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son.’ He made a broken speech. ‘You are my worthy son. You care for your father and mother. You don’t think of yourself. You have strength and spirit. I entrust you with the duty of looking after your mother when I am gone. Your brother looks after himself.’ The words were less commendation than imperative, a sealed command that transferred status from first son to second son. The resentment at Eagle’s success, and the disappointment at his failure, had been overcome, and young Eagle was filled with extraordinary joy to be given the approval denied all his twenty-two years. Such was the burden, offered as blessing, that the dying man placed on the boy. Afterwards Eagle wondered whether his father intended to say more—but he was dead within three days. Eagle and his mother sat alone in the room, as they had lived ever since, waiting for Sunshine, who was late turning up to organise the funeral.
    4
    Right outside the door came the sound of cold windy rain pelting suddenly, making the inside chilly. ‘Aiya!’ cried Mother Lin, stirring from her snooze. The rain was fierce. There were windows to be shut, pans and towels to be put in position.
    â€˜What about him?’
    â€˜I must go,’ said Wally. ‘Doesn’t matter if I get a bit wet.’
    â€˜Stay here!’ they shouted.
    â€˜Too much trouble! Have you got a raincoat?’
    â€˜Going out in the wet is too much trouble! The rain’s too heavy. Catching cold!’
    Wally argued that he had an important meeting in the morning.
    â€˜Then leave in the morning!’
    It was settled. Eagle brought a basin of warm water for Wally to wash himself. They lay down for the night, Mother Lin on the sofa, the Doctor and Eagle sharing the bed. Only when saying goodnight did the old woman let her hard-bitten humour drop. ‘Our conditions are poor. Forgive us. Will you be able to sleep?’
    The rain kept up, gurgling round the corners of the gutters. Wally curled the quilt round like a cocoon, listening to the noise of the heavens, the grandest April foolery, and Mother Lin’s stertorous breathing. Eagle lay on his back staring at the roof.
    After a while Eagle said softly ‘My grandfather had a big house. His furniture was all blackwood. Antique. He had porcelain too. He was a chief general of the Kuomintang.’
    It began as a bedtime story.
    â€˜Your mother’s father?’ asked Wally to show that he was listening.
    â€˜My father’s,’ Eagle corrected. ‘We never knew. My father was a strict man. He never talked about useless things like the past. He got angry if we asked. The past was supposed to be dead in New China. But he hated the future as well. One day, it was after I got thrown off the basketball team, when I was in that boring office, I answered a newspaper advertisement for models. Fashion models. There’d never been such a thing before. Part-time work, but the money was good, and it was something interesting. I applied. Lots of people applied. I’ve always had luck, you know, good luck and bad luck too. So I was chosen. My father really lost his temper, out of fear that his son would be involved with a life of glamour and rottenness that could be dangerous. And the more I succeeded, and was paid, the stronger he demanded I stop. He said it would be used against me later. But we needed that extra money. In the end my mother and I agreed to keep it a secret from him. I kept up the office job, because he had got that for me, and did the modelling work after hours. My mother and I never spoke of it between ourselves either. She still doesn’t like to speak of it. But the work paid for his medicines. “Good son” he called me at the end. When at last he said those words, he accepted what I was doing.
    â€˜A little Party member. When he died we found in one of his pockets a letter written years ago during the anti-Rightist campaign, when my father was still