七部小说 · Seven Novels

第 34 章 ——《煤船》

十一月三十日礼拜二。

蒲石路与古拨路转角的那处安全屋，做安全屋已是第十八日。

十八日里，它把陆继元留在后弄屋西墙下的那张铁床上。斯坦尼斯瓦夫医生——伍切霍夫斯卡太太那位四十六岁的波兰女婿，一双骑兵外科医师的小而干、利落的手，一九一九年曾在罗兹的第二医院当差——以探针由肋下进，由胸骨下三公分处取出了那颗弹丸。弹丸不曾穿肺。弹丸于一公分处穿肠而过，最终止于肋骨与肋骨之间。斯坦尼斯瓦夫医生以一枚细小的弯针与一段黑色丝线，在皮上落了缝。他于十一月第三个礼拜六上午九点半，依莫朗西医生在法国医院二楼库房第二层架上为他留下的那只无标小瓶，落了德国拜耳药厂出的磺胺。

十八日里，我以胡木匠在第二院子里裁出的一小段松木、与伍切霍夫斯卡太太自第二橱第三抽屉里一只旧枕套上撕下的一小条白棉布，给左腕落了夹板。腕子，至断后第二个礼拜六，已不复跳痛。腕子,据十二月第二周铜锣湾法国医院里刘医生的说法，会被打上一根钉。那根钉，依十一月第二周第三晚伍切霍夫斯卡太太的预言，会成为这只腕子终生的一桩小事。腕子就是腕子。

十八日里，《中法新汇报》、《字林西报》与《上海每日》皆由泰迪·哈姆斯沃斯于每日下午四点半送至安全屋后门。泰迪自霞飞路第二个街口搭第二班电车，走第三条弄堂，敲那记暗号——三短，两长，三短——把报纸搁在伍切霍夫斯卡太太第二把椅子上，并不进门。他自十月第三周起便已自家定下了规矩，不进门。这十八日里，他一直在写午刊第二截稿的第二栏。第二栏，十八日里有十五日，便是那第三段词与七个名字。

十一月第三个礼拜五，泰迪的第二栏便是外滩《字林西报》午刊的第二栏，至礼拜六上午由香港电讯中继转出，礼拜日正午到马尼拉，礼拜二破晓到重庆。那一栏将第三段词以英译落成，依的是泰迪十五年来为《曼彻斯特卫报》第二截稿第二栏所写的那种细致小心的散文。那一栏，按泰迪自家的私下文法，便是他自一九二二年起便想写的那一栏。他写了。

上海一城，于十一月三十日下午，依《中法新汇报》午刊的头条，已陷。

头条道：La chute de Shanghai.

La chute de Shanghai 这一句，便是那一句。

头条之下的副题道：Le delta de la rivière des Perles prochain. 珠江三角洲，乃下一处。

我读那一句。

我把《中法新汇报》午刊搁在后屋一角那张平阳松小桌上。煤油灯第二根灯芯落出小而平的黄色至纸上。第二栏的头条落出小而平的黑色。

我对西墙下铁床上的陆继元说：城已陷。我们将于十一月三十日下午五点半离开。我们将由海关码头的挪威煤船 Lyngen 走。我们将以萨先生那位表兄备好的伪 Tsvetkov 证件走。杜月笙先生，依十一月二十八日下午衣帽间罗培士先生送来的消息，已决意不插手。杜先生已决意：证件可以放行。证件在那件灰色旅行外套的内袋里。

杜先生——我未说出口，心里却明白——已经决了。这个决，便是杜先生这般身份的人，在他这座城陷落第二周的第二个钟头里所下的决，那是当他十八年来一直在守的那本台历，开始成为他不再亲手填写日期的一本台历的时分。他于十一月第三周第三晚，在百乐门衣帽间落了第二次指示。百乐门已于十七日第二晚封歇收班。第二周里，杜先生把公馆迁去崇明路上第二幢楼的第二层——这一处尚无人将它与他相联。杜先生落了那道不急不徐的小小指示：苏婉吟与砖屋里那个人，依他副手的副手之手，可以放行。证件，依他在衣帽间那一记不急不徐的点头，可以备得。

