She is younger than I thought, and she is wearing a school dress. Sitting with her head resting in the hollow of her hand, she is deep in thought. The stones have been laid out on the board with considerable skill, and I am drawn in to examine them more closely.

She looks up, wide forehead and slanting eyes like two finely drawn willow leaves. It is as if I am looking at Sunlight aged sixteen, but the illusion is short-lived: the apprentice geisha had a shy, closed sort of beauty, but this Chinese girl sits watching me unabashed. At home, elegance is associated with pallor and women avoid the sun; this girl has spent so much time playing outside that her face glows with a strange charm. Her eyes meet mine before I can look away.

She invites me to a game of go, and I pretend to hesitate to make my character more believable. Before I left the Chidori restaurant, Captain Nakamura’s collaborator told me that over the last ten years my country has become a window on the Western world for the whole of Asia. If I claim to be one of those Chinese students who has spent a long time in Tokyo, that will justify my manner, my accent and my ignorance of some topical issues.

The Chinese girl doesn’t much like talking; without asking me a single question, she urges me to start. Her very first move establishes a perverse and extravagant strategy. I have never played go with a woman; I have never been so close to one except for my mother, my sister, Akiko, geishas and prostitutes. Even though the checkered tabletop lies between me and my opponent, her young-girl smell makes me uncomfortable.

She looks as if she is dreaming as she tilts her head to one side, completely absorbed in her thoughts. Her soft face contrasts sharply with her prickly maneuvers-I find her intriguing.

How old is she? Sixteen? Seventeen? Her flat chest and her two plaits suggest all the ambiguity of adolescence, which makes girls look like transvestite boys. And yet the first signs of femininity are just emerging, like snowdrops in early spring: there is an indolent roundness to her forearms.

Night is falling quickly now and I have to get back to the barracks. She invites me to come again, and this invitation from any other woman would be somehow immodest, but this young girl knows how to put her innocence to good use.

I do not answer. She puts the stones away in their pot, clattering them against each other, a racket that is clearly a protest against my indifference. I laugh inwardly: she would be a great player if she could moderate her aggression and apply herself to a more spiritual path.

“Ten o’clock on Sunday morning,” she says.

I like her perseverance: I offer no further resistance, and agree with a nod.

At home, when women laugh they hide their faces behind the sleeves of their kimonos. The Chinese girl smiles without embarrassment or artifice. Her mouth opens with all the irresistible power of a grenade exploding.

I look away.

47

A group of pilgrims walks along an apparently endless wall and, finding a breach, they step into the enclosed area. Inside there are thousands of trees around a sparkling, rippling lake. A child is playing with a kite inside a ruined pavilion.

He smiles maliciously at the pilgrims and greets them, telling them that his kite can predict the future.

“Does it know where we are going?” asks the oldest in the group.

The kite flies off towards a corner of the ceiling, then changes direction and hurtles towards the opposite corner. Like a bird trapped in a cage, it flaps against the walls, crashes into the windows and suddenly plummets to the ground.

“Into the Darkness!”

I wake up.

This morning Min on his bicycle catches up with my rickshaw and thrusts a book into my hand. I leaf through it and find a note folded into four. He is inviting me over to Jing’s house in the late afternoon to celebrate his friend’s twentieth birthday. I decide to introduce Huong to Jing- their meeting can be my birthday present.

In the garden of Jing ’s house students are smoking, drinking and chatting. The boys, with their white silk scarves round their necks, posture like tragic poets. With their flat shoes and short hair, the girls are more masculine than their male companions. One of the girls is in the center of the gathering, haranguing her fellow students, and Min is leaning up against a tree, listening attentively. From time to time he casts his eye over the crowd, but doesn’t see me.

Jing comes out of the house and puts a tray of tea down on a stool. I introduce him to Huong, who is intrigued by these young revolutionaries, and they launch into an animated conversation.

I flop down onto a chair and, in my boredom, I split open salted sunflower seeds as I watch the student girl talking. I am surprised to find her pretty despite her fierce, indomitable manner. She is only twenty, but she is an orator, she knows how to modulate her voice and to keep her listeners’ attention. With each word I am gripped by a devastating admiration.

“ Japan is in the throes of massive military expansion; it’s not going to be satisfied with colonizing Manchuria; the next step will be Peking, then Shanghai and Guang Dong. The sovereignty of China is at risk! Soon we shall be servants, slaves, stray dogs! The warlords, the provisional governments and the military authorities have carved up our continent. Only patriotism can unite our strength and hope. We must rebel, we must expel these invaders and exterminate the corrupt soldiers who thirst for the blood of our people. We must give the land back to the peasants, we must give the serfs back their dignity. Let us build on the ruins of this semifeudal, semicolonial regime; let us build a new China where democracy reigns, where there is no corruption, no poverty and no violence. Equality, freedom and fraternity-that will be our motto. Every citizen shall work according to his needs. The people will be masters, and the government will be at their service. Only then will we know peace and happiness again!”

People clap and, having waved to her admirers, she turns towards Min. The hard glint in her eye gives way to gentleness, and he responds with a smile. I get up and go over to join Jing and Huong. She is exercising her charms on him, talking about her family and her arranged marriage. She is watching him with unbearable intensity and he is fascinated, he can’t take his eyes off her. His face reflects curiosity and pity in turn. The fact that I am there makes him uncomfortable; he keeps glancing towards me and when he catches my eye he looks away, gives a little cough and resumes his haughty expression.

I wander round the garden, but I can’t shake off the crushing pain inside me. There are red dragonflies alighting on flower stems and flitting away in the last rays of sunlight. Through the bedroom window I can see the bed I lay in just yesterday, covered in that same crimson sheet embroidered with chrysanthemums. The sight of it hurts me.

Min waves to me. At last. In front of his friends he treats me like a little sister and laughs as he tells them how he saved my life. I let him crow; he is ashamed of me.

Jing has just started handing round the birthday biscuits. When it is my turn, instead of offering the plate to me, he stops and takes a leaf that has caught in my hair. Someone taps him on the shoulder and says, “Will you introduce me to your friend?”

I recognize the prophetess from earlier. She doesn’t wait for a response from Jing and addresses me directly.

“Hello, my name is Tang,” she says and goes on to ask me so many questions so quickly that I feel intimidated. She wants to know everything: where I go to school, where I live, how many brothers and sisters I have. Then, without a whisper of embarrassment, she lets me know that she has known my lover all her life-her mother works for Min’s family. She scribbles her address on a piece of paper and invites me to go round and see her.