We Saw The Sea by John Winton Page A

guests knew each other much better than the hosts. Which was quite true of course. The Locals gathered in groups and talked for two solid hours about people and events which the poor blokes in Calypso knew nothing about. And then a day or two later their Sec was at another party ashore and he met a girl who had been to their party on board. She didn’t recognize him or ask him what he did for a living and she said ‘My dear! ’ or words to that effect, ‘we went to the most killingly boring party on Tuesday on that boat that’s just come in. There were so many people there I knew that really I might just as well have gone to the Tennis Club. They had some terrible old red cocktails and the same old flags and things you see in all those boats.’ Poor old Sec. I felt for him.”
    “Why for him particularly?”
    “He was Calypso's Mess Sec. at the time.”
    “Cor blimey,” said Paul, “you don’t paint a very encouraging picture of Hong Kong.”
    “Ha, that’s only one side, and the least important side. I’ll show you how the other half lives now. Drink up men, and I’ll take you on Spink’s conducted tour of Hong Kong, licensed by Cooks and countenanced by the Board of Trade. I will be your Virgil through the dark underworld of this jewel of the orient.”
    “How many beers did you say you’d had?”
    “A modicum, my dear Paul, a modicum. We step outside and regardez! Hong Kong by night!”
    Hong Kong was blazing with lights. A stranger to the city stood amazed before them, like Sinbad at noon in the Valley of Diamonds. Lights poured and tumbled from the Peak in glittering waterfalls, archipelagos of lights, brilliant necklaces and pendants thrown on a velvet cloth. Headlights on the twisting Peak road shone out, were eclipsed and shone out again. The neon-lit Chinese characters were like signs traced in the sky by the glowing end of a magician’s wand.
    “Look at that sign,” said Paul. “It probably means ‘Soap’ but in Chinese it looks like a magic formula.”
    “Actually, it means ‘Girls’,” said Freddie. “Let’s go to Uncle’s.”
    Uncle’s was at the top of a flight of stairs which mounted between two buildings. It was a large room, lit by oil lamps which stood on small lacquered tables. The lamps were shaded by paper screens which were decorated with paintings of flowers, birds and fruit. The floor was covered with a carpet on which a huge dragon writhed and gaped its mouth at the door. The walls were curtained by folds of brocade cloth decorated in the same patterns as the lamp screens. The place smelled of spices and, Paul decided, money.
    Freddie Spink crossed to one of the tables and before he reached it a Chinese had come from behind a curtain and placed a chair for him. Two more Chinese brought chairs for Michael and Paul.
    “There don’t seem to be any women about,” said Paul.
    “Patience, dear boy, patience. It’s early yet. They won’t turn up till later. Besides, we’re on a drinking run tonight. You can’t afford this place, anyway.”
    “Can’t I?”
    “No. Nor could I if it weren’t Uncle’s.”
    They ate clear soup, sour pork and dishes of savouries. Then they had chow ming and lychees and cups of China tea. Michael felt bloated. Freddie Spink talked about Hong Kong.
    “Trade’s good at the moment. This whole place is booming, you know. A lot of Chinese business men came here when the Communists took over China. They either had the choice of staying in China where they were likely to get their heads cut off any minute or go to Formosa where there’s little scope. Or here. Most of them chose to come here. That’s why there’s so much building going on.”
    It was clear that Freddie Spink was completely at home in Hong Kong. He took them to quiet bars where Chinese in business suits were drinking tea; taxi dance halls where the girls could be purchased by ticket; dark caverns where Coca Cola, the only drink served, cost as much as whisky but included