杜先生，在我于他那座乐池前唱了十一年里，从未对我说过半句话。证件，便是那半句话。

十一月三十日下午四点半，陆继元坐起。

他把光着的右手按在铁床边沿。他站起。这一站，是一个十八日前才被弹丸穿过肠子、皮上的缝据斯坦尼斯瓦夫医生第二个礼拜二的话方才扣牢的男人的那种站。他站了九个数。他自肋下吸了第二口气。他吸了第三口。

他身上穿着斯坦尼斯瓦夫医生太太搁在后屋角落木衣架上的那件蓝色哔叽西装——一件一九三四年自拉法叶路第二位裁缝处出的二手西装，原是斯坦尼斯瓦夫医生连襟的，连襟于十一月第二周自第二号码头搭轮船去了香港。他身上罩着那件灰色羊毛大衣，内袋里搁着伪造的 Tsvetkov 护照。他眉上压着一顶灰色毡帽。他脸上不曾戴瓷面具。他戴的是脸。

那张脸，在煤油灯第二根灯芯小而平的黄色里，便是那张脸。左侧那道海岸线便是海岸线。左侧那道嘴角便是嘴角。那张脸是陆继元的脸。那张脸，在这间屋里，归我看。

我身上穿着十一月十一日晚上一直穿着的那件银色礼裙旗袍。我已穿了它十八日。伍切霍夫斯卡太太在第二个礼拜日里，以第二个院子里第二只盆与一小块马赛香皂洗了它，把它晾在小院里那株柿子树下的绳上，于第三晚以一只搁着小碟水的第二把熨斗熨过。那旗袍，经第二回洗，银线仍存。左胯那只凤凰仍是凤凰。

内里那道缝，仍藏着那十五件物事。

我在银色礼裙旗袍外披了那件灰色旅行外套。左腕落着松木夹板。

胡木匠在后门上敲了那记暗号。三短，两长，三短。我开门。

他身上穿着冬日里那件深蓝色长衫，立领上滚一道细黑边，里子衬一小段深色毛。他头上戴一顶深色小帽。他左臂下夹着一只小皮夹，盛着证件。

他说：胡车夫的黄包车在街口。一到钟点，他便送你们去海关码头。林门房在码头。泰迪·哈姆斯沃斯在码头。曼德尔松先生在码头。我回贝希斯坦琴那边去。

我说：把第三只箱子里漆盒中的日记带走。把贝希斯坦琴上那份带第三段词的《夜上海》谱子带走。把谱架上的瓷面具带走。

胡木匠九个数里不曾说一句话。

他说：我，至十二月第二周，会把第二架贝希斯坦琴搁在杜先生在衣帽间那一记不急不徐的点头里赐我的那幢楼第二层地下室的第二张行军床旁。我会把日记落进第二只漆盒。我会把瓷面具搁上第二副谱架。砖屋就是砖屋。

我说：砖屋就是砖屋。

他说：到了香港，唱一支歌罢。

他去了。

我把右臂搭在陆继元左肋下三寸的位置。手便是手。腰便是腰。我们一同出了安全屋，慢慢地，依一个弹丸穿身十八日后的男人与一个腕子断了十八日后的女人的步子，依一个男人与一个女人决意今日下午便依的那第二种步子。

蒲石路与古拨路转角的胡车夫的黄包车便是那辆黄包车。胡车夫是霞飞路与拉法叶路转角上、托尼先生表兄那位朋友。便是十月七日早晨把我们送去贝希斯坦琴前的那位胡车夫。他望了我们一眼。他不曾说什么。

他说：海关码头。

我们上车。黄包车走了。黄包车沿蒲石路向东至霞飞路，再沿霞飞路向北至爱多亚路，再沿爱多亚路向东至外滩，再沿外滩向北至海关码头。这条路，是霞飞路与拉法叶路转角的一个黄包车夫，十五年来在每一个礼拜二下午五点一刻一直在走的那条路。

