“Can’t you listen to me? If you just listened, you’d save yourself a lot of trouble.”
Exhaustion weighed him down. “Come on, didi, I’m tired; I was out all night.”
“I know. And I know where you were.”
A chill ran through him. “Yeah,” he said, “A cabaret.”
“No, it was Fauno. In Torremolinos. And I know what kind of bar that is.”
“Whatever you think—” Tinseng planned to lie until the end, but Cheuk-Kwan didn’t let him.
“You think I’m an idiot? You treat me like a little fool, Tinseng. But I know.” Cheuk-Kwan’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Tinseng saw the truth there. He wasn’t bluffing. He was staring at Tinseng as though if he glared hard enough he could pin Tinseng down. “I’ve known since before you left. And I want to talk.”
CHAPTER TEN
Three Days Ago. June 22, 1963. Barcelona, Spain.
The next morning, they left Málaga, and once again Yukying found Shan Dao on the deck to watch the sun rise over the ocean as they sailed on to their next location. That morning he wore the most relaxed outfit she had seen yet: light gray slacks with a borrowed shirt from Tinseng, a short-sleeved linen oxford with thick pinstripes—more whimsical than Shan Dao’s usual taste, too small around the shoulders and chest but clearly bringing him comfort. He wore his shawl again, wrapped higher over his shoulders this morning. He nodded to her as she sat down next to him. It was starting to feel special, though it was only the second time they’d met like this.
“How are you?” she asked, wondering how long she could hold on to her concern before it bled through. “How was last night?”
“Uneventful,” he told her, understanding what she couldn’t ask.
“Good.” She breathed out and sat back against the chair. “Good.” With the main portion of her worry addressed, she was able to add, “Was it fun?”
If she hadn’t been looking, she would have missed the blush spreading from the top of Shan Dao’s cheekbones over to his ears.
“Tinseng is a good dancer.”
She dropped her gaze to her lap to hide her enormous, helpless smile. These stupid, foolish boys.
“I’m glad. You both deserve some happiness.”
As she stared past the beautiful scenery and thought of her brother dancing, something soft was placed in her lap. She looked up to find Shan Dao had offered her his shawl, leaving him in just his short-sleeved shirt. She looked at him questioningly.
“You’re shivering,” he said.
She hadn’t noticed. “This is too much,” she protested. “You’ll get cold.” She tried to hand it back, but he retreated further into his chair so she’d have to practically throw his gift back into his arms if she wanted to reject it.
“I am sufficiently warm,” he said, and now that he had pointed it out, she had to admit she was freezing. The other mornings she had remembered layers, but this morning she had hurried out later than usual, worried she would miss his company. She pulled the shawl around her shoulders gratefully and cuddled into it.
“Thank you. I’m not used to the cold anymore. We grew up in Yichang.”
“Shenyang.” She recognized the expression of memories crowding in, and waited patiently until he added, “I played in the snow without gloves.”
“It’s been ages since I’ve seen real snow. We’ve gotten frost in Hong Kong, but never snow. Will you miss having a winter?”
He thought a while, then shook his head. “It will be educational living in a new climate.”
“That’s a very wise way of looking at it.” She examined the expert craftsmanship of the shawl and asked, “Did someone you know knit this?”
“My mother purchased it in Ireland.”
“Ireland? So far.”
“They traveled often for work.”
“Did you travel with them?”
“Sometimes.”
She stroked the soft wool as they stared out at the sunrise in companionable silence. She felt wrapped in one of the clouds lazily floating above them.
“Keep it,” he said suddenly.
“What? Oh no, this was your mother’s. I couldn’t possibly.”
“You could, easily. Keep it,” he repeated.
“Surely you . . . there must be someone else who would . . .”
“No. No one else.” He paused, then said, “It sits in my trunk. I haven’t respected it.” He smiled that ghostly smile she’d seen a few times now. “Such things were made to be used, not to gather dust. She would want it that way.”
You must miss them, she wanted to say, but knew the awkwardness of discussing dead family. She thought instead of Ireland and the trip this shawl had taken to get here.
“They say the world is shrinking, don’t they? Sometimes I don’t believe it, but . . .” she found herself thinking out loud. “The person who made this probably never imagined it would be worn by a Chinese woman on the deck of a British ship sailing to Spain, talking to a Chinese-born Frenchman whose mother traveled to Ireland to buy it.” A smile bloomed in her, sweet as honeycomb. “Who would have thought it possible, fifty years ago? Fifty years ago, it wasn’t possible. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? That things are changing for the better?”
Her words reverberated back to her, and she winced.
