But here is relief. He is not dead. Then he remembers. Evers. But he doesn’t remember. Every part of his body hurts so much he feels as if his head is about to explode. He lifts the sheet. His left knee is swollen to the size of a small melon. Around the bandage bulges flesh colored purple, black, livid, angry.

Jane Lessig, whom he has met before at parties, comes by. She is dressed in white, and in his woozy state he thinks she looks like an angel.

“There you are,” she says. “You had us worried, you know.”

“Water? ”

“No water for you right now. Doctor’s orders.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so awful in his life.

“I’m so embarrassed,” he tells her.

“What on earth for?” She cranks up his bed with a quizzical look.

“It was just a short experience,” he tries to explain. “Nothing warlike about it.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

He sees she doesn’t understand his meaning. He tries again.

“Evers?”

“Don’t worry about him,” she says, and walks quickly away.

He sees Trudy in a white dress, like a nurse, like a bride, like a shroud. She sponges his forehead. But her hair is blond now. She is not Trudy.

“Listen,” whispers the wondrous Jane Lessig. “You were not in the Volunteers. You’re a civilian who was walking down the street and hit by debris from a bomb.” She doesn’t want him to go to a POW camp. It’s unclear who is going where but she thinks the civilians will be better off than the soldiers. He nods. He understands, then forgets. She says it to him every day, like an incantation that will save him.

When he gets up to look out the window, the first time he has been up, he is surprised to find that he has a limp.

“I’ve a limp!” he says to Jane Lessig.

“Yes, you do,” she says. “And a fine one at that.”

“I’m feeling much better,” he says. “I think I could be discharged soon.”

“Do you, now?” she says crisply. “We’ll leave that to the doctors, shall we?”

But he does feel better and when Dr. Whitley comes around, Will is dressed and ready to go.

“I don’t think I’m doing much good here, do you?” he asks.

“Will,” Dr. Whitley says. “It’s very different out there. Kowloon’s besieged and we’re trying to hold out here for as long as possible. There have been enormous casualties. Do you know where you could stay?”

“Could go to Trudy’s? ” he wonders.

“She’s been here every day,” the doctor says. “But I didn’t let her come in. I thought it would be too upsetting for her. You’re not at your most handsome. She said to tell you she’s staying with Angeline and would be by later on today.”

“Oh,” Will says. “Then I’ll stay until she comes.”

The doctor gives him a peculiar look and nods. He’s finished looking at Will’s knee.

“I don’t want to attract any sort of attention,” she says. “It’s like walking on pins out there in case you run into a Jap. Father’s gone to Macau. He wanted me to come, but I didn’t want to.” She walks over to the window. “He’s worried about me,” she says, looking down and fingering the cloth of her skirt. “If they win, they’ll be brutal beyond belief.”

“How did you get here?”

“I had Angeline’s driver bring me. We’re camping out at her place on the Peak, although the whole Peak is supposed to be evacuated by now. They think it’s too exposed, but we’ve managed to stay undetected, and it’s quiet up there. She has the dogs and her houseboy along with the amahs and the chauffeur so we have some protection.”

The upper class always do what they want, he thinks, inappropriately.

“It’s nerve-racking, like playing a game of poker,” she says. “You never know when you’re going to be stopped, and people are turning against each other. Old Enderby was roughed up by some Sikhs because they said he looked at them funny. That lovely old man.” She stops suddenly. “How are you feeling? Here I am going on about the outside and you’re all . . .” Her voice trails.

“Evers is dead,” he says. “But you didn’t know him. He was with me when the bomb got us.”

Trudy looks at him, blank. “You’re right,” she says. “I don’t know him.”

“I want all the news,” he says. “Do you have any? ”

“Angeline says that we’re not doing very well. Apparently they expected the Japs from the south, by the sea, but they came from the north instead and just breezed right through the defenses there. And it’s really awful outside.” Her voice hiccups. “I saw a dead baby on a pile of rubbish this morning as I came here. It’s all around, the rubbish and the corpses, I mean, and they’re burning it so it smells like what I imagine hell smells like. And I saw a woman being beaten with bamboo poles and then dragged off by her hair. She was half being dragged, half crawling along, and screaming like the end of the world. Her skin was coming off in ribbons. You’re supposed to wear sanitary pads so that . . . you k now . . . if a soldier tries to . . . Well, you know. The locals and the Japanese both are looting anything that’s not locked down, and thieving and generally being impossible. They’re all over the place in Kowloon, running amok. We’re thinking about moving out to one of the hotels, just so we’re more in the middle of things, and we can see people and get more information. The Gloucester is packed to the rafters but my old friend Delia Ho has a room at the Repulse Bay and says we can have it because she’s leaving to go to China. We can share the room with Angeline, don’t you think? And apparently, the American Club has cots out and people are staying there as well. They have a lot of supplies, I suppose. Americans always do. Everyone wants to be around other people.”