海关码头便是码头。

外滩在五点一刻便是黄昏时辰的外滩。外滩沿岸那一串煤气灯，便是点灯人在黄昏时辰一直在点的那一串黄色火苗。那一串黄色火苗自己一路沿外滩走上去，依的便是我十三岁还是个小囡时在吴县第三弄小码头上望见它们的那种走法——那年是一九二八年六月第三个礼拜六，林姨带我搭第二班轮船，第一回去看上海这座城。第二条外滩上的灯便是那串灯。如今，于一九三七年十一月三十日下午，城已陷，那灯仍是那灯。

泰迪·哈姆斯沃斯穿着那身皱巴巴的白色亚麻西装在码头上。曼德尔松先生穿着蓝色哔叽西装、戴着圆框金丝眼镜在码头上。百乐门的林门房在码头上，手里提一只霞飞路转角俄国侨民铺子里出的棕色皮箱。

那只皮箱里装着：搁在角落的灰色羊毛大衣；搁在角落的那件第二条藏青府绸旗袍；搁在角落的一双袜子；搁在角落的一把梳；搁在角落的一盒爽身粉；一小包林姨在弄堂屋第二抽屉里收着的旧信，是胡木匠于八月第二周第三个下午，以一个挖了两日的男人的副手之手，从瓦砾堆里拣回来的；还有一只我母亲留下的小檀木雕盒——一九一四年她在河边为我取名阿良的那个早晨，盒子搁在吴县第二条弄堂转角弄堂屋她梳妆台上，至一九一六年六月第二个礼拜三第三场热病将她带走，未曾移过位。檀木盒是空的。檀木便是檀木。

林门房说：我已把皮箱搁在码头上。到了香港，唱一支歌罢。十一月第二个礼拜五午刊的《字林西报》第二栏说： 七个名字。爱德华·哈姆斯沃斯撰。虹口首播唱出七名。两名经译出，五名出处他日再述。 香港的电讯中继已经付印了第二栏。马尼拉于十一月第二个礼拜六正午付印了第二栏。重庆付印了第二栏。这国，已听见这七个名字。

泰迪·哈姆斯沃斯把右手按在陆继元右手上。

泰迪说：我自十一月十二日上午五点半、极司菲尔路七十六号后弄起，不曾问过你的姓名。

陆继元说：没有。

泰迪说：我亦不会，在一九三七年十一月三十日下午五点半海关码头的这处码头上，问。我不过是告诉你，此时此刻，我已与那个人握过手。

他松了陆继元的手。

曼德尔松说：在海的那一边，你会写出一支更好的歌来。

陆继元九个数里不曾说什么。后说：我试着写。

曼德尔松点头。他把右手按在陆继元肩上，同十一月十一日早晨在控制室门口按上去的那只右手，是同一只手。今日傍晚，他不曾这般早便把手收回去。

他说：在 Hayes，第二副母带会以三万二千张虫胶唱片的量，压给大英帝国与英联邦，并由香港的电讯中继转发。至四月第三个礼拜六 EMI 的压片车间，第二张唱片套上会落上那第二个名字。我未曾告诉你那第二个名字。你拿到套子的时候便会知。

我，在那第二个名字这件事上，未问。我已被告知，那第二个名字便会是个第二的名字。我，至一九三八年三月十二日早晨，会在九龙界限街 EMI 大楼里，亲手把那第二个名字落在母带上。第二个名字便是那个名字。名字就是名字。

挪威煤船 Lyngen 靠在码头边。

Lyngen 是一艘约一千五百吨的杂货船，一九二三年于卑尔根建造，属挪威近海小型船一类，吃水线以上是深红船壳，前后舱口立着小而黑的吊杆，船首落着小而白的船名。舷梯便是舷梯。舷梯口那位煤船二副，是一位四十岁的挪威人，着挪威商船队的蓝色制服。

二副以他的英语说：Mr. Tsvetkov. Mrs. Tsvetkova. Welcome aboard.

