On Borrowed Time

by Graeme Hall

  Sam was starting to look nostalgically at the colonial flag he could see from his office. He guessed it had always been there, but he hadn’t paid it much attention before. Now it had only a few weeks before its expiry date. He wondered what would become of it? Did someone already have their eyes on it? Probably. There might be a market for colonial memorabilia in the future. Details of the new Hong Kong flag had been announced some time back, along with the rules on how it should be flown, in particular its relative size compared with China’s five-starred red. Smaller, inevitably. There was no news other than the handover, and distinguishing between hard facts and speculation became increasingly difficult. Rumours were rife. Streets were to be renamed and Queen’s Road would be the first to go. Roads would be reconfigured so that cars could drive on the right. Nothing was too ridiculous that it couldn’t be suggested and believed by some.

  Sam had once assumed he would return to the UK after the handover. That had been the original plan anyway. A couple of years in Hong Kong, a little experience abroad never did anyone any harm he thought. Witness the change of sovereignty. Then back to London and a job in a City firm when memories of his less than stellar pre-Hong Kong career had perhaps faded and people had forgotten. But after initially finding it difficult to adjust, he had become settled in Hong Kong. When he’d first arrived Sam had been warned that the first year would be the hardest, that he might struggle once the novelty and excitement of the new environment had passed. First year blues it was called, and Sam had found it to be very true. He could still remember when he came back to Hong Kong after his first trip home. It had felt like being returned to prison after day release. But then, like a runner going through the wall, things looked up again. He made a positive decision to stick with it and work his way through the difficult patch. More and more Hong Kong had started to feel like home to him and not just somewhere to spend a couple of years. In spite of the uncertain future, Sam increasingly saw himself living in Hong Kong for the long term.

  Some weeks back Paul had asked him about his future plans and suggested that if he did stay then partnership was likely. It was a conversation Sam had thought was coming, indeed he had hoped it was coming, and yet somehow it still managed to catch him by surprise. Like a good lawyer his answers had been non-committal. Sam knew that if he was going to go back to the UK then he needed to do so sooner rather than later if he wanted to get a job in London. Any more than three or four years away and what seemed to him to be good experience would to an employer simply mean time out of his normal career progression.

  And then there was Emma. Sam was starting to get beyond his insecurities. The constant wondering of what a woman like her was doing with a man like him. The conviction that she would find somebody better soon enough. To his surprise Sam was discovering that their relationship was only strengthening. The one thing they hadn’t really talked about, the elephant in the room, was the question of Emma’s visa. The rules were changing and in the future they would both need work visas. That was never going to be a problem for Sam, a lawyer in a large firm would have no trouble, but a temp who flitted from job to job? Who spoke no Cantonese and had a hearing problem? That wouldn’t be straightforward. What argument could there be to justify Emma having a work visa? What job could she do that couldn’t be done by a local? So far Sam had only mentioned it to Emma in passing, but it seemed to him the best chance would be if she could get a full-time position with McShane Adams. It wouldn’t change the fundamental problem, but working for a firm of that size and with some clout might count for something. So Sam thought anyway.

  The fact that today was June 4th was in his mind as well, though the date was apparently not in the consciousness of all of his colleagues.

  ‘Are you on for a drink after work?’ Rob had asked.

  ‘No. I’m going to the vigil with Emma.’

  ‘What vigil?’

  ‘You know. The June 4th vigil.’

  ‘June 4th?’

  Sam was astonished that Rob seemed to have no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘Tiananmen Square.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ***

  Victoria Park had been slowly filling since early afternoon, the crowds unconcerned by the rain. The basketball courts had been cleared and a stage set up at one end. A large screen dominated the rear of the stage with the sound system on either side. The effect was more rock concert than political rally. Early arrivals got the prime spaces at the front with a good view of the stage, and as the numbers swelled the concrete of the basketball courts steadily disappeared, hidden beneath the ever-growing multitude.

  They were all ages: families with children; young and old; high-school students; others perhaps at university. Many were wearing black T-shirts, often with white bandanas tied round their heads. Some carried placards and banners. Almost everybody had a candle, and as dusk turned into evening the scene was illuminated with flickering points of light. There was discipline and order. Everyone gave each other room where they could. The very young and the very old were helped to find some space to sit. It was the most orderly, good-natured demonstration Sam could imagine – not that he had much experience to base his judgement on. A row of police vans were parked nearby and uniformed police officers kept a respectful watching brief. Everyone assumed that plainclothes police mingled with the crowds.

  By the time Sam and Emma arrived in the early evening, the rain had eased off but it was still horribly humid. It was the first time Sam had been to any form of political demonstration and if it hadn’t been for Emma he knew that he wouldn’t have been there. Certainly, as far as he knew, none of his colleagues were coming. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such a large number of people in one place apart from the rugby sevens. He had no yardstick to judge the numbers by, but knew it must have been tens of thousands. The mood was surprisingly upbeat. He had expected it to be more sombre. More serious. Although it wasn’t exactly a party, there was a spirit of optimism. A sense that with collective action all would work out in the end.