“I suppose that’s a good idea,” Will says.

“Dommie says it’s only a matter of time before the Japanese have the whole island, so he says it really doesn’t matter.”

“That’s hopeful. Always the optimist.”

“I don’t think he really cares.” Trudy laughs, a shrill sound. “He’s just waiting to see what side he should join. He’s learning Japanese at a fast clip.”

“You know what a dangerous thing he’s doing. It’s not a matter for laughter.”

“Oh, bother!” Trudy comes and sits down next to him. “Your injury has quite done away with your sense of humor. Dommie is a survivor, just like you and me, and he’ll be fine. When can you leave?”

“I think soon. And they’re eager to be rid of me. There are people with far more serious injuries, I imagine.”

“But can you walk and all that? ”

“I’ll be fine,” he says shortly. “Don’t worry about me.”

“If it weren’t for Trudy,” he says, wrapping fresh bandages around Will’s abdomen and knee, “I would never let you go. I know she’ll take care of you.”

Trudy is sitting at the foot of the bed.

“And the little fact that you have too few beds,” she rejoins. “Will here is taking up valuable space. I’m on your side, Doctor. I was a nurse for two weeks. Remember? ”

The doctor laughs. “Of course. How could I forget?” He turns serious. “Trudy, you must change the bandages daily, and you must cleanse the skin and the wounds with a solution of water and peroxide that I’ll have the nurse make up for you. No matter if Will says he doesn’t need it, you must do it without exception.”

Trudy nods. “I’ll be a model of reliability and efficiency,” she says.

Once at Angeline’s, she sets him up in bed although he feels fine. Their room is messy, with her clothes spilling out of a suitcase onto the floor and her toiletries scattered on the windowsills, the bathroom basin, the bed. There are model airplanes strung from the ceiling and a wooden desk piled high with schoolboy mysteries.

“Whose room is this? ”

“It’s Giles’s—my godson, did you know him?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“He’s always away at school and now they’re having him stay for the meantime with Frederick’s family in England until this all settles down.”

“Oh,” he says. The room is streaked with dusty light from a window. “I’m not an invalid, you know,” he says. “I could probably walk to Central and back.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “You’re to take it easy.”

But he is better, and she sees it, and soon they venture out, to see empty roads, closed storefronts, people scurrying from place to place, not looking anywhere but at the ground.

“There’s been an incredible amount of looting,” she says. “And the government is rationing rice. It’s been rather amazing. I was walking down Gloucester Road and I saw police firing their guns in the air to disperse a crowd, and I wondered, where do those bullets go? When they come down, if they hit someone, can’t they kill somebody that way?”

“Trudy, darling. You always think of what nobody else thinks about.”

“And probably for good cause,” she says. “I’m rather an idiot about everything.”

They walk farther.

“It doesn’t feel like our town anymore, does it?”

“It’s too dreary.”

They link arms and go home, where Angeline is crying in the cellar and the amahs have made a small meal of rice and Chinese vegetables dotted with salted pork. They eat and drink weak tea, feeling the invisible constraints of the reality around them.

“I can’t believe they still get the paper out every day,” Angeline says. She has not bathed in days and is starting to smell more than musty. She has not heard from her husband. He had last sent a message a week ago when he was fighting for the Volunteers on Mount Nicholson.

“Should we go to the Repulse Bay?” Trudy asks.

“I feel odd not doing anything,” Will says. “I feel like other men are fighting and I’m sitting around doing nothing.”

“You’re injured, you imbecile,” Trudy says. “You’d be more of a hindrance. You’re slowing me down and I’m only putting up with it because you’re a warm body to sleep next to at night. I assure you that others will not feel that way.”

“A clean getaway. I’m surprised the dogs haven’t deserted us.” She starts washing the dishes that were left in the basin. He rises to help her. “You sit down,” she orders. “They lasted longer than I thought. Angeline’s always been a beastly employer although she pays twice the going rate.”

“What happened to Ah Lok and Mei Sing?” Will asks, remembering them suddenly.

“I told them they should leave, and they wouldn’t, and so I locked them out of the flat until they went away. There was lots of crying and wailing—you know them. They have relatives I’m sure they’d rather be with.”

“You’re their family, Trudy.”