他侧身让开。

我们提着林门房搁在码头上的那只皮箱走上舷梯。舷梯是一块小小的木板，斜约二十度，两侧各落一根绳。陆继元以那第二种步子走上舷梯，一手扶绳，一手按我背。我们，到第三步，已在甲板上。

至舷梯顶上，我回望。

五点半的海关码头便是码头。五点半的外滩便是外滩。泰迪·哈姆斯沃斯、曼德尔松先生、林门房在码头上。

泰迪举起右手。

曼德尔松先生举起右手。

林门房举起右手。

我举起右手。

陆继元举起右手。

挪威煤船 Lyngen 把舷梯落到吊机上。吊机将舷梯转入。Lyngen 落了引擎。引擎起转——一九二三年挪威近海船第三个气缸里那一记小而干的叩响，第二根活塞那一阵小而低的轰鸣。Lyngen 自海关码头开出。

一九三七年十一月三十日礼拜二傍晚六点差一刻的上海城，便是那座城。

那串黄色火苗下的城，便是中国第八十七师于一九三七年八月十三日礼拜五下午五点半驻防过的那座城，亦是中国诺斯罗普机于八月第二个礼拜六正午投下那一串炸弹所落上的那座城，亦是林姨曾在其中以漆盅啜过淡茶的那座城，亦是白珠曾在其中给自己定下那一个低低小小价目的那座城，亦是曼德尔松曾在其中压出那一张小黑碟的那座城，亦是风声曾在其中写下第三段词的那座城，亦是陆继元曾在其中放下救安文静这副担子的那座城，亦是砖屋曾作砖屋的那座城。

我把额头按在陆继元脸左侧那道海岸线上。海岸线在黄浦江的风里凉。

陆继元把光着的右手按在我背上。

他说：你如今叫什么名字。

我说：你母亲叫什么便是什么。

他说：Tsvetkova。Vera 罢，倘你愿意。这字的意思是真，与花。

我说：那便 Vera。暂且。

他说：Vera Tsvetkova。

我说：你呢？

他说：Andrei。澳门 Tsvetkov 一系的 Andrei Tsvetkov，年约三十五，穿一身波兰外科医师连襟的二手蓝色哔叽。澳门一系的 Tsvetkov 一家做虫胶生意。

我说：我们便做澳门一系的 Tsvetkov，做到香港。

他说：香港之后呢？

我说：再看。

煤船 Lyngen 出了黄浦江口的灯塔。江口那座灯塔是一八九四年建的一座小小白塔，第三层楼上是小而暗的灯室，今晚那灯不曾点——只因第二位守灯人，于城陷后十一月三十日，不曾来当差。江口是一道小小、暗暗的口。

六点的城便是那城。

我把额头一直按在那道海岸线上。

九个数里我们不曾说什么。

我们下到共用的舱房里。

共用的舱房在第二层甲板后楼东端，六尺乘八尺，东墙下一张铁制单铺，西墙下一张小木凳，舱顶一盏铜环上吊的小煤油灯。铺上铺一床挪威商船队的薄薄灰色毛毯。毛毯薄。毛毯，将就用罢。

我放下林门房搁在码头上的那只皮箱。

我们躺下。

挪威煤船 Lyngen 落了航向，西南偏南，往香港港去。引擎落进一艘挪威近海船在海上的那种小而低的轰鸣。吃水线以上的船壳承住了黄浦江口第二轮潮里小而慢的摇。舱顶铜环上那盏煤油灯，摇着海上一盏煤油灯小而慢的摇。

我躺着，把额头按在陆继元脸左侧那道海岸线上。海岸线慢慢地，在共用舱房小而低的暖里温起来。脸便是脸。

他说：阿良。

我说：继元。

他说：第三段词出去了。

我说：第三段词出去了。

他说：我们有我们所有的。

我说：我们有我们所有的。

Lyngen 西南偏南驶入东中国海小小的暗里。

我闭上眼。

我睡了。

Chapter Thirty-Four — The Coal Boat

Tuesday the thirtieth of November.

The safehouse at the corner of Rue Bourgeat and Rue du Père Robert had been the safehouse for eighteen days.

