Chai, or Kowloon. It was almost always visitors from China who wore ridiculous jackets and trousers like those. The city was full of them now, but they seldom made their way to Lamma; only at weekends, if at all.

  Christine was one of the first to get off the ferry. She was in a hurry and took two steps at a time as she climbed the staircase from the pier. On the pedestrian bridge to the International Financial Centre she noticed that the three men were following her.

  She thought about turning back. She had done that once in the last few weeks, when she had given way to a panic attack. She had taken the next ferry back to Lamma. It had not helped. She had not felt better there either. Only in the evening had she begun to feel calmer, and she had not been able to explain to Paul why she had become so anxious. It was a vague, undefined fear, which only made it worse. She was not actually worried about her personal safety or about Paul’s or David’s. She did not think that anyone would go as far as to kidnap her son from Hong Kong. But three strange men on the ferry were enough to unsettle her.

  Her sense of security had been shaken to the core. Her daily life had acquired a completely different feeling of fragility.

  But she did not want to allow fear to control her again. The best way to cope with his fear, Paul had said, was to confront it, not to run away from it.

  Christine entered the IFC Mall and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted over to her from a supermarket. She slowed down and came to a halt after a few meters.

  She couldn’t do it.

  A woman stepped on her heels and continued walking without saying a word to her. In order not to be carried along by the swell of commuters, she made her way through them to the wall and waited there. The three men from the ferry walked past without looking at her.

  She leaned against the wall and slid down it slowly until she was sitting on the ground. Two security guards came up to her immediately and told her to keep moving. No one was allowed to sit on the floor here. She walked past the Prada boutique. In front of the Tiffany store there was already a line of tourists from the People’s Republic. Christine recognized them by their ill-fitting clothing. And their worn-out shoes.

  Her phone rang. Her boss. She cancelled the call.

  As the moments passed her fear subsided. What remained was the unsettling knowledge that she had been on the verge of a panic attack. Fear glowed in her like the embers of a fire, and a mere gust of wind was all that was needed to fan it into flames.

  She sat down in a coffee shop and thought about Da Lin.

  It was only because of him that they had been able to leave much faster than they had expected. They had been at the US embassy for three days. The police had interrogated them there, in the presence of diplomats. The ambassador had advised them not to mention that David had been kidnapped in Shi. From the doubt in his voice when he had asked them about the kidnap and responded to their replies, they could tell that he was not sure what to make of that part of the story himself.

  Then came the news that the twelve-year-old boy who had murdered the policeman had given himself up. His statement was plausible and completely cleared Paul and Christine of responsibility. There were no further charges against them and they were free to leave the country.

  The ambassador’s representative had accompanied them to the airport that very day to make sure that there were no unanticipated problems at immigration control. Christine had shown her passport with her heart pounding, and been fearful to the very last moment. Even when the doors of the Dragon Air Airbus had closed, and the plane had been taxiing to the runway. Only when the plane had gathered speed and lifted off a few seconds later had she burst into tears of relief.

  Since then she had thought about Da Lin every day.

  She drafted another letter to the US ambassador in her head. If only they could find out how the boy was and where he was. If she had an address for him she could write to him regularly and send him things. Perhaps she should turn to the Chinese authorities in Hong Kong? But on what grounds? They were not even related to him.

  Christine wondered if they would put a twelve-year-old boy on trial. Murder carried the death penalty in China. But for a child too?

  The feeling that it was their fault allowed her no peace. They had set in motion the train of disastrous events. If only they had not turned to Luo for help . . . If only Da Lin had not borrowed the bicycle from the neighbor for David . . . If only they had not gained his confidence, he would not have thought of hiding them from the police . . .

  If only. If only. Her conjectures drove Paul mad. Life is not a series of ‘if onlys’, he said. He was right, of course. Yet she could not let go of these thoughts. They twisted and turned in her mind in an endless loop.

  She saw Da Lin before her. His thin body. The grave look in his big eyes, which had already seen far too much. His tentative smile, that was so hesitant but had a warmth to it that she had rarely seen in anyone else before.

  She saw him walking into the police station on his own. She could hardly bear the thought of it.

