Siew Li had shoved some pamphlets into his pocket. He read them over and over, whenever Seng wasn’t around. They were called things like “Stories of the Comrades”, and even if he hadn’t known she’d written some of them (which ones, he wondered—none were credited), he’d still have been riveted. It was thrilling, this glimpse of a different world, in which the things he’d been taught to value were shown to be as hollow as he’d always suspected.

It seemed clear to him that something was brewing. There were reports of race riots in Singapore. Could that happen here? The country, hastily stitched together, was fraying at the seams—the Malays fighting to keep their hereditary privileges, the Chinese laying claim to a bigger slice of the pie. He’d been vaguely aware of all this before, but now he understood how relevant it was to his life, and how by choosing indifference before, he’d allowed himself to remain powerless.

Walking around the city those last few weeks, he looked closely at the faces around him. All hard and blank, no warmth behind any of them. Was that what he looked like, too? If not, how many years would it take? These people had no thoughts in their heads except survival, which meant only chasing after the next bit of money, the next promotion. It had been less than two decades since the end of the war, and already everyone had forgotten what it was like to work together. Without a common enemy, they were turning on each other. What kind of world was this?

The night of the next meeting, Mrs Chiam begged him not to leave the house. “The bandits are out again, everyone’s saying. They stopped a bus in Jinjang yesterday, tried to take everyone’s identity cards. Mrs Wong at the market told me. It’s like the old days.”

“I’ll be all right,” he said, “Don’t worry about me.”

“Is it a girl? There’ll be time for girls later, if you don’t lose your life. I dreamt there was a fire, I dreamt the house burnt down and all our children died. Stay at home tonight.”

He was touched, never having realised he was more to her than a valued employee. But this was important. She was right, there was danger out there. And he knew which side of it he wanted to be on. He could be a victim forever. His father had been shot in the back, and his killer never punished. The powerless would never be safe. The system itself had to be overthrown.