Well, Kwan is courageous and she arrives and says, 'Mr Muhammed, have you left your brain behind? Why do you frighten guests in my barn as they work so hard?' And he says, This all the work of Shytan, all of the women have gone mad since this thing has come, most especially that bride of Shytan,' and he points at me. I hardly need say that this is not an amusing thing. But listen to how destiny plays like a cat with your friend Mae. Mr Muhammed still jabs his finger like a knife towards me and says: 'That devil woman leaves her husband, and now my wife has left me to live with him.' And he cracks his whip. And all us women try hard not to laugh, even Kwan. For you see, we all know his wife Tsang. Tsang is a pincushion, she has had every man she can get. She is plump, ripe, shameless, lots of fun, and about as devoted a wife, and devout a woman, as a gerbil. In my fashion-expert days, I was always giving Tsang a makeover for her latest paramour. Poor old Mr Muhammed has finally discovered what the rest of the village knows. So there is now a closing of Tsang's always-welcoming doorway. That Tsang finally should have taken wing with my dull old husband strikes our humble peasant sense of humour like a blow to the elbow. Poor Mr Muhammed yells like a character in an old play, They have run off to live together in Balshang!' It is terrible but we all have to fight not to laugh, though the poor man is in agony. Kwan says kindly, 'It is not Mae's fault that your wife strayed, we are all scandalized by such behaviour.' And Mr Muhammed points again at me and says, 'Why, then, do you welcome that viper into your midst?' And Kwan answers him: 'Because though she strayed, she helps the whole village build business.' He screams back, 'She is the mother of all whores! My sweet and faithful wife has had her mind poisoned by that creature and her machine!' And Kwan puts her hand on his shoulder and says, gently, 'It was not Mae who corrupted her. Your wife just this spring lured my young son and had sex with him until I asked her to stop, for my son was growing confused. And she had both Mr Alis before that, and before that, Mr Pin's eldest boy, just before his marriage. Tsang corrupted herself. Mae had nothing to do with it.'

And poor old Mr Muhammed's face melts like candlewax. 'You all knew?' he says, and drops his whip. 'Didn't you?' asks Kwan. He does not answer but, hollow like an old crisp pinecone, he goes out of the barn. So we all wonder, Did he know as well?

But oh, woman, there was further news to come. Joe has sold our house. He has sold it to Mr Haseem and taken the money to live with Tsang in Balshang. The house and lands I fought all this year to pay for and save, those are deserted. The kitchen I cleaned for years, it is dark, with only moonlight for lighting. The brazier I kept alight for thirty years is now cold and full of dust. The chairs and tables are lonely, the cupboard hastily emptied, as if by thieves. I sit wearing all my clothes in Kwan's unheated attic, listening alone to the happiest time of year, to the harvest, the parties, and the various Circles. I hear life waft up like smoke from the village below. My life has been unstitched, cousin, like embroidery needing to be reworked. Oh. Joe. Joe. You always thought money was quick, because you were slow. So you have quick money to make new life in the city with Tsang. That old mattress, she will be bouncing with other men the instant your back is turned. You will be a dolt in the city. You will lose tools, you will not get work. And you will come back here, and be surprised when your friend Mr Haseem does not give you back your house. And your father and your brother Siao – what of them, Joe? They now have the indignity of living with your first wife's brother, Mr Wang Ju-mei. Oh, Joe, what will you tell the spirits of your fathers? You sold their land? For how much, Joe? Would your good friend Mr Haseem, knowing you were desperate to be away, be so generous as to give you half of what it is worth? Oh, Joe, you will go to live near your beloved and clever son Lung. You should love and honour him, for the son is far wiser than the father. But you do not understand him. Your son is Army Officer. Your son is Balshang Fox, who has married the Western world. He does not want a dolt of a country father embarrassing him, staying all weekend long when he has to be entertaining the Colonel and his lady wife. Oh, Joe. You will return lost and befuddled with no money, no woman, no son, and wondering, wondering where it all went. Now I know what a man's chin feels like. It gets shaved clean, everything scraped away, with everything needing to grow back. What else, I wonder, can happen in this year of shaving away? To speak of business: Eye of the Beholder is getting fewer visitors. We have no new orders for the collars, which is great relief and worry at the same time. What can I do to speak to my friends in the world?

____________________

e-mail from: Mr Ken Kuei

13 December

Hello.

I am very proud, for I have sent you a message like this. You see, I am learning. I have taken your words to heart, and so I learn on Sunni's machine. I have had to learn without you.

I am good at learning. And good at waiting. Your friend, Mr Ken Kuei

____________________

e-mail from: Miss Soo Ling

13 December

Mae,

I hear that many houses here are imitating your success, selling collars, etc. In

any case, all fashions come and go. Have you been thinking what you will do next? There is a Western phrase used by all: Live the change. It means, 'Get in first and get out first.'

____________________

e-mail/videomail: no sender

They have found the Eloi site. They will raid. Get your business off Kwan's machine now. Move it onto Mr Haseem's if you can – now, tonight – but move it in any case.

CHAPTER 16

Who would send her such a message?

Mae's mind raced as her slippered feet slid in the dark on Kwan's polished wooden floors. Mr Oz? Hikmet Tunch?

She went into Kwan's bedroom and smelled the savour of husband and wife and sleep.

'Kwan,' she whispered. 'Kwan, wake up.'

There was a groan.

'Kwan, please, this is urgent, it must be done. Please wake up.'

The movement, the sound, ceased and a calm, alert voice said: 'What is it, Mae?'

'I just got an audio file. Came on looking like a packet from America, only it was just a scramble of, you know, symbols. Then it started to wake up as words. It said it was a self-decoding cipher. So whoever sent it would have to know the watermark on your hard disk.'

'What did it say?'

'That they know about the Eloi home, that they will raid. It said, "Get your business off Kwan's machine." '

'Can I see the message?'

'No, it burned itself up.'

There was quiet. Outside, a nightjar was singing.

Mr Wing spoke next: 'If they know about the minority site, there is not much point removing it now,' he said, with the same cool voice he used when repairing plumbing. 'What does it say, Kwan?'

'It tells what is being done to my people,' said Kwan.

Wing breathed heavily, once, in and out. 'You are a woman. Perhaps they will treat you gently. Pretend you are foolish and emotional. Mae, whoever your friend is, they are clever, and you must upload all your data to Sunni's machine, and wipe it from ours.'

'Do you know how to do that?'

'Not if you don't.'

The TV was now kept in the diwan. Already secretive, they did not turn on the lights, but huddled in quilted coats around the screen.