Lee’s English was pretty good because he’d studied at the floating church when he was younger. But to be thorough, Cheung explained in Hakka what Elizabeth Hancock had said. Then Lee, whose native tongue was Shuilowaa, the language of the Tanka people, explained to Granny Tang what Cheung had said.

In Shuilowaa, Granny Tang said, “All my pots and pans, including the good cast iron wok.”

“We’ll replace it,” said Mrs Hancock, after the translation relay.

“You going to replace my dead husband’s photograph?”

Translation relay.

“I’m afraid I can’t help with that,” Mrs Hancock said, gazing sympathetically at Granny Tang, but also too intensely.

Granny Tang didn’t look at her at all, and Cheung found the exaggerated sympathy in Mrs Hancock’s eyes irritating, all the more so next to her guilty husband’s determined indifference.

“We better right the white man’s boat too,” said Lee.

Granny Tang responded in her dialect. Cheung didn’t understand until she said, in rudimentary Hakka, “Let those dead devils fend for themselves.”

Cheung agreed. “It’s their fault. Let the British boats come and help them.”

“The Bible teaches that all men are brothers,” said Lee. He called to the other boats.

They looped all the rope they had among them through the portside railing of the British boat. Then they all lined up alongside it.

“On my signal, row and pull!” Lee shouted. His boat was the only one in the whole harbour with a motor.

The men got into position.

“That is never going to work,” said Selby Hancock sullenly. But he didn’t try to stop them.

“One, two, three, pull!” Lee shouted. The fishing people dug into the ocean and pulled against it. Cheung gunned the Oolong’s motor.

The British boat shuddered, then dropped back into the water.

“One more time!” Lee yelled.

It took all the power of all the boats and the loudest shouting of all the fishing people, but miraculously, they pulled the British craft upright. Some of the Tanka men attempted to climb aboard to check its seaworthiness, but Selby Hancock cursed them. “Get away, you filthy Chinamen!” He abandoned his teacup and climbed aboard himself. “Go on! Get away from there!” He shooed them off as though they were stinking vermin. He restarted the motor, and when all seemed more or less well, he beckoned his compatriots to climb aboard. Mrs Hancock turned to Cheung one last time. “I’m truly sorry, Cookie,” she said. “I’ll tell his uncle. We’ll do something for your granny, I promise.”

“Elizabeth, come on!” shouted Selby Hancock.

“She’s not my actual granny,” Cheung said. “We just call her that out of respect.” But Mrs Hancock didn’t hear.

“Come on! What’s wrong with you!” Selby Hancock again.

“Thank you, Cookie Cheung,” said Mrs Hancock, with overwrought sympathy.