Fiction: Group 4
Wei-Hai thought of his own office. The company had always been harsh on lunch breaks, never mind
treating them to decent meals. Wei-Hai himself had compensated the coolies, but the delighted faces he had
once seen seemed so long ago. He then wondered whether the coolies were still at the pier. Did they have
umbrellas? Would the Englishmen pay them to leave? But he was too tired to go back. Perhaps he no longer
cared anymore. He certainly knew that Mr Brandon couldn’t care less even if any of them died.
Perhaps that was the difference between Chinese and Westerners, a difference that was wider than the whole
of the Pearl River. The Chinese proverb of ‘every man for himself’ couldn’t be truer when crises hit
Western companies. The elderly lady held her fort. She wasn’t one to let go of her comrades in arms. But
what had Wei-Hai done to his own fighters? He acted out the captain’s orders: he, as the captain’s mate,
threw them off the battleship without a moment’s hesitation.
Guilt seeped into the rain and Wei-Hai was enveloped in it. His thoughts sank deep into the Victoria
Harbour. He tried to locate the promises he had dropped down there. He tried to find the list of names he
sank into it. He tried to find his heart that he had shackled names to. He was glad to find the chain still
intact. His thoughts came back to the Pier, and in that brief moment, he thought he saw Chi-Wo smiling at
him again.
