Up close, I noticed the bruise on her throat, which began with a thumbprint midneck and snaked like a river down beneath her blouse. She didn’t have to tell me it extended to her breasts and farther down. Though I had never seen him hit her, the way the bruises moved over her face, hands, and neck, like different clouds on different days, made it obvious. I never heard him speak of it, but he must have had his suspicions about what had happened at St Stephen’s on that terrible Christmas Day, and he must have blamed her for it. This was the only explanation for the vast shift in his attitude toward her.

“You have to get out of here before you miscarry.” I knew that beatings could cause such things, and Emily had clearly endured many.

“Where would I go?” she said.

“Just come home. Come back to the Stable.”

“What would Father say? I married Tak-Wing three times, ViVi. Three times. And I’ve consorted with the enemy. I can’t come home. It’s too humiliating.”

“Father is a kind man. Under the circumstances, he would forgive you.” While she’d deliberately orchestrated her marriage to Tak-Wing, what had happened at St Stephen’s could hardly be construed as her fault, if the men thought to make a distinction. But of course, they couldn’t handle it, so they didn’t think. They knew, but they pretended not to know, and in their pretense, they forgot, or they relegated the knowledge to some other part of their being, a part that generated shame without language. Their unknowing knowledge was a machine that poured shame over all the women of the city like a coating of glue that wouldn’t wash off.

“I don’t think he would. Maybe he would pretend to, but in his heart, he wouldn’t. How can I come back? I married Father’s mortal enemy and got pregnant, either by that enemy or by an enemy of our people.”

“He did send Second Mother Polly.”

“Who gave us pork buns, but didn’t say a word about what happened. If I had any sense, I’d ask you to help me get rid of it. But I can’t do that either. It’s still my child. And beyond that, it’s a life amid so much death.”

“Are you saying it is the soldier’s?”

“No. Definitely not. It’s Tak-Wing’s.”

“It’s too late for an abortion anyway,” I said. “At this late stage it could kill you.”

“I’m tired, Vi,” she said. “So tired. Will you help me to bed?” I led her to the backroom of the Tai Hang house, the bed she shared with the man who beat her. I wished with all my heart that she did not need to lie down there, but she had nowhere else to lie.