For eighteen days it had held Lu Jiyuan at the iron bed at the West wall of the back-lane room. Dr. Stanisław — Mrs. Wojciechowska's Polish son-in-law, a man of forty-six with the small dry brisk hands of a cavalry surgeon who had served at the second hospital at Łódź in 1919 — had set the side at the rib with a probe and had taken out the round at the distance of three centimeters below the sternum. The round had not gone through the lung. The round had gone through the intestine at the distance of one centimeter and had come to rest against the rib at the rib. Dr. Stanisław had set the stitches at the skin with a small curved needle and a length of black silk thread. He had set the antibiotic of the sulfanilamide of the German firm of Bayer at half past nine on the morning of the third Saturday of November, by the second-floor stockroom of the French Hospital where Dr. Morancy had set a small unmarked jar at the second shelf for him to take.

For eighteen days I had set the splint at my left wrist with a small length of pine Mr. Hu the carpenter had cut at the second yard, and a small strip of white cotton Mrs. Wojciechowska had torn from a worn pillowslip in the third drawer of the second cupboard. The wrist had, by the second Saturday after the breaking, stopped throbbing. The wrist would, by Dr. Liu at the French Hospital in Causeway Bay in the second week of December, take a pin. The pin would, by Mrs. Wojciechowska's prediction at the third evening of the second week of November, be the small permanent fact of the wrist. The wrist was the wrist.

For eighteen days the L'Echo de Chine and the North-China Daily News and the Shanghai Mainichi had come to the back door of the safehouse by way of Teddy Harmsworth at half past four on each afternoon. Teddy had taken the second tram from the second corner of Avenue Joffre, walked the third lane, knocked the knock — three short, two long, three short — and left the papers at Mrs. Wojciechowska's second chair without coming in. He had not, by his own arrangement at the third week of October, come in. He had been writing, all eighteen days, the second column of the second deadline of the afternoon edition. The second column had been, on each of fifteen of the eighteen days, the third verse and the seven names.

On the third Friday of November, Teddy's second column had been the second column of the afternoon edition of the North-China Daily News at the Bund, picked up at the wire-relay at Hong Kong by Saturday morning and at Manila by Sunday noon and at Chongqing by Tuesday dawn. The column had set the third verse in English translation, in the small careful prose Teddy had been writing for fifteen years for the Manchester Guardian in the second column of the second deadline. The column was, by Teddy's own private grammar, the column he had wanted to write since 1922. He had written it.

The city of Shanghai, on the afternoon of the thirtieth of November, by the headline of the afternoon edition of the L'Echo de Chine, had fallen.

The headline said: La chute de Shanghai.

The word La chute de Shanghai was the word.

The headline below the headline was: Le delta de la rivière des Perles prochain. The Pearl River Delta next.

I read the word.

I set the afternoon edition of the L'Echo de Chine at the small Pingyang pine table at the corner of the back room. The kerosene lamp at the second wick gave the small flat yellow at the page. The headline at the second column gave the small flat black.

I said, to Lu Jiyuan at the iron bed at the West wall: The city has fallen. We will, at half past five on the afternoon of the thirtieth of November, leave. We will leave by the Norwegian coal carrier Lyngen at the pier of the customs jetty at half past five. We will leave under the forged Tsvetkov papers Mr. Sá's cousin has prepared. Mr. Du Yuesheng has, by the information from Mr. Lopes at the cloakroom on the afternoon of the twenty-eighth of November, decided not to interfere. Mr. Du Yuesheng has decided that the papers can be procured. The papers are at the inside pocket of the grey travelling coat.

Mr. Du, I did not say but understood, had decided. The deciding had been a decision a man of Mr. Du's particular position made at the second hour of the second week of the fall of his city, when the calendar he had been keeping for eighteen years had begun to be a calendar he no longer set the dates of. He had set, at the third evening of the third week of November, his second instructions at the cloakroom of the Paramount. The Paramount had closed for the season on the second night of the seventeenth. Mr. Du had moved his office, in the second week, to the second floor of the second building on Chongming Road that no one yet associated with him. Mr. Du had set the small unhurried instructions that Su Wanyin and the man at the brick room were, by the second hand of his second man, to be allowed to leave. The papers could, by his small slow nod at the cloakroom, be procured.