  ‘How on earth are we going to find them in this crowd?’ Sam asked Emma. They had arranged to meet Alice and Liang-bao.

  ‘They said they’d try and save some space. But even so you’re right, there’s no way we’re going to find them. Let’s just find somewhere to sit.’

  The first speaker had already started as Sam and Emma picked their way through the seated crowds, apologising as they went. Eventually they found a space off to the right, most of the way back but it was the best they could do. The speech was in Cantonese.

  ‘I hope it’s not all going to be in Cantonese,’ said Sam.

  ‘I was planning on Alice translating for us.’

  While the speaker continued, Sam took in the scene on the stage. Five men and a woman sat to one side listening, while the screen at the back of the stage showed the iconic image of the lone protestor standing in front of a tank. Tank-man. Sam recognised the woman as a leading pro-democracy politician, but he had no idea who the others were. When the first speaker finally came to an end there was a huge cheer from the crowd as one of the five men took to the microphone.

  ‘Someone famous?’

  ‘I think he might be an actor.’

  Whoever he was, to the relief of both of them he didn’t speak for long in Cantonese and after a short while he switched to heavily accented English.

  ‘We all know why we are here tonight,’ he said. ‘We are here to remember the victims of Tiananmen. To honour those who died. To hear from the heroes of that night. I am immensely proud to introduce to you Wang Bao!’ With a flourish, the speaker gestured to one of the men on stage who stood and walked to the microphone. The screen at the back of the stage started to show video footage of June 1989. Students camped in Tiananmen Square. Police. Soldiers. Tanks. More soldiers.

  ‘I think I’ve heard of Wang Bao,’ Emma whispered to Sam. ‘He was one of the student leaders.’

  Wang Bao was slightly built, gaunt almost,
somewhere in his late twenties, thirty at most, but looked older. He spoke in English with a mainland accent. Hesitantly at first, apologising for not speaking Cantonese, he spoke with increasing confidence as he began to tell his story. Wang Bao had been in Tiananmen Square that night. A chemistry student at Tsinghua University, he had been one of the early protestors and had gone to the square in early May. A week later he was joined by his girlfriend from college, Xiao-mei. The crowds listened intently as Wang Bao told them of the early optimism. Of how Party officials said that they understood their concerns. Of how there were promises of change and reform. Wang Bao told of the songs they sang. Of poems that were written. Friendships made.

  The numbers of Tiananmen protestors rose steadily through the month of May and the mood changed. The hopes of the early days started to fade and a sense of anxiety began to fill the square. Everybody knew something was going to happen but nobody knew what or when. In spite of that foreknowledge, when the crackdown did come the ferocity of it still caught them by surprise. Wang Bao’s voice started to falter as he began to describe the events of that night. His audience, already rapt, fell into an even deeper silence and Emma reached out for Sam’s hand. The city that continued its life around them disappeared from their consciousness.

  ‘They say,’ continued Wang Bao, ‘the Chinese Communist Party say, nobody died in Tiananmen Square that night. They may be right.’ A puzzled mutter ran through the crowd. ‘They may be right because most people died in the streets around the square as they tried to flee. That’s what happened to us. When we saw tanks break down the barricades, I told Xiao-mei “follow me”. We headed out of the square and down Qianmendajie. Hope to disappear in the hutongs. But they were waiting for us. A line of soldiers across the road blocking our escape. They opened fire. Can you believe? Chinese troops fire on Chinese people. We saw protestors in front of us fall to the ground. We turned down a narrow alleyway. But they followed and soon caught us. Xiao-mei was struck on the head with a club.’ Wang Bao’s voice faltered for a moment before he gathered himself and continued. ‘It was so sudden she didn’t have time to cry out. Just a little gasp and then she collapsed, blood coming from her ear. I crouched over Xiao-mei hoping to protect her from more blows, but then something or somebody hit me and after that … nothing.’ The crowd was silent and yet only a short distance away the shops and restaurants of Causeway Bay were thronged.

  ‘I woke up in hospital. They told me later I had been in a coma for three weeks. Nobody would answer my questions about Xiao-mei. When the doctors said I was okay the police took me. I spent two years in a re-education camp and when I was released I searched for Xiao-mei but nobody knew if she was alive or dead. Her parents had moved to another city and refused to talk to me. Years later I still do not know what happened to Xiao-mei.’ Wang Bao was briefly silenced by a police helicopter that flew low overhead. Sam looked up and could see cameras pointing down at the crowds. He wondered what Paul Ridgeway would think if he could see him here.

  ‘And now,’ Wang Bao resumed, ‘Hong Kong is about to become part of China again. Many of you will welcome that. You are Chinese. But you must never forget Tiananmen Square. Never forget June 4th. Never forget democracy. Never forget those who were in the square. Even now people are rewriting history. You must remember the truth. In Hong Kong you have freedoms that nobody in China is even allowed to dream. You must look after those freedoms. Protect them. They will be threatened bit by bit. Slice by slice.’

  After Wang Bao had finished, singing broke out in the crowd. Voices swelled, filling the evening air and overwhelming the sound of traffic and city life. Sam was surprised to find himself welling up a little. Unable to join in with the singing in Cantonese he still found that he was feeling at one with everyone else. It was the first time he had ever felt like a Hongkonger rather than an expat.

