The raid on the Island of the Half-wits was carried out with military precision. The farmers were rounded up, Iman was publicly humbled, the population herded into boats to begin a long journey to disparate places west of the Wall. But not before each had been forced to give three large blood samples.
Jiajia was not accounted for. In a land of rocks it is hard to discern one from the next.
Once the islanders were safely on boats, the soldiers tore down the terrace walls, smashed the stone pathways and reduced to waste the entirety of what these people had laboured so hard for so long to build. They erased their history. Tore off the face of this place – and the fishermen on the coast watched and smiled at the possibilities that now presented themselves.
Madame Wu said nothing. The look on her face as the handcuffs snapped onto her wrists never varied. Only her hands betrayed her. They were red – angry like her mother’s after hours of pulling silkworm cocoons from boiling water.
Lily was there before him. Naked and sweet. She curled up on his lap and looked into his eyes. “We can’t live here, Fong.”
“I can’t live anywhere else, Lily.”
She nodded sadly and touched her belly then looked up at him.
He smiled.
She smiled back. “I finally got that roll of film developed.”
“What roll of film?”
“The one the specialist found in the Japanese guy’s camera.”
“By the runway?”
“Yes, Fong, by the runway.”
Lily waited and finally Fong asked, “So what’s on the film?”
“Pictures.” She opened a drawer and handed them to Fong.
They were all of a beautiful Asian newborn. A boy. A perfect new being. Fong gave her back the pictures and said, “It’s almost dawn. I don’t think they’d appreciate it if I miss two days in a row.”
“As head of Special Investigations, Shanghai District, you have to set a good example.” She laughed.
He took her hand. He tried to say that he was sorry, that he was unworthy of her, that he begged her forgiveness, but nothing came out. She put a finger to his mouth and said, “I know, Fong. I know. Now let’s get dressed and go to work.” Then in English she added, “Imagine, think what they did we.” She stood up, stretched her strong back and smiled as she strutted, naked as the day was long, into the bathroom.
In English he replied, “You’re something, Lily.”
He heard the flame in the small water heater ignite.
“Yeah! What but?”
He was going to correct her then decided not to. The sound of the shower came from behind the ill-fitting door. Lily yelped as she stepped beneath the thin spray. She’d have to learn that about the place – the water heater worked fast. She began to sing softly. She was happy. Fong wondered if she felt the odd stirring within her. A life beginning. A baby. Lily would make a good mother. And he would never abandon his child. He had only one concern. He hoped their baby would learn English from him, not her.
Lily’s singing continued as he stood up and moved to the closet. He opened it and reached for his padded Mao jacket with Fu Tsong’s Shakespeare sewn into its lining. He allowed his hand to press against the pages. So much history. So many secrets. For an instant he wanted to wear it to work then just as quickly he had the intense desire to throw it in the trash. To start all over.
Lily’s singing stopped.
He withdrew his hand from the coat and closed the closet. Then he stood very still and listened to Shanghai awaken. Listened to the slumbering, eighteen-millionheaded thing shrug off its drowsiness and face the day to come.