Mr. Du had not, in eleven years of my singing at his bandstand, said a thing to me. The papers were the thing.

At half past four on the afternoon of the thirtieth of November, Lu Jiyuan sat up.

He set his bare right hand at the edge of the iron bed. He stood. The standing was the standing of a man whose round had gone through the intestine eighteen days before and whose stitches at the skin had, by Dr. Stanisław's word at the second Tuesday, held. He stood for the count of nine. He took the second breath at the rib. He took the third.

He had on the blue serge suit Dr. Stanisław's wife had had at the wooden hanger at the corner of the back room — a second-hand suit from the second tailor at Rue Lafayette in 1934, which had been Dr. Stanisław's brother-in-law's before the brother-in-law had gone to Hong Kong with a steamer at the second pier in the second week of November. He had on the grey wool overcoat with the forged Tsvetkov passport at the inside pocket. He had on the grey felt hat at the brow. He had on no porcelain mask. He had on the face.

The face, in the small flat yellow of the kerosene at the second wick, was the face. The coastline at the left side was the coastline. The corner of the mouth at the left was the corner. The face was Lu Jiyuan's face. The face was, in this room, mine to look at.

I had on the silver gala qipao I had been wearing on the evening of the eleventh of November. I had been wearing it for eighteen days. Mrs. Wojciechowska had washed it on the second Sunday with a small bar of Marseille soap in the second basin at the second yard, and had set it on the line in the small yard at the persimmon tree, and had ironed it on the third evening at the second flat-iron with a small dish of water at the side. The qipao had, by the second wash, held its silver thread. The phoenix at the left hip was the phoenix.

The inside seam still had the fifteen objects.

I had on the grey travelling coat over the silver gala qipao. I had on the left wrist at the splint of the pine.

Mr. Hu the carpenter knocked the knock at the back door. Three short, two long, three short. I opened it.

He had on the dark blue Mandarin tunic he wore in the winter, with the small black piping at the collar and the small dark fur at the inside lining. He had on the small dark cap. He had, at his left arm, a small leather case of papers.

He said: The rickshaw of Mr. Hu the rickshaw man is at the corner. He will, at the hour, take you to the customs jetty. Mr. Lin the doorman is at the pier. Teddy Harmsworth is at the pier. Mr. Mendelsohn is at the pier. I am going back to the Bechstein.

I said: Take the diary at the lacquer box at the third crate. Take the score of Night Shanghai with the third verse at the Bechstein. Take the porcelain mask at the music desk.

Mr. Hu the carpenter did not say anything for the count of nine.

He said: I will, in the second week of December, set the second Bechstein at the second cot of the second basement of the second building Mr. Du has by his small slow nod at the cloakroom decided to give me. I will set the diary at the second lacquer box. I will set the porcelain mask at the second music desk. The brick room is the brick room.

I said: The brick room is the brick room.

He said: Sing a song in Hong Kong.

He went.

I set my right arm at Lu Jiyuan's left side at three inches below the rib. The hand was the hand. The side was the side. We went out of the safehouse together, slowly, the way a man at eighteen days after a round went and a woman at eighteen days after a broken wrist went, at the second pace of a man and a woman who had decided that, on this afternoon, the second pace was the pace.

The rickshaw of Mr. Hu the rickshaw man at the corner of Rue Bourgeat and Rue du Père Robert was the rickshaw. Mr. Hu the rickshaw man was the rickshaw man of the corner of Avenue Joffre and Rue Lafayette who had been Mr. Tony's cousin's friend. He was the same Mr. Hu who had taken us, on the morning of the seventh of October, to the Bechstein. He looked at us once. He did not say anything.

He said: The customs jetty.

We climbed up. The rickshaw went. The rickshaw went East along Rue Bourgeat to Avenue Joffre, then North on Avenue Joffre to Avenue Édouard VII, then East on Avenue Édouard VII to the Bund, then North on the Bund to the pier of the customs jetty. The route was the route a rickshaw man of the corner of Avenue Joffre and Rue Lafayette had been taking, on a Tuesday afternoon at quarter past five, for fifteen years.