  She had promised to return when she said goodbye to him. Now she knew that she would not be able to keep that promise.

  Her phone rang again. Paul. She would have liked to speak to him, but didn’t trust herself to right then. She didn’t want to worry him.

  Christine’s gaze wandered through the shopping mall, searching in vain for distraction.

  She felt alienated from her own city. The more she thought about it, the more uncertain she felt. If Hong Kong was no longer her home, where was home? She did not want not to have a home.

  Her mother would never move to the US or to Australia with them. Could she leave her on her own?

  No.

  Or could she?

  Her boss rang again. She should pick up the call and make her excuses. She did not have the energy to lie. So she switched the phone off altogether.

  Christine got up and set off without knowing where she was going. She stepped out into Exchange Square and took the pedestrian bridge toward Lan Kwai Fong. Once there, she zigzagged through the narrow, overcrowded streets in search of a place to sit down and think in peace. The coffee shops were too noisy and full of people. On Wyndham Street she saw a sign pointing the way to the Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. It was only two streets away on Caine Road, walled in by high-rise buildings.

  How quiet it was in the church. She could not hear anything from the city apart from distant, muffled noises.

  A man stepped into the church after her, crossed himself and went towards the altar. Christine followed him.

  Several visitors were kneeling in the front rows. Two women stood up and scurried past her quickly.

  The stillness was unusual and it felt good. Christine sat down on one of the wooden pews in the middle and looked around her. The walls and pillars were whitewashed and there were scarcely any ornaments or pictures. The crucifix hung from the ceiling.

  The tension fell away from her gradually. She felt safer behind these thick walls. As though the church was a place that had nothing to do with the world outside.

  She thought about Gao Gao and the church service in the ghost town. She did not have the dedication that the believers there had, praying to their redeemer.

  What did she seek in the cathedral? Succor? Deliverance? A savior? No. She did not want to be saved, and she did not want to be set free. She wanted to feel protected, and she could do with help and support, but she would not find those things here. Other people might, but not she.

  The church was a place of peace. Of safety. Of reflection. And that was worth a great deal.

  Christine sat in the pew for a long time. People came and went. Someone practiced a piece on the organ. When she got up, she felt better.

  She had to speak to Paul. Urgently.

  IV

  It was one of those late autumn days on which Hong Kong was most beautiful. The sky was clear and blue over the city and a strong wind had blown the dust in the air out to sea the
day before. The temperature was 25ºc and the humidity was less than fifty percent.

  Paul and David were waiting for the ferry. David had a posy of flowers in one hand and a ball in the other. He ran up to Christine on the pier and proudly gave her the flowers. They strolled up and down the main street and had freshly pressed orange juice in Green Cottage like they always did. They played soccer at the sports ground; Christine stood in goal and did not defend any of David’s shots. He shouted with joy at every goal. That was another thing they liked to do regularly.

  At home, Christine put David to bed while Paul cooked, lit candles in the garden, and hung a couple of lanterns in the frangipani tree. He prepared two simple dishes, some of her favorites – fresh mango with mozzarella and red peppers with basil – and spaghetti all’arrabbiata as the main course. And he opened a bottle of her favorite Tuscan wine.

  He made every effort. As though nothing had changed.

  Christine served the starters onto two plates. “Do you think we were born sinners?”

  He stopped short. “Is that a serious question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sinners? No, I don’t think so. What makes you say that?”

  “Pastor Lee in Hongyang said that in one of his sermons. He said it was in the Bible.”

  “I think it is. But it’s a terrible way to view the world, don’t you think?”

  “A realistic way, perhaps.”

  Paul leaned his head back and looked up at the night sky, in which a few stars were twinkling. They could watch him thinking. “No,” he countered. “I’m convinced that every human being has the potential to do the most wonderful and selfless things. But also the most horrible things. It depends on the circumstances. Bad circumstances create bad people.”

  Christine had expected a reply like this. She thought otherwise.

  “But who creates bad circumstances? Bad people.”

  He smiled. “Which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

  She started eating, not knowing quite how to turn the conversation in another direction. “Have you heard anything from Beijing?”