The Mystery of Yamashita's Map

Chapter Thirteen

The day was getting on and the jungle was becoming even denser as Joe pushed his way through. Occasionally he would stop and examine the path, more out of a sense of procedure than anything else. The jungle floor was thick with moss, dead and decaying vegetation and insects. Ever since he had been a little kid he had had no time for small things that moved of their own accord; he hated their legs, the way they scuttled, how they felt on his skin and, most of all, he hated the way that they died, crushed under a foot, helpless and unmindful. Here, though, he was in the insects’ kingdom, he knew that and that given time they could crush him just as easily as he crushed them, so he moved onward as best he could, trying to not kill too many as he walked lest they return to haunt him one day. He stopped to listen to the jungle. He had no idea what he was listening for, just that something seemed out of place here. Something on the wind made him suspicious and wary. He craned his neck and stood on a fallen tree. He heard voices somewhere; they were far off but they were human. He couldn’t be sure but he thought there were two voices, one was high and harsh, the other low and soft, but they were too far away for him to make out what they were saying. Joe climbed down from the tree and tried to follow the voices that were so distinctive amongst the animal noises that surrounded them.

In a clearing Kono and Tanaka had stopped. Sweat poured from their bodies and stained their clothes a musty brown. On his back Kono carried a pack that contained everything they would need for a two-day trek on their search to find Joe, Lisa and the others. He dropped it on the ground with relief. Tanaka sat on it. ‘You hear something?’ he said.

Kono craned his ear. ‘Birds, the wind, nothing else.’ ‘I thought I heard footsteps.’

Kono looked around, surveying the area. ‘You think they’re here somewhere?’ Tanaka pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to mop his brow with it. ‘I think we would have heard them. Besides, they should be miles away over the other side of the island. I’m sure I heard footsteps though.’ It was Tanaka’s turn to begin to look around him. He peered into the dense foliage but it was too thick, too dark to see anything. ‘Do you think we’ll find them?’ Kono asked, rummaging in the bag for a rice cake.

‘Of course,’ Tanaka snapped back. ‘You have the tracking device?’

Kono pulled a black box out of the backpack and held it up to his face as it flashed out its message.

‘Right,’ Tanaka said. ‘All we have to do is find their plane and that will lead us directly to them, and the gold.’

Kono smiled and reached for the bag. ‘We’d better get on then,’ he said, and left Tanaka desperately trying to keep up.

A brief moment after they had left Joe pushed through the trees. He examined the ground and observed that someone had been there. Some of the vegetation had been disturbed, a sure sign — he remembered that from his two weeks’ basic training. He assumed he must be on the trail of Lisa and guessed that he was pretty close; he looked around the clearing for an exit point. A gap in the branches assured him of the way to go and he headed for it. Soon,’ he thought to himself, ‘Soon I will be with her.’

Lisa held onto the little girl’s hand tightly as the two made their way through the jungle. To Lisa’s relief, the girl was not as lost as she had first thought but walked, with sure and steady feet, through the thick trees and over the small rivers that seemed constantly to block their path. Suddenly Lisa felt afraid; she was being led but she had no idea where or for what reason. The girl pushed ahead of her and their two hands strained at times; the one eager to make ground, the other reticent and wanting to slow down. Every now and then, a branch would flick back into Lisa’s face, scratching her or catching her eye. The little girl strode ahead with a determination that grew stronger by the minute. Occasionally she would glance backwards to make sure Lisa was still following her but mostly she strode onward and onward with purpose. This carried on for about half an hour and Lisa felt her head swimming with the running and the lack of water. She stopped and the little girl pulled on her arm.

‘I can’t go on,’ she said. ‘I have to rest.’ The little girl looked at her and pointed through the trees, then motioned to Lisa to move forward. Lisa shook her head as she breathed harder than she had ever breathed before. She thought her heart was bursting from her chest and she could feel the sweat running down her forehead and into her eyes. She had to make this girl understand; she had to make her understand that she could not go on any further — there was nothing left. The jungle had won and all she wanted to do was sit and rest. The girl, however, had other ideas; she grabbed Lisa’s arm and pulled for all she was worth but Lisa slumped to the ground and would not budge. The girl then spoke in a language that Lisa had never heard before, sounding excited and enthusiastic. Her voice was lighter and higher than Lisa could ever have imagined. It seemed strange to hear it in this jungle, a little girl’s voice, when it seemed that they were so far away from anyone.

Lisa shook her head again. ‘Please,’ she implored. ‘No more.’ She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she laid her head on her knees, forlorn, afraid, tired and wanting to see home. The little girl walked up to her and placed an arm around her shoulder. She flicked a strand of hair out of Lisa’s eyes and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. Then she sat down next to Lisa and rested her head on her knee. The older girl placed an arm round the younger and they sat for a while just listening to the sound of the jungle.

Suddenly Lisa heard a voice; it sounded like a call. It was obviously an older woman’s voice and by the reaction of the little girl she guessed it was her mother. She was surprised as for some reason she had believed the little girl was on her own. The voice sounded high and shrill against the background of the jungle and the little girl shot up and made to go. Remembering, she stopped and turned towards Lisa. She held out her hand and Lisa took it. The two walked through the trees and the sight that greeted Lisa as she did so took her breath away.

Behind the trees, in a large clearing, Lisa was confronted by a village. All around her she saw huts and people milling about and children playing. There were women carrying water and women making bread; there were fires dotted here and there outside some of the huts, and cockerels scratching in the dry earth. Lisa thought she had stepped into another world.

