There are magical places. Inside certain walls, you hear the laughters, the stories and the fights. And you feel full, as if, by entering inside, you were allowed a glimpse of history, but history with a feeling. Lou Kau Mansion is one of those places.
Almost 20 years later, she returned for good to her hometown and went back to Lilau. She saw the Portuguese pavement square, the rebuilt fountain and the yellow colonial type houses, most of which were empty. Her former house was still there, closed — pretty on the outside, but ruined, inside.
The last time he had brought her flowers he had disappeared for a whole week without notice. The perfume from keung fa embraced her and wiped out her tears. She smiled and forgave. As the time before. And the time before.
The light was so bright that Ho thought he would go blind in 3.6 seconds. As he tried to count backwards — decimals and all — laughing senselessly while frowning, he recognised the sound of running water and stopped for a while. The last liquid he could recall was the fourth whisky he had just had at one of the casino bars — memories of those that followed had gone down his throat together with the alcohol.
There are those who chase tropical storms. And then there are those who get chased by them. Like Chan. He was born 50 years ago in the middle of a typhoon. That night, the wind in Macau was so strong that no one remembers any other sound than that of the air howling — not a mother’s scream; not a baby’s first cry.