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  With that, Tang bent down and kindled the pile with a match and some dried moss before walking quickly to the other pile which he also ignited. The others watched from the grave platform. Nicholas understood his instructions. He was to burn the contents of the packet when Tang did likewise on the other bonfire. What worried him was the mention of devils coming to his bonfire. Did they, he wondered, materialize from the sky or from the ground? And would they harm him?

  The smoke drifted up the hill on the breeze. Flames crackled in the dry twigs. Tang split open his packet and Nicholas followed suit. Inside was a thick wodge of banknotes. Nicholas glanced at Tang. He was putting his on the fire. Although he was confused, Nicholas obeyed Tang’s order. The paper curled and burned. To his relief, no devils appeared. It was not until he reached the last banknote that he saw what was printed on it: it read, in English, Hell Bank Note 1,000,000 yuan. He turned it over. On the reverse was printed the portrait of a fierce-looking warrior god.

  ‘It’s toy money,’ Nicholas said.

  ‘Not toy money,’ Qing-mai replied, a roll of notes in her hand. ‘Yuen po. Spirit money. When you burn, it go to heaven.’ She cast her wad on to Tang’s fire.

  ‘You mean like burning a letter to Santa Claus?’ Nicholas asked but Qing-mai did not understand and just smiled.

  After more spirit money was placed on top of the golden pagodas and weighted down with stones, the party left the hillside and returned to the village. Making his way back through the whispering pines, Nicholas thought over the simple ceremony. This had been, he considered, one of the strangest days of his life. But it was not yet over. Before the moon rose, his life was to take a dramatic and terrible turn.

  As night fell, soft footsteps heralded the unannounced arrival of Ah Kwan and a stranger. He was a tall, angular Chinese with a prominent Adam’s apple. He was dressed in the clothes of a peasant farmer but, under his coat, he wore a bandoleer of ammunition across his chest. He carried a sub-machine-gun which he laid against the wall of the temple beside Ah Kwan’s rifle, the oiled metal gleaming in the last hint of daylight.

  In silence, he and Ah Kwan shook hands with Tang. Venerable Grandfather kowtowed to the stranger who put his hand on the old man’s arm, raising him up and bidding him not to bow. Tang called to Nicholas and stood him in front of the stranger, speaking so quickly to the man Nicholas only recognized his English name followed by Wing-ming.

  ‘This man is a very brave man,’ Tang explained at length. ‘He is a general in his army. They call him General Tai Lo Fu. It mean Big Tiger.’

  ‘Is he really a general?’ Nicholas asked somewhat sceptically.

  He had seen a real general at a parade in Murray Barracks when Hong Kong celebrated Empire Day and that one had looked nothing like the man standing before him. The real general had worn a pristine uniform, a scarlet band around his peaked cap and highly polished insignia and buttons.

  ‘No general like in English army,’ Tang said. ‘But all same leader, top number-one man.’

  ‘What is his real name?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘We no say his real name,’ Ah Kwan said. ‘Too much danger for him if people know. You call him Tai Lo Fu.’

  Nicholas made a little bow, offered his hand and said, ‘Nei ho ma, Ah Tai Lo Fu.’

  At this the man’s face, which had been solemn and serious, broke into a wide grin which showed one of his teeth capped with gold.

  ‘Ho!’ he exclaimed and he ruffled Nicholas’s hair.

  With that they entered the main house where Venerable Grandmother was busying herself at the stove. Within a few minutes, bowls of tea and small buns were served to the visitors who spoke at length with Tang and Venerable Grandfather, their voices subdued. Several times, Ah Kwan left the house to step on to the terrace and survey the path and bay, listening intently to the sounds of night insects. Silent insects could signal danger.

  As their conversation progressed, Nicholas began to feel uneasy because, every so often, they looked at him and, though he was unable to keep up with their subdued and rapid speaking, he sensed they were talking about him. What was worse, on more than one occasion, Venerable Grandfather and Qing-mai also glanced in his direction whilst Ah Mee seemed deliberately not to be looking at him. At last, Tai Lo Fu ate the sole remaining bun and Ah Kwan turned to Nicholas.

  ‘Wing-ming,’ he said in Cantonese, beckoning to him, ‘come here.’

