The three of them inhaled in unison. He slid down into the cold, dark water and felt his way toward the floor. It seemed to take forever, like they would never reach the ground. Then he touched it. He groped against the inrushing current toward the dark shape of the door. He could feel his mother’s grip on his shoulders, but it was weakening. He kicked with all his might. Together, they glided through the door. Then upward. The water seemed to press down on them in a spiralling fashion that forced him to flail. His breath was running out and her grip was growing fainter. Hang on, Mama, he said with his mind. Hang on. Not much longer. He kicked hard with legs that were accustomed to standing twelve hours a day or more. They popped up to the surface and took a long gasp more of wind than of air. His sister popped up beside them. Thank you, Tin Hau. Thank you, great Goddess of Compassion. They frog stroked along the surface to the bank where Cheung had left his coat. Like three poorly formed fish, they crawled up onto the shore.

Miraculously, the coat and umbrella were still there, wet, but not as drenched as Cheung and the two women. He handed the umbrella to his sister, draped the soggy coat over his mother’s shoulders, then hoisted her onto his back once more, being careful of her broken leg. Her bones were so light it was like carrying a bird. Shivering, he walked away from the drowned village, and behind him, Wong Nai Chung Gap seemed to exhale a long sigh, propelling them forward into an unknown future.

It took an hour for the tram to arrive. In that time, the wind and rain ate at his mother, as she sat on the bench, her face stoic but grey. As the minutes ticked by, she became greyer and greyer. Finally, the tram arrived, but it was full of Japanese soldiers. They had no other option. They boarded.

“Dirty Chinaman, you smell like a sewer,” said one soldier.

“How dare you soil this good Asian tram with your filthy white-man-loving presence?” said another.

“Traitorous vermin!” Two soldiers rushed at them and pushed. With his mother on his back, her arms around his neck, Cheung stumbled backward onto his sister as the tram began to move forward. They fell to the street, Hok-Yee on the bottom, their mother in the middle, and heavy, burly Cheung on top. He heard his mother gasp once.

“Mama!”

He could no longer feel her breath on his neck. He rolled off her as fast as he could. “Ma!”