How silly and ignorant he had been. He fancied himself a sea trader, and yet understood so little of the turning tides.

A young girl emerges from under a tarp flap. She smiles at him, too young to know him for a stranger, and too innocent yet to care. She is alive, burning with the limber vitality that an old man can only envy with every aching bone. She smiles at him.

She could be his daughter.

Malaya's night was black and sticky, a jungle filled with the squawks of night birds and the pulse and whir of insect life. Dark harbor waters lapped before them. He and Fourth Daughter, that useless waif, the only one he could preserve, hid among piers and rocking boats, and when darkness fell completely, he guided her down to the water, to where waves rushed onto the beach in steady surges and the stars overhead were pinpricks of gold in blackness.

"Look, Ba. Gold," she whispered.

There were times when he'd told her that every star was a bit of gold that was hers for the taking, because she was Chinese and with hard work and attendance to her ancestors and traditions, she would prosper. And now, here they were under a blanket of gold dust, the Milky Way spread over them like some great shifting blanket, the stars so thick that if he were tall enough he could reach up and squeeze them and have them run down his arms.

Gold, all around, and all of it untouchable.

Amid the lapping of fishing boats and little spring craft, he found a rowboat and pulled for deep water, aiming for the bay, following the currents, a black speck on the shifting reflections of the ocean.

He would have preferred a cloudy night, but at least there was no moon, and so he pulled and pulled, while all around them sea carp surfaced and rolled, showing the fat pale bellies that people of his clan had engineered to feed a starving nation. He pulled on the oars and the carp surrounded them, showing bloated stomachs now thickened on the blood and gristle of their creators.

And then his little boat was alongside the object of his search, a trimaran anchored in the deep. The place where Hafiz's boat people slept. He climbed aboard and slipped silent among them. Studying them all as they slept soundly, protected by their religion. Safe and alive while he had nothing.

His arms and shoulders and back ached from the strain of rowing. An old man's aches. A soft man's pains.

He slipped among them, searching, too old for the nonsense survival, and yet unable to give it up. He might still survive. The one daughter mouth might survive. Even if she was a girl child. Even if she would do nothing for her ancestors, at least she was of his clan. A clipping of DNA that still might be saved. Finally he found the body he wanted, leaned down and touched it gently, covered the man's mouth.

"Old friend," he whispered.

The man's eyes went wide as he awoke. "Encik Tan?" He nearly saluted, even half-naked and lying on his back. And then, as if recognizing the change in their fortunes, his hand fell back, and he addressed Hock Seng as he had never dared in real life. "Hock Seng? You're still alive?"

Hock Seng pursed his lips. "This useless daughter mouth and I need to go north. I need your help."

Hafiz sat up, rubbing his eyes. He glanced furtively at the rest of his sleeping clan. He whispered, "If I turned you in, I would make a fortune. The head of Three Prosperities. I would be rich."

"You were not poor when you worked with me."

"Your head is worth more than all the Chinese skulls stacked in the streets of Penang. And I would be safe."

Hock Seng started to respond angrily but Hafiz put his hand up, indicating silence. He ushered Hock Seng to the edge of the deck, against the rail. He leaned close, his lips nearly touching Hock Seng's ear. "Do you not know the danger you bring on me? Some of my own family wear green headbands now. My own sons! It is not safe here."

"You think this is something I just learned now?"

Hafiz had the grace to look away, embarrassed. "I cannot help you."

Hock Seng grimaced. "Is this what my kindness to you has earned? Did I not attend your wedding? Gift you and Rana well? Fete you for ten days? Did I not pay for Mohammed's admission to college in K.L.?"

"You did that and more. My debts are to you are great." Hafiz bowed his head. "But we are not the men we were before. The Green Headbands are everywhere among us, and those of us who loved the yellow plague can only suffer. Your head would buy my family security. I'm sorry. It is true. I don't know why I don't strike you now."

"I have diamonds, jade."

Hafiz sighed and turned away, showing his broad muscled back. "If I took your jewels, I would just as quickly be tempted to take your life. If we speak of money, then your head must always be the most valuable prize. Best not to discuss the temptations of wealth."

"So this is how we end?"

Hafiz turned back to Hock Seng, pleading. "Tomorrow I will give your clipper ship Dawn Star to them and foreswear you utterly. If I were smart I would turn you in as well. All the ones who have aided the yellow plague are suspected now. We who fattened on Chinese industry and thrived under your generosity are the most hated in our new Malaya. The country is not the same as it was. People are hungry. They are angry. They call us all calorie pirates, profiteers, and yellow dogs. There is nothing to quell it. Your blood is already shed, but they have yet to decide what to do with us. I cannot risk my family for you."

"You could come north with us. Sail together."

Hafiz sighed. "The Green Headbands already sail the coasts searching for refugees. Their net is wide and deep. And they slaughter those they catch."

"But we are clever. More clever than they. We could slip past."

"No, it is impossible."

"How do you know?"

Hafiz looked away, embarrassed. "My sons boast to me."

Hock Seng scowled bitterly, holding his granddaughter's hand. Hafiz said, "I'm sorry. My shame will go with me until I die." He turned abruptly and hurried for the galley. He returned with unspoiled mangoes and papaya. A bag of U-Tex. A PurCal cibi melon. "Here, take these. I'm sorry I can do no more. I'm sorry. I have to think of my own survival as well." And with that he ushered Hock Seng off the boat and out into the waves.

A month later, Hock Seng crossed the border alone, crawling through leech-infested jungle after being abandoned by the snakeheads who betrayed them.

Hock Seng has heard that those who helped the yellow people later died in droves, plunging from cliffs into the sea to swim as best they could for the shore's smashing rocks, or shot where they floated. He wonders often if Hafiz was one of those to die, or if his gift of the last of Three Prosperities' unscuttled clippers was enough to save his family. If his Green Headband sons spoke for him, or if they watched coldly as their father suffered for his many, many sins.

"Grandfather? Are you well?"

The little girl touches Hock Seng gently on the wrist, watching him with wide black eyes. "My mother can get you boiled water if you need to drink."

Hock Seng starts to speak, then simply nods and turns away. If he speaks to her, she will know him for a refugee. Best that he simply blend in. Best not to reveal that he lives amongst them at the whim of white shirts and the Dung Lord and a few faked stamps on his yellow card. Best to trust no one, even if they seem friendly. A smiling girl one day is a girl with a stone bashing in the brains of a baby the next. This is the only truth. One can think there are such things as loyalty and trust and kindness but they are devil cats. In the end they are only smoke and cannot be grasped.