“Yes, Amah. They are married in the eyes of the law already. If it would bring peaceful relations to the Cheungs and the Mahs, then yes. I’m tired of fighting with a man who should be my brother. There’s a bigger war coming. Chinese people have to try to get along.”

“What about poor Violet, who has done nothing wrong. Why doesn’t she get a house?” Amah said.

“Pish, Amah,” I said.

“Violet is going to be a doctor. She will be all right,” said Father.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for them instead of trading in their futures as though they were pigs for market?” Grandma Cheung said.

“So true,” I agreed.

There was a thump on the door. Auntie Hok-Yee went to open it. There in the pouring rain stood the younger Cheung brother, Tak-Tam, breathless and drenched to the bone. “I found them. Or rather they were never lost. They’re with Ting-Yan and Old Lee, on Lee’s boat.”

We paused together, taking the news in.

“What a relief,” said Father.

“My goodness,” I said, like an idiot. “Well, let’s go get them!”

“They’re moored at Causeway Bay. It’ll be so late by the time we get there. Better go in the morning.”

Father looked at Cheung. “Well, what do you say?”

“You have a deal.” Cheung stuck out his right hand.

They shook, like English gentlemen.

After that, the conversation turned. Cheung wanted his old mother to move in with him at the club and finally abandon the drowned village for good. The rain kept coming but it got lighter as the storm moved over us to spend the bulk of its fury somewhere over the border in China. A gibbous moon rose and we ate the snacks and drank the tea that Auntie Yim-Fong and Auntie Hok-Yee had laid out. We said a polite and respectful goodnight, and went back to the car where Driver Lim had been waiting all this time, refusing to come inside despite our entreaties. We rode home in bright moonlight, and went to sleep feeling optimistic now that the runaways had been found.

CHAPTER 22CHILDHOOD HOME

July 17, 1937

Hok-Yee bustled about in the dark, oily kitchen, making breakfast. There was pork and century egg congee with deep-fried ghosts, purchased at the nearby market before Cheung and Yim-Fong were even awake. She’d already lit incense for Grandfather Cheung at the family altar. She fried eggs with chives too. It gave her pleasure to prepare food for her brother and his wife, whom she hadn’t seen in months. The good smells nudged out the swamp smell that had sat with Cheung like a lonely demon the whole night. The chive smell in particular brought him back to his childhood, as this egg and chive dish had been a favourite of his father’s. He remembered the conversation from the night before and a warm feeling returned.