“Fine, but she’s making noises about coming back. She’s just in China, you know, refused absolutely to go to Australia. So, she’s in Canton, and complaining mightily. I can hear the racket from here.” Angus looked gloomily at the dance floor. “Might let her come back just so I can get some peace.” He paused. “Though that seems rather counterintuitive, eh?”
“Everything to do with women seems counterintuitive.”
“Trudy not leaving? ” Angus asks.
“Refuses. Says there’s nowhere to go. Which is sort of the truth for her, I think.”
“Pity,” says Angus. “A lot of places could use her right now.”
“Yes, she could charm everyone,” Will says.
“A formidable weapon, indeed,” Angus says.
“Did you see the paper today? Roosevelt sent Hirohito a cable?”
“Yes. We’ll see how effective that is. What are they having you do at the office? ”
“They sent around a memorandum a few weeks ago saying that our Volunteer positions took precedence over company business, but we are supposed to register with them during fighting, if it breaks out. They’ve given us a number to call with our location. I don’t know that they know what they’re doing.”
They watch Trudy twirl around the dance floor, laughing, ivory-white arms draped over her partner’s shoulders. Afterward, breathless and happy, she tells Will that her partner was the “head of the whole thing. He’s very important, and he seemed to like me very much, telling me all about the situation we’re in. And it’s terribly ironic,” she says. “The dreariest of people are safe-the Germans, bless their stolid hearts, the Italians with their awful, funny ways. Hong Kong ’s going to be so dull, no parties worth going to at all.”
“So you’re interested when he tells you about the war, are you?”
“Of course, darling. He knows what he’s talking about.”
The orchestra is playing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” and Trudy is complaining. “He’s horrible,” she says about the accompanist. “I could get up right now and play better than that.” But she isn’t given a chance because a short man with a megaphone strides through the ballroom and gets up onstage. The orchestra grinds to a halt.
“All those men who are connected to the American Steamships Line are ordered to report aboard ship as soon as possible. I repeat, all those connected with American Steamships Line are required to report onboard right now.”
There is a long silence, then on the dance floor, couples uncouple, at the bar, men stand up from their bar stools and pull down their shirt fronts. A few start to make their uncertain way to the door.
“I hate American accents,” Trudy says. “They sound so stupid.” She seems to have forgotten her great love for Americans.
“Trudy,” Will says. “This is serious. Do you understand?”
“It’ll be fine, darling,” Trudy says. “Who would bother with our small pocket of the world? It’s just the alarmists.” She calls for more champagne.
Dominick comes by and whispers something in her ear. He stares at Will while he’s doing it.
“Good evening, Dominick,” he says.
“Hallo,” is the laconic reply. Dominick is one of those queer Chinese who are more English than the English, yet has no great love for them. Educated in the most precious way in England, he has come back to Hong Kong and is affronted by everything that is in the least bit crass, which is to say, everything-the swill on the streets, the expectorating, illiterate throngs of coolies and fishmongers. A hothouse flower, he thrives only in the rarest of society circles, around damask napkins and clear, ringing crystal-Will would very much like to see him in a rubber apron ladling out soup to butchers and their ilk in a street-market noodle shop, the kind with the bare electrical bulb hanging dangerously on a filament.
“Terrible news, isn’t it? ” Will says.
“This too will pass.” Dominick dismisses him with a slow wave of his marble-white palm. Will finds himself wondering if those hands have seen any labor more arduous than the writing of a thank-you note on cream bond or the lifting of a champagne bowl. He watches the two of them whispering together. They belong together (were it not for the accident of their family relations) but he supposes such a pairing would combust, their pale electricity extinguishing the other.
Dominick says suddenly, “It’s not all bad for Trudy and me, you know. The Japanese are closer to us than the English. At least they’re Orientals.”
Will almost laughs and then realizes that Dominick is serious.
“But you’re the least Oriental person I know,” he says mildly.
Dominick narrows his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.
Trudy intervenes. “You’re both talking nonsense. Don’t talk about this beastly nationality matter-it makes me ill.” She brushes Will’s hair back from his face. “All I know is that the Japanese are a very peculiar people.”
“You should not say such things,” Dominick says. “You should not.”
“Oh, bother! ” Trudy says. “Have another drink and shut up.”
It is the first time Will has seen Trudy get irritated with Dominick. She wants to go shortly thereafter and they leave, but not before she gives Dominick a quick kiss on the cheek to let him know he’s been forgiven.
On Sunday they wake and go to town for dim sum. There is an odd tension in the air, and the wet markets are filled with grim shoppers filling their bags. They go home and listen to the radio and eat a simple dinner. The amahs are flitting about, chattering nonstop, and it’s giving Will a headache. The office rings up and says that work is suspended until further notice. That night, he and Trudy slip and slide in their sleep, waking each other in their restlessness, breathing loudly.
Monday, December 8. The rude brrring of the telephone. Angeline wakes Trudy and Will with the news that her husband has just received word of a broadcast to all Japanese that war with Britain and the United States is imminent. The engineers have been ordered to blow all bridges leading into the territory. Then, as they digest the news still groggy from sleep, they hear the air-raid sirens, and then, terribly, from a distance, then closer, the whing and whine of aircraft and the dull thud of bombs. The phone rings again. All Volunteers are to be in place by three in the afternoon. They turn on the radio and Will gets dressed as Trudy watches him from the bed. She is pale and quiet.
“It’s madness for you to go out in this,” she says. “How are you going to get to the office? ”
“I’ll drive,” he says.
“But you don’t know what condition the roads are in. You might be hit by a bomb or someone might…”
“Trudy,” he says. “I have to go. I can’t just sit by.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “And I don’t want to be alone.”
“Let’s not quarrel,” he says gently. “Call Angeline. Then go over to her house. Have her send her boy to escort you. And I’ll ring you there when I’m able. You should probably stock up on some food as well.”
He kisses her cool cheek and leaves.
In town, he drives by the King’s Theater. It still seems to be operating. My Life with Caroline is the feature and there are, astonishingly, a few people queuing up for tickets.
When he reports to HQ, it’s abuzz with activity, men jostling for space and supplies, with a sense of urgency he has not seen before. Outside, it’s eerily quiet but for the intermittent boom of bombs. He sits and waits for his assignment. There’s a map over a desk with the colony marked out. A dotted line is drawn from Gin Drinkers Bay to Tide Cove with a fortress at Shing Mun-the first line of defense. There’s been a concrete tunnel built south of the Jubilee Reservoir where soldiers can climb to pillboxes to fire. “This should keep us for a while,” a man says, noticing Will studying the map. “It’s fairly difficult to breach, I’d say.” On the wall, someone has typed up excerpts from General Maltby’s speech that morning: “It is obvious to you all that the test for which we have been placed here will come in the near future. I expect each and every member of my force to stick it out unflinchingly, and that my force will become a great example of high-hearted courage to all the rest of the British empire who are fighting to preserve truth, justice, and liberty for the world.”