  Nicholas joined the men at the table, feeling not a little flattered to be invited to share in their conversation.

  ‘Tang tells me you can speak Cantonese now.’

  ‘He has been teaching me,’ Nicholas replied in Cantonese.

  Tai Lo Fu smiled as Nicholas spoke but made no comment.

  ‘I am going to tell you a great secret,’ Ah Kwan announced, keeping his voice low. ‘You must not tell anybody. If you do, you may die. You understand?’

  Nicholas nodded. Any sense of flattery evaporated. He became aware now there might be more to the invitation than met the eye.

  ‘Tai Lo Fu and I fight the Japanese,’ Ah Kwan continued. ‘Our army is called the East River Column. But we are not soldiers like your father. We have no uniform, we do not go marching in parades. We live over the mountains. Nobody knows where. At night, under cover of darkness, we go to Hong Kong or into Kowloon and fight the Japanese. Not big battles like your father fought. We have no big guns, no airplanes. We have only small guns like these.’ He glanced in the direction of his rifle and the sub-machine-gun where they now stood ready by the door. ‘And we have knives. We do not kill the Japanese with a big noise. We do it,’ he reverted to English for a few words, ‘softly-softly, no sound.’

  He paused to drain the tea in his bowl. Venerable Grandmother refilled it. Nicholas remembered the last time Ah Kwan had muttered those words to him. It was by a hibiscus bush near a gate on a path on a morning that seemed a long, long time ago.

  ‘The English army in China helps us,’ Ah Kwan went on, ‘sends us guns. Tai Lo Fu’s gun is made in England. It is called a Sten gun. It’s a very good gun. It can shoot bullets very quickly. Now, the English have sent us something new.’

  At this point, Tai Lo Fu interrupted. Ah Kwan replied curtly then returned his attention to Nicholas.

  ‘Tai Lo Fu says I should not tell you too much. He says you are only a small boy but I have told him you are a good boy, a strong boy, an English boy – not like the Japanese.’

  ‘No,’ Nicholas confirmed, looking directly at Tai Lo Fu and speaking in Cantonese. ‘I am not like the Japanese.’

  Tai Lo Fu did not speak but reached out and shook Nicholas’s hand as if sealing a deal between them.

  ‘So,’ Ah Kwan carried on, ‘the English army has sent us a box but inside everything is in English writing. We cannot read it. We want you to come and help us.’

  It took Nicholas a moment to appreciate what he was being asked to do. Ah Kwan wanted him to accompany him and Tai Lo Fu to their hide-out to translate something from English into Cantonese. The very thought of going off with these two men sent a frisson of excitement through him.

  ‘Will you come?’ Ah Kwan enquired.

  Nicholas wanted to go. It would be an adventure and would probably last a few days. He could, he thought, do with a brief respite from swilling out the sties and spreading pig dung on the fields: and yet he did not want to go against the wishes of Tang and Ah Mee.

  ‘Do you think I should go?’ he asked them in English.

  Ah Mee made no reply but Tang answered, ‘Much danger for you maybe. I no can tell you. This for you to say.’

  ‘Then,’ Nicholas decided firmly, ‘I will go and look at the box.’

  Within a quarter of an hour, Nicholas was walking over the bridge at the creek. As he kept pace between Ah Kwan and Tai Lo Fu, the planks bounced under their tread.

  The moon was not due to rise until the early hours, yet the night was not entirely dark. Once his eyes grew accustomed to it, Nicholas found he could see quite a long way by the
light of the Milky Way which spread in a wide band across the entire sky.

  After they had journeyed for a while, taking a path which wended its way up a precipitous mountain, Nicholas enquired tentatively, ‘Are we going far?’

  The only response he received was Tai Lo Fu hissing for silence and Ah Kwan murmuring. ‘Don’t talk. It’s dangerous here.’

  Not three hundred metres further on Ah Kwan, who was in front, halted abruptly and without any warning. Nicholas, almost colliding with him, was hurriedly pressed down into a crouch by Tai Lo Fu who cocked his sub-machine-gun. The smooth metallic click was ominous and threatening.