“But I’m not, really. And it’s more dangerous for them to be with me. They’re not going to be bothered once they’re part of the crowd out there. I’m the one who’s going to get attention, hanging about with all you foreigners.”

“It must have been very hard to make them leave,” he says, reaching for her hand.

She shakes him away.

“It’s fine, Will. Please don’t be sentimental right now. I couldn’t stand it.”

“What day is it?” he asks.

“Almost Christmas. The twentieth, I think.” She looks wistful. “The parties should be in full swing by now.” Then, “Will.”

“Trudy.”

“I’ve some things I’ve had to hide, but I want you to know where, because if something happens, you should go get them.”

“Like?”

“I’ve a lot of money that my father gave me before he went to Macau, and my jewelry too. Altogether, it’s worth a lot of money . . . more than enough to live on for ages.”

“I’ll take note but I don’t need it, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ll be fine with what I have.”

“And I hired a box at the bank, the main one. And I’ve your name and Dominick’s name down as people who can access it. But the thing is you have to both sign for it, unless one is dead, so you have to get along. Although I imagine things are different in wartime. There’s a key. It’s in the planter off my bedroom window in the flat. I’ve brought it inside, and it’s just filled with earth. It’s on the bottom, so you’ll have to dig it out. But if there’s no key, you can still get to it—it will just take a bit longer. Legal things, you know.”

“Noted,” he says.

“You must remember,” she says. “You really must.”

Angeline emerges from her bedroom in a dressing gown and they explain about the missing servants. She collapses into a chair.

“I don’t understand,” she says again and again. “They’ve been with me for years.” Quickly, she becomes practical. “Did they take anything?”

They hadn’t thought to look. They go to the pantry and see their fast-dwindling supplies—rice, a few potatoes and onions, flour, sugar, a few soft apples—untouched.

“Servants get a raw deal,” Will says. “They’re always the last thanked and the first accused.”

“This is survival,” Angeline says. “I’m surprised they didn’t take anything. I would have, and not had a single qualm.”

“Let’s all have a drink,” Trudy says.

“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all week,” Will says.

He goes to get a bottle of scotch—they are not in danger of running out of liquor anytime soon. They pour glasses, turn on the radio, and the announcer is reading a message from Churchill. “The eyes of the world are upon you. We expect you to resist to the end. The honor of the empire is in your hands.”

“We’re being abandoned,” Trudy says. “They’re not doing anything to help us. What do Churchill and the goddamned British empire expect us to do? ” Her eyes look hard and glassy but Will sees they are filmed with tears.

“Hmmm . . .” she says. “Isn’t this a drawing of you and me?” She sits on his lap, puts her arms around his neck, and bats her eyes. “Please, sah, you buy drink for me?”

“It’s of me and Frederick, you idiot,” says Angeline. “Look at how fat the man is.” It’s the first time she’s mentioned her husband in days.

Another leaflet has two Orientals facing each other and shaking hands. “Japanese and Chinese are brothers. Do not struggle and join our side,” translates Angeline.

“They seem to have forgotten Nanking,” Trudy says. “They weren’t so fraternal then, were they?”

“I feel . . . oppressed,” says Angeline. “I think we should turn Will in, don’t you, darling?”

“I think that fellow is Dominick.” Will points to one of the Chinese figures.

“Don’t joke about that,” Trudy pouts. “Why do you think we have so much food? Dommie’s taking care of us, and I don’t really care how at this point.”

“Point taken but not agreed with,” Will says. “Why are those damn leaflets so obvious and inflammatory?”

They hear a car motoring up the driveway and tense their shoulders. Trudy runs to the window and tentatively lifts up the drape.

“It’s Dommie! ” she shouts with relief and goes to open the door.

“Speak of the devil.” Will sits down.

Dominick enters and unwraps a muffler from around his neck.

“Merry Christmas and all that,” he says, languid even in the midst of war.

“And to you,” Will says.

“I’ve brought a few provisions to make it feel extra holiday-ish.” He brandishes a basket from which he extracts the South China Morning Post, a tin of pressed duck, a sack of rice, a loaf of bread, two jars of strawberry jam, and a fruitcake. The women clap their hands like pleased children. “Can you make anything with this, Trudy?” He sprawls into a chair, elegant limbs splayed out, the hunter having provided for his women.

“I’m hopeless in the kitchen, you know that.” Trudy grabs the newspaper.

“ ‘Day of good cheer,’ ” she reads. “That’s the headline. ‘Hong Kong is observing the strangest and most sober Christmas in its century-old history.’ ”

“It’s as if Hong Kong didn’t exist before the English got here,” Dominick interrupts.

