by Graeme Hall
‘You sound unsure?’
‘Perhaps I expected too much.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know … I think I expected to spend more time with Professor Ye. After all, he was the reason I came here in the first place.’
‘Isn’t he very helpful?’
‘Oh, he’s great,’ said Kwok-wah, backtracking, anxious not to bad-mouth his professor. ‘I just wish he was around more often. He’s often away or in meetings. He has a lot of visitors, which means his door is often shut all afternoon. It can be hard to pin him down and get him to spend some time with me. But then, like I say, perhaps that’s just me expecting too much from him. After all, I’m just a lowly PhD student, not some general or whatever.’
‘General?’ Susan looked at Kwok-wah. Her eyes were alert and suggested that he had piqued her interest.
‘Major, colonel … I don’t know. He may not even be army, for all I know.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘There’s this one guy who is always visiting the labs. I’ve no idea who he is but he has a military uniform of some sort and Professor Ye always gives him a lot of time.’
‘They do like their uniforms here, don’t they? Even the traffic cops look like five-star generals. But you don’t know who he is?’
‘No idea at all.’
‘Why don’t you just ask?’
‘You’re joking, I hope?’ Kwok-wah was horrified by the thought of asking something like that. ‘I’m pretty sure I’d be told it was none of my business. But whoever he is, Professor Ye shows him a lot of respect. He can be quite sharp to other members of the department, but when it comes to this guy he always seems to be very … I don’t know … what’s the word in English?’
‘Obliging?’
‘Yes … well, no … it’s more than that. It’s as if Professor Ye owes this guy something.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, perhaps that’s going too far, but certainly it’s as if he’ll do anything to help him. As you say, obliging.’
Susan looked at her watch. ‘I have class in half an hour. You still okay for this evening?’ They were planning to explore more of the city together. There was a rumour of a new pizza place off Nanjing Road their stipends would cover.
‘Yes, no problem. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me too.’ Susan laid a hand on his shoulder as she stood up and headed back to the main campus.
***
The damp air of the morning turned into afternoon rain. A persistent heavy downpour that worked its way through the old window frames of the computer science department. The window near Kwok-wah’s desk was particularly leaky. The first time it had rained he’d finally worked out why the post-doc had been so willing to let him have the spot with the view. Kwok-wah had taken to keeping an old towel nearby so that he could dry the window sill when the water started to come through.
He was stuck in a dilemma. The research paper he was reading didn’t make any sense to him. He had found what seemed to be a glaring inconsistency, which as far as he could tell undermined the whole argument. Kwok-wah had decided that either the authors were just plain wrong or he didn’t understand the topic as well as he thought he did. Logically he knew it was far more likely the problem was his, the paper came from a good university in the States and the researchers were well known in the field, but he had enough confidence in his own abilities to consider that perhaps he was right and they were wrong. He looked at his watch: ten past three. Professor Ye should be in his office. Perhaps he might have time to help resolve the question.
Kwok-wah sighed inwardly when he saw that the professor’s door was closed. When he was available, the door was normally slightly open; a closed door usually meant either he was not there or he didn’t want to be disturbed. Kwok-wah took a chance and knocked anyway but there was no answer. The departmental secretary wasn’t around either so there was nobody to ask where the professor was or whether he might be back any time soon. Frustrated as usual Kwok-wah turned to head back to his desk when he was stopped by a voice behind him.
‘Oi! You there!’ It was a rough Shanghainese dialect Kwok-wah had difficulty understanding at first.
Kwok-wah turned and saw a small delivery man carrying a large box. The man was wiry but struggling under the weight.
‘Can I help?’ asked Kwok-wah.
‘Damn, this fucking thing is heavy.’ The man just managed to put the box down on an empty desk before he dropped it. He shook his arms, which had been straining under the load. ‘I’m looking for a Professor Ye Zhang. This is computer science, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but he’s not here at the moment.’
‘This is for him. Is there anybody I can leave it with?’
‘Well his secretary should be here but I don’t know where she is either. That’s her desk behind you, perhaps you could just leave it there?’
‘It needs signing for.’
‘Oh.’
‘You couldn’t sign for it, could you, mate?’
‘Well, I …’
‘I’ve got five more fucking deliveries to make and I can’t hang around here, and it’s too bloody heavy to take back.’
‘What is it?’
‘How the fuck should I know? Come on, mate. It just needs a signature.’
Kwok-wah was reluctant to take responsibility but realised he didn’t have a choice.
‘Where do you want me to sign?’
‘Just here.’
Kwok-wah signed the crumpled piece of paper the delivery man thrust into his hands.
‘Can you just help me get it over there?’ asked Kwok-wah, gesturing to the secretary’s desk. When they moved the box, Kwok-wah discovered just how wet it was from the rain. The cardboard was sodden and before they could get the box down onto the desk the base tore under the weight of the contents, which came falling out, narrowly missing his feet. Books. Loads of them. No wonder the box was so heavy.
‘Shit. Sorry about that.’ The delivery man turned to leave. ‘Still, they’re only books. I’ll leave you to sort them out.’
