I can only think that you are not receiving my messages, or else that I am somehow not getting yours. Surely you would write me back if you knew how terribly worried I am. I really hope you are alive and well and still at large, my dearest cousin. I’m sick with worry that something has happened to you. I should never have invited you out here to this godforsaken outpost where justice is a distant dream and human life counts for less than nothing.

I did discourage you, remember? I did try, though I curse myself every day for not trying harder. Where are you? If you don’t want to leave Hong Kong Island, you don’t have to, you know. Of course I want you to join me, though you did say no a hundred times in the days Jane and I were getting ready to leave. If you don’t want to come, that is fine, but could you at least let me know you’re alive? I can’t bear the thought that you’re out here because of me, and now you’re dead by the side of the road, or in the torturing hands of the Kempeitai. I just can’t bear it. I blame myself. Lord, what I fool I was to ever suggest to you to come.

But maybe you’ve already gone to heaven and I’m writing this letter to thin air. Is that maudlin? Of course it is. Cousin, where are you?

I believe you are alive, and I hope the war will end quickly, so Isadore Davis Wong and His Cosmopolitan Elites can play “Moon and Stars over Sai Kung” again at the Hotel Metropole, if not the Repulse Bay Hotel. And Morgan Horace can dance the hop, and drink rum and Cokes, and maybe even come up to the mic to sing a little duet with the beautiful Emily Cheung. Wouldn’t that be something? I’ll be praying every night for that shining day to come soon.

And if it doesn’t, well, my cuz, we had a good run, didn’t we? But let me not venture further into that line of thought. If you’ve received this note, it’s been passed to you by someone who cares for us both. Please give them something for me in return.

My love always,

Izzy

CHAPTER 39TIMELESS TEST MATCH

September 15, 1942