Three

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Omar rang the doorbell again. He glanced at his watch. It had been ten minutes since the first ring and he’d told himself he would wait fifteen minutes at the most. He had rung the doorbell at three-minute intervals and so, this was going to be the last effort. His neck was starting to itch and he was desperate for the bathroom. Seconds later he heard a shuffling and the door slowly opened. Del’s father emerged. His face brightened when he saw Omar.

“Good morning, sir,” Omar said.

“Ah, sorry, I was in the shower.”

Del’s father unlocked the door. Omar slid his shoes off and stepped into the house. A whiff of aftershave lingered in the doorway like a second guest. It was Old Spice, the same aftershave his father used. Del’s father closed the door and turned the lock. Omar offered him the cardboard box in his hand.

“Ah, and what’s this?”

Omar cleared his throat quietly. “Del said you like egg custard tarts.”

“I do indeed. The one near Tong Woh?”

Omar nodded.

“I shall enjoy this very much.” Del’s father chuckled in delight as he walked down the hallway. Omar followed him, inhaling the scent of the familiar aftershave, and was suddenly assailed by the image of his father, freshly showered and shaved, in a singlet and sarong too.

The morning light streamed into the hallway from the open ventilation slats in the wall. Del’s father strode through the light and the dust particles. He started humming.

The door to the study was slightly open and the sound of classical music greeted them. Violins, then the gentle seduction of a tinkling piano. The room was filled with sunlight from the open windows. It felt alive. The music came from a gramophone, on a small side table beside a pile of books. Del’s father bent over it and lifted the gramophone arm. The music stopped, the needle startled into a scratch and the room sank into silence.

“Do sit, please.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Del’s father walked to the table, placed the box of egg tarts on the top of some books, settled into his chair and picked up his pipe.

Omar sat down. He felt nervous, unsure of what exactly to say. He had rehearsed possibilities in his mind and on the drive over, had thought—“Keep it simple. Just keep it simple.” But now that he was facing Del’s father, the words he had so precisely rehearsed fled from him.