“Okay,” said Cheung. “But it’s a timeless Test. You said so yourself. And it has just begun.” He wished the match would go on forever, so that they would never have to get back to the march of history and horror as usual.

Harada bowled. Red Hilda hit the ball straight down the line to practically whack the Supreme Court in the rear door. Red Hilda and Charles Hyde ran while the Japanese fielder chased the ball. The rest of the fielders crowded to the wicket.

Red Hilda’s husband, Selwyn Selwyn-Clarke, the humanitarian doctor and former chief medical officer of the colony, was up to bat after his wife. Weak from the rigours of questioning, he did not have very good focus. Harada bowled low and hit him right in the shins.

“How’s that?” called Noma.

“LBW,” said Cheung. “Out.”

Cheung could have put Selwyn-Clarke’s humanitarian partner Francis Lee on the team. He was not an East River man as such, but he was close enough to them that Cheung had decided against it. Francis Lee had been part of the team that had helped Lindsay Ride escape to Free China. Selwyn-Clarke didn’t even know about that—perhaps Noma didn’t either. Cheung knew only because of the snippets of information that Lee shared with him when he delivered seafood. Best keep it a solid secret and let Francis Lee continue his work, especially now, during the cricket match, when the Japanese leadership was momentarily distracted.

Next, Edward Kerrison went up to bat. Health inspector in charge of cremating all the bodies the Japanese Army had shot for target practice or beheaded simply to reduce the population, he was already half-mad and wouldn’t be long for this world, Cheung thought. His heart filled with pity. In better days, Kerrison had been a healthy, jovial colonial who had given red packets—Chinese-style—to Cheung on both Chinese and Western holidays. He had played the drums sometimes with Izzy Davis Wong and His Cosmopolitan Elites. He had been a strong batsman. But now, the man neither batted well nor ran well, and was soon bowled out.

When lunchtime came, the first innings was still under way and there were still eight undismissed players on the British team. They understood what a boon this match was for their friends in the outside world. It was more important to stay in play than it was to score runs, but even so, they weren’t doing badly with a score of 56.

Returning to his duty as steward, Cheung called to his helpers. They brought out long tables with white cloths. They brought chairs and umbrellas. Though there were food shortages in Hong Kong, Noma had spared no effort to ensure a handsome luncheon of cold consommé, chicken livers in bacon blankets, cucumber sandwiches, shrimp cocktail, jellied springtime veal, and chicory salad with eggs.

By teatime there were seven undismissed players on the British team.