Back in the village, he’d sometimes gone fishing in a jungle pond. There wasn’t usually very much there, but at the right time of the year, the fish were big. Once or twice he caught one, a foot-long solid slab of muscle wriggling frantically in his hands. This was how he felt, talking to her. She was thrashing at the world to survive, and he could only watch helplessly.

“What happened to you?” she now asked. No one in the city had ever wanted to hear, but now he told her the whole thing, everything he remembered about Batang Kali, what they’d done to his mother afterwards.

“I never went back,” he said. “I don’t even know where
he’s buried.”

“Why would you? There’d be nothing there. Burnt houses. Maybe some weeds, but no trees, nothing grows back after you’ve scorched the earth.”

“What should I do?”

“Join us,” she said, simply, and it felt like the answer he’d always been waiting to hear. He took a final pull of his cigarette and slowly stubbed it out, trying to find the right words. “What else are you living for? If you aren’t part of the struggle, how will things ever change?”

“Most days I feel contented.”

“Are you contented, or just numb? What do you want to do with yourself? Slave away to make your Mr Chiam rich, until you have enough money to buy your own shop and enslave others in turn?”

“The struggle has already been going on so long—”

“And it will keep going, comrade. Read what Chairman Mao says about protracted war. It won’t happen so quickly. We’re talking about changing an entire society.”

“Were you always like this?”

She looked away, and he wanted to bite his tongue off. It didn’t matter how she’d been before, this was her now. No point asking about the past. He stopped himself. Don’t talk about her children, and especially don’t mention their father.

“I’m going in,” she said quietly. “It’s the only possible choice. I’ve been going from safe house to safe house for months. What kind of life is that? At least inside, I’ll be free. You have to find where you belong, in life.”

A smiling boy passed by with a tray of sausage rolls. She seized a couple and thrust them both at him. “Eat. You don’t look like they’re feeding you enough.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“She must be a very sensible woman.”

A ghost of something passed between them. Understanding. No, complicity.

She brushed her hair back and tied a scarf around it, preparing to go. “You didn’t ask my name. No, it’s all right, it doesn’t matter. We get new names inside. No point getting to know Siew Li, she’ll be gone soon.”

•

Ah Lam didn’t resign, just disappeared one day. Nam Teck wondered if he’d gone inside, or been picked up by the authorities. No way to find out. He and Seng never talked about that evening, though he sensed his friend wouldn’t be going back. Seng was too certain of what he wanted—a few more years of wild oats, then marriage, children, all those good things. And Nam Teck? What did he want?