Between Two Words - Ep 10 - Harold's Arrival

Hong Kong, Monday 13 April 1963

Dorie Snow/雪多丽 and Mark Crutchfield

May 09, 2026

The wheels struck harder than I expected.

Not once.

Twice.

The second impact pulled a few sharp breaths from somewhere behind me as the aircraft lurched sideways against the crosswind. My hand tightened instinctively against my knee before I realised I was doing it.

Outside the window, Hong Kong appeared only in fragments now through rain and low cloud.

Grey water.

Harbour cranes.

Buildings half-lost beneath the weather.

The engines groaned lower.

For a moment, I thought we might lift again.

Instead, the aircraft shuddered forward, tyres screaming briefly against the runway before finally settling into a long uneven roll.

I had been travelling nearly two days.

London. Rome. Cairo. Hong Kong.

Cabins thick with cigarette smoke and recycled air. Half-sleep. Stewardesses drawing curtains across darkened windows while I sat rehearsing introductions that no longer sounded correct by the time we landed somewhere else.

And still, beneath all of it—

Emily.

Yes. Emily.

Only then did I realise my other hand was pressed firmly against my coat.

The breast pocket.

The letter still there beneath it.

Still folded.

Still dry.

A stewardess moved down the aisle, her smile thinner now than it had been over Cairo.

“Welcome to Hong Kong.”

Around me, passengers were already rising despite instructions not to. Overhead cases opened. Some luggage falling loose onto seats below. Voices returning quickly. American. Cantonese. English. A child somewhere crying from exhaustion more than fear.

I stayed seated a moment longer.

Straightened my tie.

Then reached once more for the letter through the fabric of my coat before finally standing.

The cabin doors opened and a wall of heat hit me immediately.

Not warmth.

Something heavier than that.

Damp air pushed through the aircraft cabin carrying petrol, harbour water, cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic underneath it all. By the time I stepped onto the stairway, my collar already felt different against my neck.

Kai Tak looked smaller than Heathrow.

Busier too.

Ground crews moved quickly across the tarmac between fuel trucks and luggage carts while voices echoed strangely beneath the low cloud hanging over the harbour. Somewhere nearby, a propeller engine turned over with a cough and a shudder before settling into rhythm.

I followed the others toward the terminal, suddenly aware of the ache sitting behind my eyes from too many hours without proper sleep.

Passport.

Customs.

Questions.

Long stares.

Short answers.

The official looked up at me before stamping the page and waving me through.

Inside the terminal, ceiling fans turned lazily overhead without seeming to cool anything beneath them.

I loosened my tie slightly.

Then tightened it again a moment later.

Beyond the windows, I could already see parts of the city stretching along the harbour.

Familiar shapes hidden beneath newer ones.

I had been here before.

Not long enough to belong to it.

But enough.

Enough to remember tram bells along Des Voeux Road. Damp stairwells off Queen’s Road Central. The harbour smell settling itself into clothing and refusing to leave afterwards, no matter how carefully things were cleaned.

And somewhere inside all of that—

Emily.

The thought arrived differently now that I was finally here.

Not calmer.

If anything, less certain.

I removed the folded paper with the address from my inside pocket and checked it again despite already knowing it by heart.

Outside the terminal, the queues moved unevenly through the rain.

Taxis pulled in and out continuously, drivers leaning from windows calling destinations over one another while porters dragged luggage through puddles gathering along the curb.

I stepped toward the nearest cab and bent slightly toward the open window.

「去……去上環……皇后大道西，唔該。」

“To… to Sheung Wan… Queen’s Road West, please.”

The driver looked at me for half a second through cigarette smoke curling around the cab before replying in English.

“Yes, sir. I know it.”

I nodded once, suddenly aware of how rehearsed my Cantonese must have sounded aloud.

The taxi smelled faintly of petrol, damp vinyl and stale cigarettes. Rain ticked steadily against the roof as we pulled away from the airport and into the city.

Hong Kong moved past in fragments beyond the fogged windows.

Wet neon.

Bamboo scaffolding climbing the sides of buildings.

Laundry hanging stubbornly beneath grey skies despite the weather.

The city felt faster than I remembered.

Or perhaps I was slower in it now.

Typhoon damage still lingered in places.

Boarded shop fronts. Warped shutters. Scaffolding wrapped around older buildings that seemed to lean differently now, as though the storm had shifted something underneath them permanently.

Enough remained familiar to unsettle me, yet enough had changed to make certainty difficult.

We passed along Connaught Road before turning inward toward streets I recognised more clearly. Des Voeux Road. Then further west toward Sheung Wan.

Somewhere near Wyndham Street, I caught the smell of roasted chestnuts drifting through the rain and remembered Emily laughing at me for burning my fingers trying to eat them too quickly during my last visit.

We had done the same thing in London that Christmas. Standing outside in the cold with paper bags warming our hands.

The memory arrived so suddenly I almost turned toward it.

Almost.

The driver stopped once near a line of stalled traffic while two men argued beside a handcart in the street. I checked my watch. Then the folded letter inside my coat.

Still there.
Still possible.
I know it is.

When the taxi finally pulled up along the narrow street, I paid too quickly and stepped back onto the pavement before the driver had fully stopped speaking.

The building looked smaller than I remembered.
Or perhaps narrower.

Rainwater ran slowly down the stone beside the entrance while somewhere above, a loose shutter knocked softly against the frame in the wind.

I checked the number once.
Then again.

My hand moved automatically to straighten my jacket before I reached into my coat and touched the folded letter one final time.

Steady now.

I started climbing the steps.

The hallway approaching smelled faintly of tea leaves and damp wood.

Somewhere deeper inside the house, I could hear movement. Slow. Measured. A drawer closing, perhaps. Then silence again.

I removed my glasses briefly to clear the rain from them with my handkerchief before placing them back on.

The letter sat folded inside my coat pocket, the paper softer now than when I had left London.

I raised my hand and knocked.

Not loudly.
Just enough.

For a few moments, nothing happened.

Then footsteps.

Careful ones.

The door opened only partway at first.

Ah Fong looked at me for a long moment without speaking.

Older than I remembered.
Though perhaps not older. Just more tired around the eyes.

Recognition came almost immediately.

Not surprise.
Recognition.

Her gaze moved briefly toward my coat pocket before returning to my face.

“Miss Emily spoke of you,” she said quietly.

I nodded once.

“Harold,” I said, leaning slightly forward to shake her hand.

Rain tapped softly against the windows somewhere behind her.

“I realise this is sudden,” I said. “But I wished to speak with Miss Emily’s parents directly. I have come a long way and hoped perhaps—”

Ah Fong stepped outside before I could finish.

The movement was quick enough that instinctively, I stepped back to give her room.

Then she closed the door firmly behind her.

Not hostile.

Deliberate.

She lowered her voice.

“You should not be here, Mister Harold.”

Something in the way she said it shifted the air around the conversation entirely.

I felt my hand move again toward the letter inside my coat.

“I believe there may be some misunderstanding,” I said carefully. “If I might simply speak with her father, I am certain I can explain my intentions properly.”

Ah Fong looked at me for a moment that lasted slightly too long.

Then:

“She is not here.”ㅤ

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The last letter from Emily is here.