“There’s been too much to do here. But I’ve had messages. She’s as well as anyone can be given the times. I’m just glad she’s there and not here. This vipers’ nest is no place for women.”

“Safer,” said Lee.

“Yeah,” said Cheung. “The big demon is really sick in the head.” He was referring to Noma, of course. “So are all the interrogators and most of the interpreters too. They drown men in buckets of water. They pull out their fingernails with pliers. If they are still alive after that, the interrogators cut their heads off with those absurd traditional swords of theirs, as though they are medieval knights fighting devils at the gates of hell. As though these are feudal times. Maybe they are, after all.” His own face was red and hectic, as though he himself were one of those hell demons. “But you know what the worst thing is? Some of those torturers in there are Chinese guys. Like us.”

“Traitors will get what’s coming to them,” said Lee. Both men knew that for some, it was more important to be anti-colonial than it was to be pro-democracy. After all, Hong Kong was not a democracy and might never be. Perhaps they themselves were fools for supporting the Allies more than the Axis, as though the Allies might ever help them to democracy and independence. They held these things out, half-spoken, as tantalizing ideals. Some Hong Kong people followed the Japanese for anti-colonial reasons, reluctantly or enthusiastically. Some of the Chinese gentry were coerced. A few found zeal in it. It was the zeal that neither Lee nor Cheung could stomach, though they could still perceive both rhyme and reason in those people. They understood, too, that their own differences—Lee’s commitment to the East River communists, Cheung’s sympathies for the nationalist Kuomintang—might come between them, though they pushed the thought from their minds.

The leftovers were hot. Cheung dished them up. “Without the things you bring me, I have to eat from the same trough as them if I want to eat at all.”

Lee was famished. “It smells great, Brother. Food is food. I’m just glad this is spaghetti and not people. There’s rumours of cannibalism in the ditches.”

“Don’t think about that now,” said Cheung. “Eat up! Enjoy your food while you can.”

Lee ate. When he’d cleared his plate, Cheung filled it again, even though Lee shook his head no. Cheung poured him more tea.

“You are too good to me, Brother. Much too good.”

“Never mind,” said Cheung. “It’s just leftovers.”

When he’d finished eating, Lee broached the subject he’d been wanting to broach. “Your son Tak-Tam has not been to Chek Keng in a week.”

“Ting-Yan must be very upset.”

“She’s beside herself.”

“We made a good match for them then, Brother.”