A whistle blew at nine, and the lamps were put out, though a fire burnt through the night to keep wild animals away. Xiongmin found himself exhausted at the end of each day, his hands callused from the unaccustomed work. He missed the moments of forgetfulness at the workshop, for it seemed that in the jungle all should be focused on revolution, every action examined for its correctness. But that was as it should be, the only way to change the world. He was committed to this new, aware way of living. Lying on his canvas bed, listening to the mysterious noises of the jungle, hooting, clicking, the warm breath of wind through the vast overhead canopy, he tried not to think of his old life. Look forward, he chided himself, think of the world to come.

•

The first killing was unexpected. The scouts had found no enemy activity, and there’d been no surveillance planes—not that they’d have been able to see through the thick treetops to the camp anyway. They were safe, in their closed world. Xiongmin took pleasure in the simple rhythms of their routines, sometimes even forgetting that this struggle meant something in the world outside.

They were marching through the jungle, a small detachment of eight. Two went ahead, clearing a path, the four in the middle had their rifles ready, and the two behind concealed their tracks. He looked back once or twice, fascinated by their thoroughness—sweeping a broad coconut frond across to eliminate footprints, then scattering dried leaves and dirt. No one could have guessed a patrol had passed through here, or that there’d ever been a path between these trees. They were forest spirits, magic, leaving nothing behind, unlike the clumsy government men whose rubbish they came across from time to time. Empty tins. Bits of torn uniform. Snapped branches.

They were hunting for supplies. On the way back they would gather firewood, but their main target was game. They hadn’t had meat for a while, and one of the look-outs had reported seeing a young elephant not far from the camp. If it was separated from its herd, they’d be able to kill it without much danger. Those who’d eaten elephant said it tasted like pork. The trunk was the best bit.

This wasn’t Xiongmin’s first time in the jungle, but he was excited nonetheless. They were going a good ten miles from camp. It had been months, and still he felt a twinge of unreality, unable to believe he’d found his way to this extraordinary place. The petty quarrels and compromises of Kuala Lumpur seemed distant and grubby now, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d allowed them to rule his life for such a long time. The only person he missed in the world outside was his mother, and he’d see her again soon enough, when the struggle was over—what pride he would bring to their reunion, having brought her peace at long last, justice for her and his father.