“Shut up, I’m reading,” Trudy says. “ ‘Such modest celebrations as are arranged today will be subdued. . . . There was a pleasant interlude at the Parisian Grill shortly before it closed last night when a Volunteer pianist, in for a spot of food before going back to his post, played some well-known favorites in which all present joined with gusto.’ ” She looks up. “People are at the Grill and I’m not? That’s a travesty if I ever heard one. I’ve been isolated up here in the Peak and people have been going out? Have you been going out, Dommie? And how dare you not take me with you! ”

“Trudy. It’s not good for women to be out these days. You should be tucked away, safe, at home. Now, mend my trousers and make us some lunch.”

She throws the paper at his head.

“What’s the news?” Will asks.

“Not good for England,” Dominick says easily. “They’re outnumbered and outclassed. There are just so many Japanese and they’ve been properly trained. They’re on the island already, swarming around everywhere. They landed the night of the eighteenth. The English are depending on soldiers who haven’t been trained on the terrain and don’t know what to do. The chain of command is not being well executed. And malaria’s running rampant.”

Will notices Dominick is careful not to say “we” or “our.”

“So we’re not doing well, it sounds.”

“No,” Dominick says evenly. “You are not doing well at all. I think it’s only a matter of time. The governor’s a fool, rejected an offer of cease-fire with some absurd British proclamation of superiority. Has his head in the sand. I’ve been getting news from our cousin Victor, who always knows what’s going on with these things. He’s still at home.”

“Do you want pancakes? ” Trudy interrupts.

“No, thanks,” Dominick says. “I can’t stay long.”

“What are you doing with your time these days?” Angeline asks. “Besides taking care of us, I mean.”

“You cannot believe what is going on,” he says. “You’re in a cozy little bunker here. It’s horrific out there. I’m just trying to keep on top of the situation.” His face is bland and smooth, eyes like black coals. Will wonders if it would be right to call a man beautiful.

“If we hear of a surrender, we’ll leave, since I assume they’ll be looting up here in the Peak first thing,” Will says.

“And if you see any uniforms at all, you should be out of here like a shot.”

“Is there anything else we should be doing? ” Angeline asks.

“No, not really. You have money, I assume. If it gets really bad, I suppose a hospital is the safest place. You know where they are. They’ve turned the Britannic Mineral Water Works factory over in Kowloon into a temporary shelter as well. But then you’d have to get over the harbor. Stay on this side, actually. There’s some Japanese custom that when they win a battle, the soldiers get three days to run wild and do whatever they wish, so that’s the most dangerous time, obviously. Try to be indoors at all times.” Dominick pauses, and looks at Will. “By the way, I’ve got a Christmas present for you.”

He goes back to the car and comes back with a cane, a beautiful one, made of polished walnut, with a brass tip.

“I’m afraid I didn’t have time to wrap it. But I thought you might find it useful.” He smiles crookedly and hands it to Will. “There you go, old chap.”

“Thank you,” Will says. He takes it and hangs it on the arm of the chair he’s sitting on.

“What about me? ” Trudy says. “Nothing for me? ”

“This just fell into my lap.” Dominick says. “I saw it on the black market and I had just enough money for it. Didn’t ask for much. I guess the market for canes is not so good in wartime.”

“Funny, that. I would have thought they would be popular, what with the war creating all those cripples and everything,” Will says.

“One might think, yes.”

Trudy stops the exchange. “But the doctor says that Will is going to be as good as new, so he won’t need it in a few weeks, will you, Will? We’ll use it as a poker for the fire, then.”

After Dominick leaves, they sit, the air somehow gone from the room. It feels colder, the evening approaching.

“Turn on the phonograph,” Angeline says. “I want to hear music and dance, and feel normal.”

“And drinks!” Trudy cries. “It’s Christmas and we should be having drinks.”

She fetches new glasses, lights candles, and puts the duck and bread and jam out on the table, and it tastes marvelous, their Christmas supper, with the liquor warming their cheeks and stomachs.

They carry on in this way, Trudy and Angeline dancing, carols playing, Will applauding, pouring more drinks. They drink and dance in the chilly drawing room of Angeline’s grand old house, the twilight encroaching, glasses in hand, tippling until they are all quite drunk and they stumble up to their rooms and collapse. Trudy is sweet to Will in bed, her hands and mouth moving over him until he forgets the dull throb of his knee and the spinning of the ceiling. That is the Christmas of 1941, a wistful, melancholy, waiting kind of day he will remember forever.

“Morning,” he says. She looks at him, her face pale and hung over.

“Happy Boxing Day,” she says. “It’s finished. I just heard on the radio. We’ve surrendered.”