  Ah Kwan briefly looked over his shoulder, pointed to his ear, then up ahead. Nicholas held his breath. For a moment he could hear nothing but the warm night wind then, no louder than a distant whisper, he heard men talking in low tones.

  Ah Kwan and Tai Lo Fu exchanged glances, the latter easing his way by Nicholas. As he passed, he gave him a gentle tap on his shoulder and pursed his lips. For a few seconds, the two men communicated in hurried hand signs then, reaching down, they each scooped up a handful of dirt which they rubbed into their foreheads.

  Edging forwards with extreme caution, they placed their feet with infinite care upon the path, watching they did not tread on a twig or loose stone. Nicholas, following their example, quickly smeared a little soil on his brow and took up the rear. He was not sure if they wanted him to accompany them but, he thought, they had not signalled him to stay back.

  Ten metres ahead the path curved around a boulder. Above it, the top of a large tree was just visible. The two men reached the boulder and Ah Kwan inched his head over the top. For a moment, he was quite still then, without turning his head, he signed to Tai Lo Fu who moved up to take a look for himself. Nicholas crept to the side of the boulder and peered round it.

  Before him was a Japanese patrol. The soldiers were sitting on the ground underneath the tree. Several smoked thin cigarettes, cupped in their fingers to hide the glow of the tobacco. Leaning against the bank were their rifles. An officer, standing by the tree trunk, was studying a map with a hooded torch, talking in subdued tones to a gunso. The scene was, Nicholas thought, like a little tableau being put on for his entertainment.

  The officer folded the map, switched off his torch and muttered a curt command. The soldiers stubbed out their cigarette butts but did not discard them: instead, they put them in their pockets. At another murmured command from the gunso, they picked up their weapons and started off along the path – towards the boulder and Nicholas. He looked sideways to see what Ah Kwan and Tai Lo Fu were doing.

  They were nowhere to be seen.

  The Japanese were almost up to the boulder and the path was less than a metre from Nicholas’s feet.

  His heart was beating like a temple drum, so loud he was certain the Japanese would hear it. He wanted to run but he could not, his feet felt rooted to the spot. His brow erupted in sweat which dribbled bits of dirt into his eyes. He wanted to rub it free but could not move his arms. Invisible manacles held him as tight as a strait-jacket.

  The first Japanese soldier appeared round the boulder. He was so close that, by the starlight, Nicholas could clearly define his soft-peaked field cap, its leather chin strap and the buckles on his belt. No sooner had he moved on than another appeared. Nicholas closed his eyes. He could not watch the terrifying procession.

  The Japanese patrol was gone in less than ninety seconds but, to Nicholas, it seemed like ninety minutes during which time, at any moment, he expected to hear a voice grunt and a rifle butt punch into his chest. When something finally did touch him, he jumped and sucked his breath in so hard it hurt.

  It was Ah Kwan, grinning widely in the starlight. Behind him stood Tai Lo Fu. He, too, was grinning.

  ‘You are a good soldier,’ Tai Lo Fu whispered. ‘You keep your head when it is dangerous. But,’ he added, his smile waning, ‘next time you must watch what we do.’

  Before dawn, they reached a mountain pass and rested for an hour in a dense patch of scrub, in the centre of which had been constructed a small roof of leaves and twigs and a square of tarpaulin.

  ‘Is this your camp?’ Nicholas enquired. It did not look much like a base from which to attack the Japanese army.

  ‘No,’ Ah Kwan explained, stretching out on the ground. ‘This is just a safe place to hide. It’s dangerous to walk in the first light of day. If you are seen walking when dawn comes, and the Japanese find you, they think you have walked all night. And that makes them ask questions. So we stop here until the sun is high.’

  Nicholas settled himself on the ground and fell asleep to dream of Japanese soldiers who stepped over him, and trod on him, and looked at him, but did not see him because he was invisible.

  The sun was well up when they left the hide-out to descend towards the sea and a fishing hamlet in a sandy bay. As they approached it, people working in a few fields by a stream waved. Ah Kwan and Tai Lo Fu returned the greeting. Half a dozen others, working on an upturned sampan on the beach, put down their tools and hurried towards the houses from which a number of other men appeared, several carrying rifles.