The pier of the customs jetty was the pier.

The Bund at quarter past five was the Bund at the hour of dusk. The gas-lamps along the Bund were at the chain of yellow flames the lamp-lighter at the hour of dusk had been lighting. The chain of yellow flames had been walking themselves up the Bund the way they had been since I was a child at thirteen at the small dock at the third lane in Wuxian, when Auntie Lin had taken me on the second steamer of the third Saturday of June of 1928 to see the city of Shanghai for the first time. The lamps on the second Bund had been the lamps. The lamps now, on the afternoon of the thirtieth of November of 1937 with the city fallen, were the lamps.

Teddy Harmsworth was at the pier in the rumpled white linen suit. Mr. Mendelsohn was at the pier in the blue serge suit and the round wire glasses. Mr. Lin the doorman of the Paramount was at the pier with a suitcase of brown leather of the Russian émigré shop at the corner of Avenue Joffre.

The suitcase had inside: the grey wool coat at the corner; the second qipao of the navy poplin at the corner; the pair of stockings at the corner; the comb at the corner; the tin of the talcum powder at the corner; a small bundle of letters Auntie Lin had kept in the second drawer at the lane house, which Mr. Hu the carpenter had retrieved on the third afternoon of the second week of August from the rubble with the second hand of a man who had been digging for two days; and a small carved sandalwood box that had been my mother's, set on her dressing table at the lane house at the corner of the second lane in Wuxian on the morning she had named me Aliang on a riverbank in 1914 and had not, by the second Wednesday of June of 1916 when the third fever had taken her, moved from. The sandalwood box was empty. The sandalwood was the sandalwood.

Mr. Lin said: I have set the suitcase at the pier. Sing a song in Hong Kong. The North-China Daily News of the afternoon of the second Friday of November at the second column of the afternoon edition said: The Names. By Edward Harmsworth. Hongkou Inaugural Broadcast Sings Seven Names. Two Translated and Five Cited from Sources to be Disclosed at a Later Date. The wire-relay at Hong Kong has printed the second column. Manila at the hour of noon on the second Saturday of November printed the second column. Chongqing printed the second column. The country has heard the seven names.

Teddy Harmsworth set his right hand at Lu Jiyuan's right hand.

Teddy said: I have, since half past five on the morning of the twelfth of November in the alley behind 76 Jessfield Road, not asked your name.

Lu Jiyuan said: No.

Teddy said: I am not, on the pier of the customs jetty at half past five on the afternoon of the thirtieth of November of 1937, going to ask. I am only telling you that I have, at the hour, shaken the hand of the man.

He let go of Lu Jiyuan's hand.

Mendelsohn said: You will, on some other side of the sea, write a better song.

Lu Jiyuan did not say anything for the count of nine. Then: I will try.

Mendelsohn nodded. He set his right hand at Lu Jiyuan's shoulder, the same way he had set the right hand on the morning of the eleventh of November at the door of the control booth. He did not, this evening, take the hand away for a longer count.

He said: In Hayes, the second master will press at thirty-two thousand copies in shellac for the Empire and the Commonwealth and the wire-relay at Hong Kong. By the third Saturday of April at the EMI press, the second sleeve will carry the second name. I have not told you the second name. You will know it when you hold the sleeve.

I did not, at the second name, ask. I had been told the second name would be a second name. I would, on the morning of the twelfth of March of 1938 at the EMI building on Boundary Street in Kowloon, set the second name at the master tape in my own hand. The second name would be the name. The name was the name.

The Norwegian coal carrier Lyngen was at the pier.

The Lyngen was a tramp of perhaps fifteen hundred tons of the small short Norwegian coastal class built in 1923 at Bergen, with the dark red hull at the waterline and the small black derricks at the forward and aft holds and the small white painted name at the bow. The gangway was at the gangway. The second officer of the coal carrier at the gangway was a Norwegian of forty in the blue uniform of the Norwegian merchant marine.

The second officer said, in his English: Mr. Tsvetkov. Mrs. Tsvetkova. Welcome aboard.

