High on the ideas of Brother Du Bois, he had come wanting to witness triumphant Japan taking Asia back from the white oppressor, hoping that a strong Asia might show the coloured peoples of the world a way out of the scourge of European imperialism. He still dreamt such a dream, but as the horrors of the occupation unfolded, his fascination with the Japanese project was waning. He had seen the ditches and hillsides spilling with desperate refugees. He’d seen the ways Japanese soldiers and military police abused and killed them without compunction. He was shocked and dismayed by the way Japanese soldiers stopped people in the street just to take their fountain pens and watches, how they beat people for sport, and how they knocked on people’s doors at night to demand the sexual use of their wives and daughters. The Japanese empire had twisted the anti-colonial dream to the edge of recognizability. This wasn’t a bit of benign, close-knit imperialism. It was something quite else that he didn’t feel ready to name, but didn’t want to get behind either. It was certainly nothing like what he wanted for his own people, or for his beloved cousin. He felt as though his heart were drying out, and growing brittle as a wedge of hardtack. He’d made a mistake in coming, but he was here now. And he couldn’t express his doubts to anybody because to do so could cost him his life. He watched his erstwhile pen pal torment the barman.

“He’d rather not, Horace,” Noma said. “Is his preference sensible, do you think?”

“He should have the right to do what he wants. If you really believe in pan-Asianism, like we used to talk about …”

But Noma wasn’t listening, he was staring at Cheung—a cold hard stare. He waited for the old steward to squirm.

To Cheung’s credit, he made Noma wait a long time.

But Noma had the power. He stared.

Cheung squirmed.

“Do you want me to tell you my favourite way of getting a Chinaman to talk?” said Noma.

Involuntarily, Cheung caught Noma’s direct gaze with his own. Held it for just a fraction of a second, but that was already too long. He looked at the ground.

“So,” said the colonel, “you’ll do as I say.” After a long pause he added, “And there will be syllabub. Lots of it. I don’t know why those barmy bastards love their gin and tonics so much.”

He finished his drink in silence. Horace asked for another rum and Coke. Tanaka pointed to his empty beer glass. Cheung fetched their drinks. Threw the empty rum bottle into the bin. He wiped down the counter and tried not to catch anybody’s gaze.