  Within minutes of their arrival, food was produced by three young women, one of whom wore an olive green cap with a red star embroidered on the front. As they ate, Ah Kwan and Tai Lo Fu reported their encounter with the enemy patrol. The men, all of them looking like peasant farmers and fishermen, paid close attention. Nicholas paid little attention to anything but his food. Until now, he had not realized how hungry he was and he quickly devoured his serving even though he was not in the least fond of the congee rice porridge he was given.

  ‘Who are all these men, Ah Kwan?’ Nicholas asked as the meal came to an end.

  ‘All these men,’ Ah Kwan said proudly, ‘are the East River Column fighters.’

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘We do not use our names.’

  Tai Lo Fu finished speaking and Nicholas became aware that all the men were looking at him now, smiling and talking animatedly amongst themselves.

  ‘What did Tai Lo Fu say to them?’ he asked.

  ‘He told them you are a boy, but you are also a brave soldier. Not someone who runs away. Like a chicken.’ Ah Kwan flapped his elbows. ‘Buk! Buk! Buk! Lay an egg!’

  A few of the men laughed at this, yet they were still serious. They knew – and Nicholas now realized – that had he panicked neither Ah Kwan nor Tai Lo Fu would now be alive: and he would be, at best, a prisoner of war.

  Nicholas put down his bowl and spoon and, imitating Ah Kwan, said in Cantonese, ‘Buk! Buk! Buk! I sound like a chicken but I don’t run.’

  At this all the men roared with mirth and one of them rested his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder in a brotherly fashion. When the raucous laughter subsided, he leaned towards Nicholas and said, ‘You cannot be told my name, but you know my child. I am Qing-mai’s father.’

  Nicholas looked at him and replied solemnly, ‘I know Qing-mai well. We live together at Sek Wan and she is my good friend.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She is well and happy.’

  Everyone fell silent. Qing-mai’s father stood up and bowed to Nicholas who, feeling it was the correct thing to do, returned the courtesy to the murmured approval of the whole assembly.

  When the meal was over, Nicholas was taken along the shore to a point where a number of trees hung out over the beach. Under their canopy, safe from prying eyes, two of the partisans dug in the sand and pulled out a metal British army ammunition box painted khaki with yellow lettering stencilled upon it. They snapped the catch on the lid and raised it. Inside were a number of cardboard boxes, some packets wrapped in shiny brown greased paper and a manila envelope.

  Nicholas took out the envelope and slit it open with his finger. He found a sheet of typed paper. The heading read: H/E priming and firing instructions (plastic explosive).

  ‘Can you do it?’ asked Ah Kwan. ‘Do you understand it?’

  N
icholas did not reply but took the instructions and sat on the sand beside the box. The sunlight filtering through the branches dappled the paper. Gradually, he worked his way through the sheet, identifying first the contents of the ammunition box. These consisted of packets of explosive, detonators, a roll of thin twin-flex wire and several square batteries. This done, he read the instructions on how to prime the explosive with a detonator, wire it up and connect the detonator to the battery. It would have been easier, he thought, if there had been a few diagrams but, in their absence, he believed he had it worked out.

  The whole partisan unit, including the young women, gathered under the tree, sitting on the sand in a semicircle. Nicholas stood in front of them, feeling important and wondering if this was what it was like to be a teacher in front of a class.

  ‘This box,’ he began, hoping his Cantonese was up to the task, ‘contains what the British army calls HE. This means,’ he reverted momentarily to English, ‘High Explosive.’

  Several of the partisans repeated ‘aich ee’ parrot-fashion, like children learning their tables and Nicholas, glancing about his audience, realized that some of Tai Lo Fu’s soldiers were teenagers, only a few years older than himself.

  ‘This,’ Nicholas demonstrated, holding up the contents of the box item by item, ‘is HE. This is a…’ He had no idea what the Cantonese was for ‘detonator’. ‘This is called in English a detonator. It makes the HE explode. This is detonator-connecting wire and this is a…’ again, he had to use English ‘… a battery to set the detonator off.’

  ‘In Cantonese, it is called din chi,’ called out one of the partisans.

  Nicholas smiled his thanks and repeated the word. Another partisan said, ‘You teach us aich ee, we teach you Cantonese.’