He stepped aside.

We went up the gangway with the suitcase Mr. Lin the doorman had set at the pier. The gangway was a small wooden plank at the angle of perhaps twenty degrees with a rope at each side. Lu Jiyuan walked the gangway at the second pace, one hand at the rope, the other at my back. We were, at the third step, on the deck.

At the top of the gangway I looked back.

The pier of the customs jetty at half past five was the pier. The Bund at half past five was the Bund. Teddy Harmsworth and Mr. Mendelsohn and Mr. Lin the doorman were at the pier.

Teddy raised his right hand.

Mr. Mendelsohn raised his right hand.

Mr. Lin the doorman raised his right hand.

I raised my right hand.

Lu Jiyuan raised his right hand.

The Norwegian coal carrier Lyngen set the gangway at the crane. The crane swung the gangway in. The Lyngen set the engines. The engines started — the small dry knock at the third cylinder of a Norwegian coastal of 1923, the small low rumble at the second piston. The Lyngen set out from the pier of the customs jetty.

The city of Shanghai at quarter to six on the Tuesday evening of the thirtieth of November of 1937 was the city.

The city at the chain of yellow flames was the city the Chinese 87th Division had at half past five on the Friday afternoon of the thirteenth of August of 1937 been at, and the city the stick of bombs of the Chinese Northrop at noon on the second Saturday of August had fallen on, and the city Auntie Lin had drunk the lacquer cup of weak tea at, and the city Pearl had set the small low price for herself at, and the city Mendelsohn had pressed the small black disc at, and the city Feng Sheng had written the third verse at, and the city Lu Jiyuan had set down the burden of saving An Wenjing at, and the city the brick room had been the brick room of.

I set my forehead at the coastline at the left side of Lu Jiyuan's face. The coastline was cold in the wind off the Huangpu River.

Lu Jiyuan set his bare right hand at my back.

He said: What is your name now.

I said: Whatever your mother's was.

He said: Tsvetkova. Vera, if you want. It means truth, and the flower.

I said: Vera, then. For now.

He said: Vera Tsvetkova.

I said: And you?

He said: Andrei. Andrei Tsvetkov of the Tsvetkov line of Macau, of perhaps thirty-five years of age, in the second-hand blue serge of a Polish surgeon's brother-in-law. The Tsvetkovs of the Macau line trade in shellac.

I said: We will be Tsvetkovs of the Macau line until Hong Kong.

He said: And after?

I said: We will see.

The coal carrier Lyngen cleared the lighthouse at the mouth of the Huangpu River. The lighthouse at the mouth was a small white tower of 1894 with the small dark lantern at the third tier, and the lamp had not been lit, this evening, because the second lamp-keeper had not, on the thirtieth of November after the city had fallen, come to his post. The mouth was a small dark mouth.

The city at six o'clock was the city.

I kept my forehead at the coastline.

We did not say anything for the count of nine.

We went down to the shared cabin.

The shared cabin was at the second deck at the East end of the after castle, six feet by eight, with a single iron bunk at the East wall and a small wooden bench at the West and a small kerosene lamp at the ceiling on a brass swivel. The bunk had a thin grey blanket of the Norwegian merchant marine. The blanket was thin. The blanket would have to do.

I set down the suitcase Mr. Lin the doorman had set at the pier.

We lay down.

The Norwegian coal carrier Lyngen set the course South-Southwest for the port of Hong Kong. The engines settled into the small low rumble of a Norwegian coastal at sea. The hull at the waterline took the small slow roll of the Huangpu mouth at the second tide. The kerosene lamp at the ceiling on the brass swivel swung the small slow swing of a kerosene lamp at sea.

I lay with my forehead at the coastline at the left side of Lu Jiyuan's face. The coastline was warming, slowly, in the small low warmth of the shared cabin. The face was the face.

He said: Aliang.

I said: Jiyuan.

He said: The third verse went out.

I said: The third verse went out.

He said: We have what we have.

I said: We have what we have.

The Lyngen went South-Southwest into the small dark of the East China Sea.

I closed my eyes.

I slept.