A COFFIN FROM HONG KONG

“That’s okay,” I said, and it was my turn to smile at her. “But how do I know this girl is Jo­An? She could be someone else, couldn’t she?”

“You make a joke?” she asked, looking intently at me. “She is Jo-An. Who else could she

be?”

“That’s right. I make a joke.”

She got to her feet.

“I will telephone.”

I watched her cross the room to where the telephone stood on the bar. While she was telephoning, one of the American sailors moved over to her and put his arm around her shoulders. She waved him to silence and he looked across at me and winked. I winked back. The atmosphere in the bar was friendly and easy. There was nothing furtive about this transaction. By the time the woman had replaced the receiver, everyone, including the waiters, knew I had ordered a girl and she was on her way. They all seemed genuinely happy about the event.

The woman talked to the sailor and then picked up the telephone receiver again. Business seemed to be getting brisk.

I finished my drink, lit a cigarette, then signalled to the waiter for a refill.

Two Americans in violent beach shirts, came and sat at a table away from mine. When the Chinese woman had finished telephoning she came over to me.

“She will be only ten minutes,” she said. “I will let you know when she comes,” and nodding she went over to the two Americans and sat with them. After a five-minute conversation she got up and went to the telephone again.

A little over a quarter of an hour later, the bar door pushed open and a Chinese girl came in. She was tall and well built. She was wearing a black and white tight-fitting European dress. A black and white plastic handbag dangled from a strap she had wound around her wrist. She was attractive, sensual and interesting. She looked at the, Chinese woman who nodded towards me. The girl looked at me and smiled, then she crossed the bar, moving with languid grace while some of the American sailors ‘whistled to her, grinning in a friendly way at me.

She sat down beside me.

“Hello,” she said. “What is your name?”

“Nelson,” I said “What’s yours?”

“Jo-An.”

“Jo-An—what?”

She reached out and helped herself to one of my cigarettes from the pack lying on the table.

“Just Jo-An.”

“Not Wing Cheung?”

She gave me a quick stare and then smiled. She had very beautiful white teeth.

“That is my name. How did you know?”

“A pal of mine was here last year,” I said, knowing she was lying to me. “He told me to look you up.”

“I’m glad.” She put the cigarette between her painted lips and I lit it for her. “Do you like

me?”

“Of course.”

“Shall we go then?”

“Okay.”

“Will you give me three dollars for Madame?”

I gave her three dollars.

The middle-aged Chinese woman came over, showing all her gold-capped teeth.

“You are pleased with her?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

She collected the three dollars.

“Come and see me again,” she said. “I’m always here.”

The girl who called herself Jo-An got up and sidled towards the exit. I went after her, nodding to the sailors. One of them made the letter ‘O’ with his finger and thumb and then pretended to swoon into the arms of his pals. I left them horsing around and moved out into the hot bustling night where the girl was waiting for me.

“I know a clean cheap hotel,” she said.

“So do I,” I told her. “I’m staying at the Celestial Empire. We’ll go there.”

“It would be better to go to my hotel.” She gave me a sidelong look.

“We go to my hotel,” I said, and taking her elbow in my hand, I steered her through the crowds towards the hotel.

She moved along beside me. She was wearing an expensive perfume. I couldn’t place it, but it was nice. There was a thoughtful, faraway expression on her face. We didn’t say anything to each other during the short walk. She mounted the sharp flight of stairs. She had an interesting back and nice long legs. She waved her hips professionally as she moved from stair to stair. I found myself watching the movement with more interest than the situation required

The old reception clerk was dozing behind his barricade. He opened one eye and stared at the girl, then at me, then shut the eye again.

I steered her down the passage. Leila was standing in her open doorway, polishing her nails on a buffer. She looked the girl over and then sneered at me. I sneered back at her, opened my door and eased my girl through into the hot, stuffy little room.

I closed the door and pushed home the flimsy bolt.

She said to me, “Could you ewe me more than thirty dollars? I could be very nice to you for fifty.”

She pulled a zipper on the side of her dress to show goodwill. She was half out of the dress before I could stop her.

“Relax a moment,” I said, taking out my wallet. “We don’t have to rush at this.”

She stared at me. I took out Jo-An’s morgue photograph and offered it to her. Her flat, interesting face showed suspicious bewilderment. She peered at the photograph, then she peered at me.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A photograph of Jo-An Wing Cheung,” I said, sitting on the bed.

Slowly she zipped up her dress. There was now a bored expression in her black eyes.