  Chapter 19

  ‘He’s with Paul at the moment,’ said Kate.

  Friday morning and Emma was in Central. Not having any work on, she’d decided to drop in on Sam unannounced. See if he was free to take her to lunch. Emma hadn’t considered the possibility that he might be busy and she was a little nonplussed. Perhaps she should have asked him at breakfast rather than turning up out of the blue.

  ‘But I don’t think he’s going to be long,’ Kate continued. ‘Come, sit down and I’ll get us some coffee.’ Emma waited in Kate’s office with the uncomfortable feeling that she was interrupting a busy morning.

  ‘Sorry, I must be stopping you from working,’ she said when Kate returned with two cups.

  ‘No problem, I could do with a break. This is so tedious.’ Kate gestured to the papers on her desk. ‘I seem to be the departmental dogsbody at the moment while Sam gets the glamorous mainland deals … Sorry – I probably shouldn’t have said that. Take no notice of me. Thank God we’ve got a long weekend tomorrow.’ Monday was the Dragon Boat Festival and a public holiday. ‘Sam’s says you’re not coming on the junk on Monday? Is that right? It would be a shame if you weren’t there. It’s one of the best things about working for a firm like this, having a junk.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t get on that well with boats and water.’

  ‘Pity. So how is it now you’re sharing a flat? Sorry if I’m being nosey. I’ve reached this ripe old age and I’ve never actually shared a home with a man. You know, week in, week out. Is he housebroken? Does he put the toilet seat down? Do the washing up? That sort of thing.’

  ‘He’s pretty good on the whole. He just has some strange ideas on interior design … But then it’s his flat after all. I don’t want to change things too radically, I might scare him off.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no danger of that, Emma. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy. You’re good for him.’

  ‘Well it works both ways but I’m glad you think so. You know … I was jealous of you when I first met Sam.’

  ‘Jealous? Of me?’

  ‘You had – still have I guess – such a close relationship with Sam. I suppose I thought there must have been something between you …’

  ‘I don’t know … it’s funny, there’s always been a connection between us, but don’t worry – never in that way. More like brother and sister, I suppose. Mind you I’d never tell my brother half the things I tell Sam, if only because it’d get back to my parents. Do you have a brother or sister?’

  ‘Me? No … no, I don’t.’ No matter how many times Emma was asked that question she was never comfortable answering. But Emma was very pleased that Sam clearly did not tell Kate everything. ‘Is Sam with a client at the moment?’ Emma looked to change the subject. ‘Perhaps I should be going.’

  ‘I think he is, yes. I think he’s with the people from Bright Talk at the moment. I don’t think he’ll … Speak of the devil.’ Sam had appeared at the door to Kate’s office.

  ‘Emma, sorry … you’ve caught me by surprise. Were we supposed to be meeting?’

  ‘No. I just called in to say hello. Kate and I were just having a chat. I can see you’re both busy. I should leave you to it.’

  ‘I’m just with a client at the moment. Kate, do you know where Annie is? I can’t find her and there’s a file I need.’

  ‘Sorry. If she’s not at her desk I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Emma. ‘Unless Annie has changed things, I do sort of remember her system.’

  ‘Actually, you probably can. Thanks. It’s one of the files you helped me with last year, Bright Talk Telecommunications. Do you remember it?’

  ‘I think so. Give me a moment.’ Emma left Sam and Kate and went over to Annie’s workspace. She opened the top drawer in a filing cabinet and rifled through the files until she found the one Sam needed. ‘Here it is.’

  ‘That’s the one. Sorry, I may be a little while …’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see you at home later. I’d just dropped by on the off-chance.’

  It wasn’t until after Sam had left that Emma saw the sheet of paper that had slipped from t
he file and drifted under Annie’s desk. She bent down to pick it up and looked at it to make sure that it was indeed from that file and not something else altogether. Emma recognised it as being from a document she’d typed last September. There was a typo in one line and she remembered being grateful that nobody had noticed the misspelt ‘Directorrs’ heading the list of officers of Bright Talk Telecommunications Limited. Last year this had been just a list of names of no significance, but this time her eyes fell on the one name in the list that did mean something to her: Gao Zhihua.

  ***

  Back in the flat, Emma had no memory of how she got home. Probably a taxi but it might have been the bus for all she knew. Travelling on autopilot while she recovered from the shock. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, she’d said to Kate.

  The questions came quickly but without answer. Was it the same man? How common was the name Gao Zhihua? Could it be a coincidence? Somebody with the same name but nothing more than that? How could she possibly find out? Should she tell Sam? Her thoughts finally settled on one question that soon started to obsess her: had she in fact already seen Gao Zhihua? Had she smiled at him while asking him to take a seat in reception? Did she make him tea or coffee while he waited? Had she taken his coat? The thought that she might have made polite pleasantries with the man appalled her. What about Sam? Had he met Gao Zhihua? Had they had lunch or dinner together? Did she share a bed with someone who had laughed with the man who killed her brother? Had the hand that caressed her breast once shaken his hand?