Cursing, Kwok-wah gathered the books from where they had fallen. They hadn’t suffered from being dropped, though some of them were a little wet. Curious, he looked at the titles as he arranged them on the desk. They were all in English, apparently from the United States and England: Advanced Cryptography, New Techniques in Digital Cryptography, Mathematical Techniques and Prime Number Theory in Data Security, Applications and Techniques for Cybersecurity, Data Encryption Using Public and Private Keys. Kwok-wah wondered how any of this related to Professor Ye’s research.
***
The library was a new building four-storeys high and impressively stocked with journals and textbooks in both Chinese and English. Kwok-wah found it a congenial place to work. Quieter than the dorm, and warmer – and drier – than his desk in the department. He favoured an area on the second floor by a window that looked over a small ornamental lake, with the buildings of central Shanghai in the background. He had only been there for thirty minutes and was settling in to the textbook he was reading when Susan turned up unexpectedly.
‘Thank God I’ve found you,’ she said, in too loud a voice. A chorus hissed at her to be quiet. ‘I was counting on you being here,’ she continued in a whisper.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Susan sounded anxious and Kwok-wah wondered what on earth the problem was.
‘It’s my laptop.’ She pulled out a black computer from the shoulder bag she was carrying. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with it.’
‘Let me see,’ said Kwok-wah, placing the IBM ThinkPad on the desk in front of him and powering it up. Susan pulled up a chair so she could sit close to him. In the confined space of the library desk, Kwok-wah felt her leg pressing against his. It was a good feeling. ‘What does it run?’ he asked.
‘Windows 95. Nobody here knows anything about Windows.’
‘It’s a nice machine,’ said
Kwok-wah admiringly.
‘It was a gift from Daddy when I got the place here. It’s been great up to now, but all of a sudden it’s like so slow and freezes all the time.’
‘So I see.’ The computer was taking its time to boot up and the hard drive was making an unhealthy amount of noise. ‘Do you use it for your work?’
‘Sometimes. It’s got an unfinished project on it at the moment. That’s why I’m panicking.’
‘How do you print from it?’ The machine had finished booting up and Kwok-wah started to explore the operating system. ‘Do you mind if I look around?’ he asked.
‘No, not at all. I save my work on a floppy disc and there’s a little shop I know that must have some form of bootleg Windows because they are able to print for me.’
‘If you ever need help I should be able to print from it in the department for you … Ah … I think …’ Kwok-wah had found what he was looking for.
‘What is it?’ Susan asked, trying to keep her voice down. ‘Can it be fixed?’
‘When did you last run a defrag of the hard drive?’
‘A what? Kwok-wah, I’ve no idea of what you’re talking about.’ She punched him gently on the arm.
‘Your hard drive just needs cleaning up. Do you want me to do that for you?’
‘Can you? Please just do what you have to.’
‘It’s straightforward.’ Kwok-wah set the computer running a defragmentation routine. ‘It might take a while though.’ Kwok-wah was finding their hushed voices gave an unsettling sense of intimacy to what was otherwise a routine conversation. ‘Shall we go get some coffee?’
‘You’re a hero. I’m paying.’
Chapter 7
Going by the noise it might have been a flock of starlings. In reality it was a myriad simultaneous conversations echoing in the open space beneath the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank building. Sunday morning and the sharp suits and briefcases of the week had gone, replaced by thousands of Filipina maids as Central became Little Manila. For the women who worked to make the lives of Hong Kong professionals more comfortable – women who brought up other people’s children while being apart from their own – Sunday was a day of release after a week of hard labour. The sound of laughter and friendship was everywhere, every space a picnic spot with flattened cardboard boxes in place of blankets, and tastes of home passed between friends while they watched impromptu dance troupes practising routines to boom boxes. In one corner a game of cards, in another young women waited their turn while a hairstylist recreated the latest fashions at a bargain price.
Sam headed for the MTR station, picking his way through the mass of people. The movie on Friday had been a success, he thought, or at least it hadn’t gone as badly as their first date. Afterwards they’d gone for a drink in a bar where middle-aged Western men danced to Abba covers with young Asian women. Sam had wanted to ask what had happened with that taxi business, why Emma had acted so strangely, but he thought it better to let sleeping dogs lie and all that, and instead they’d discussed what Sam had mistakenly hoped would be the safer topic of their first experiences in Hong Kong.
‘So you were met at the airport by a driver and then put up in a serviced apartment?’ Emma had said, in mock horror, when Sam told her how he’d arrived in Hong Kong that first day.
‘You do realise what a cushy start you got? I took the bus from Kai Tak, stayed in a youth hostel for the first three weeks, crashed on sofas when I started to make friends, and then moved up the ladder to renting a spare room. It was six months before I had the money together to get my own place.’
‘I suppose that’s true – I did have it pretty good.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to come over all self-righteous. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not like it was your fault or anything – why shouldn’t you take those things if they’re offered? I would. It’s just that sometimes the expat world seems to be a bit of a bubble. A very comfortable bubble with housing allowances, maids … everything on a plate, but still a bubble oblivious to the world outside.’
‘I don’t have a maid,’ said Sam in his defence.
‘That’s very commendable of you. God, what must I sound like? Getting on my soap box. Sorry.’
‘No offence taken.’
‘So, you were in a serviced apartment for a while?’
‘In Wan Chai. Then I shared a flat in Mid-Levels for a time but in the end I wanted my own place. I also wanted to get out of Mid-Levels, move to somewhere quieter, so now I’m in Pokfulam. What about you?’
‘Western. A small flat on Des Voeux Road but it suits me.’
‘Isn’t it a bit noisy?’
‘I guess so, but with my hearing it doesn’t bother me. If anything it’s a plus because the traffic masks my tinnitus when it’s bad. The worst thing is that there’s a McDonalds on the ground floor. Sometimes the smell of cooking fat can be a bit much. That’s probably why it’s so cheap.’
At the end of the evening they’d walked the streets for a while. Even at the late hour many of the shops were still open. The crowds weren’t quite as busy as earlier in the evening, but even so it was urban Hong Kong at its most frenetic, glamorous and exhilarating; the light from the advertising signs and the shop windows illuminating the streets as if it were daylight.
‘Do you ever go hiking?’ Emma had asked out of the blue. ‘I was thinking of doing the Pat Sin Leng trail on Sunday. Why don’t you join me?’
The night before, as he rummaged in a cupboard for his hiking boots and rucksack, he’d wondered what he was doing. What he had failed to mention was just how infrequent his forays into the hills actually were. It had been at least a year since he’d last been hiking in the New Territories, but when Emma had suggested it he hadn’t wanted to say no and didn’t hesitate. Nor had Sam wanted to admit that he wasn’t exactly sure where Pat Sin Leng was. When he’d looked on the map he discovered that it was a ridge of high hills to the north of the Tolo Harbour – quite deep into the New Territories, close to the Chinese border. He had also noted, with some alarm, that judging by the closely packed contour lines they were obviously quite steep.
Emma was waiting for him at the entrance to the subway station. He was embarrassed by the contrast between her smart running shorts and singlet with his own rather more aged kit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Two trains and a taxi later they arrived at the village that Emma had identified as a good starting point.
‘Is this the right place?’ asked Sam.
‘I think so,’ said Emma, slightly doubtfully. ‘It looks familiar anyway.’
Sam’s reservations were understandable. The handful of houses arranged around a small square looked an unlikely starting point and scarcely justified the status of a village. In the middle of the square stood a banyan tree with roots that wrapped themselves around the trunk like a predatory snake, while a straggly beard of aerial vines hung from the lower branches. None of the houses were in good condition and no more than a handful of them showed signs of being lived in; it seemed only the elderly remained in the village now, the young having long ago moved to the city – or to Toronto or Sydney. The distinctive click-clack of mah-jong tiles sounded from one of the houses and a radio somewhere was playing Cantonese opera, but other than a pair of village dogs no one paid any attention to Sam and Emma.
The walk began with an easy concrete path leading through bamboo groves on the edge of the village. Emma led the way – occasionally checking her map – and when the path became too narrow for them to walk side-by-side Sam would drop behind. He tried to concentrate on the walk and not be too distracted by Emma’s legs. A dragonfly flew into his face and he brushed it away, putting aside the thought that they often seemed to foreshadow a storm. The trail was simple to follow, which allowed them to talk as they went along, Emma turning to face Sam from time to time to better catch what he said.
‘So you enjoyed the movie the other night?’ Emma asked.
‘I did, yes.’ Sam had surprised himself
with how much he had liked the bittersweet love story. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone?’
‘I promise. I wasn’t sure because you seemed a bit tense that day. I hope it wasn’t me.’
‘No certainly not, not you at all. The day was a bit mixed if I’m honest and didn’t end that well.’
‘In what way?’
Sam gave Emma the same summary he’d given Kate of his dressing down from Paul Ridgeway.
‘I see,’ Emma continued. ‘Good, well, not good perhaps, but you seemed nervous. I thought perhaps I was making you anxious. You’re a little shy, I think. Not like the average Hong Kong alpha-male expat.’
‘I think I’m getting a compliment … At least I think it’s a compliment?’ said Sam. It was true that Emma did make him anxious; nervous, wanting to say the right things, not wanting to look like an idiot.
‘It’s certainly not a criticism that’s for sure. Too many men in Hong Kong are so full of themselves. I don’t get the impression that you’d walk over somebody to get what you wanted the way so many guys here do. Kind, I think.’
Sam flinched when he remembered those months in London before he came to Hong Kong; there were plenty of people there who might take issue with Emma’s assessment of him. He was glad that they weren’t around to say anything.
‘I didn’t ask you what brought you to Hong Kong in the first place,’ said Emma. ‘Did you always want to come here?’
‘Not especially. I was recently qualified and happy enough in London, but I knew that I would have to move to get on … Also, I suppose I was a bit restless anyway.’ Sam comforted himself with the thought that none of that was exactly a lie even if it only skirted along the fringes of truth. ‘Then I saw an ad for a job in Hong Kong. I’d done a bit of travelling and been to Hong Kong before and the idea of coming back appealed to me. To be honest, had the ad appeared three months earlier or three months later I probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but the time seemed right and I thought “Why not?”’