The little girl was spotted by her mother, who ran towards her. Without thinking Lisa held out her hand but the mother was suspicious; she just held onto her daughter and stared with half closed eyes. Lisa realised that this was the place the little girl had been heading to all along; she had known exactly where she was. She had run away from home. Like so many other children in the world, she had been chastised by her mother and to teach her a lesson had run away. The mother held on to her daughter as if she might float away — again, the same as any other mother in her position.

Lisa smiled at this thought. For some reason, in the middle of the jungle she had assumed people’s lives might be unimaginably different but here she was confronted by a scene of such everyday tenderness that she could barely believe it. She inched forward to the woman and the girl who, again, merely stood and stared back at her. Lisa held out her hand and the mother looked into it as the girl had done an hour or so before. Lisa smiled and laughed a little. The mother smiled too and Lisa felt that a barrier had been crossed.

The little girl was the first to break the silence. She said something to her mother; Lisa didn’t understand her language but she understood its meaning as the mother first looked at Lisa, then the girl, then smiled at Lisa, walked forward and took her hand. She led her into the village.

The first thing Lisa noticed was the amount of activity. It was a busy place, obviously getting ready for the main evening meal. Everywhere she looked there was bread being prepared or placed into large dishes ready to be cooked and the smell of roasting meat from open fires permeated the air. Every step she took she tripped over a child or a cockerel or chicken until she gave up trying to avoid them and instead kicked them out of the way with as little fuss as possible.

The mother took her to what Lisa assumed was her own hut. It was smaller than the rest and was no taller than Lisa herself. Bending down almost to the ground Lisa followed the woman in and the little girl followed them both. Once inside, Lisa saw that it was as small as it had seemed outside but had the kind of cosy closeness that she associated with tents. It was obvious that this was a place for sleeping in and very little more. There was a small fire to the left of the door and the smoke blew in from outside, filling the small space with an acrid smell when the wind changed.

The woman sat down and Lisa did the same. Suddenly there was a noise outside and an old woman walked in. She stared at Lisa, then crossed the floor of the hut and sat next to the mother of the little girl. The two talked briefly for a moment and then stared again at Lisa. Lisa smiled, trying hard not to look too scared or too perturbed. There was a shaft of light as the flap to the hut was opened again and two more women walked in. They too stared at Lisa for a while, then crossed and squeezed themselves next to the women who were already seated. As soon as they had sat down another woman walked in and so it continued until the tiny hut was filled with at least fifteen women, all squashed in together and all staring intently at Lisa, who was by now beginning to feel a little nervous despite trying her best not to.

The voices of the women built into a dull hum as they obviously began discussing what they would do with Lisa. There was clearly an argument breaking out between two of the women over what they should do. Every now and then the mother of the little girl would intervene and say something that would cause everyone else to strongly disagree. One of the women started to shout above the others and pushed her back against the wall of the hut that bowed and strained with her weight. Lisa thought that it was all getting a little too overheated for her and she wondered how she might be able to make a bolt for the door.

Suddenly the old woman raised her hand and said something that made the other women stop. They all looked at the old woman who, as far as Lisa was concerned, had said only three syllables but they must have been the most important, most profound three syllables in the world because all of the women agreed. They started nodding their heads and congratulating the old woman, who looked as pleased as punch with her idea.

The little girl extricated herself from the mêlée and crossed over to where Lisa sat. She took Lisa by the hand and squeezed it. Lisa found it disturbing rather than comforting. It was the kind of squeeze one might give a condemned man just before he was hanged; the kind of squeeze that said ‘Be brave, you know this has to be done’.

The old woman shuffled forward and started examining Lisa. She looked in her hair — perhaps for lice, Lisa thought — then in her mouth. She felt Lisa’s arms then cupped her breasts as if she were weighing fruit. Lisa felt a little aggrieved at this but she thought it was perhaps best to go along with whatever it was they were thinking, at least until she knew what that was. The old woman continued to examine her, pushing her fingers into Lisa’s sides, peering into her eyes. Eventually she slapped Lisa’s side and went back to the group, evidently pleased with what she had seen.

The mother of the little girl then got up and stepped forward. She handed Lisa a bowl that was full of water. Lisa drank thirstily. It tasted bitter but it was cold as it ran down her chin and it had been hours since her last drink. She handed the cup back and asked for more but the woman only smiled and returned to the group.

The room began to spin and there was a curious ringing in her ears, and it began to feel as though she were standing on the bow of a ship. Lisa realised that she had been drugged. Suddenly her head felt as if it was going to explode and her eyes began to itch. She squeezed her eyelids together and rubbed them. The cup fell to the ground. Lisa could barely make out the women in the hut now, it was spinning so much. She could just hear them chattering and chanting. Suddenly it all become too much to bear. Lisa stumbled out of the door, pushing her way past some of the women who were blocking it.

Out in the sunlight her head felt a little clearer but it still stung and her eyes were still blurred and useless. She veered this way and that, not knowing where she was going or where she had come from. She tripped over something and fell to the ground, where slowly she lost consciousness and dreamed about strange shapes and weird faces that loomed at her out of the darkness.

The first thing she saw when she awoke was the fire. It was night and it sent sparks of bright orange up into the black sky. Someone was flicking water on her face; someone was trying to wake her up. Lisa moved to rub her eyes but found that her hands had been tied behind her back. She was lying on the ground in a cage made of thick branches lashed together with vines and there was a bowl of water on the floor in front of her; she craned her neck and licked a few drops from it.

She had no idea where she was; the drugs had hit her pretty hard and she was not sure if this was even the same day. Slowly she became aware of breathing next to her. It was slow and sonorous, it wheezed in and out, occasionally there would be a small insignificant cough that sounded as though given time and enough damp weather it would build into something more serious. The breathing became quicker and more excited as Lisa began to wake up and open her eyes. Without making a sound, Lisa moved her head and came face to face with a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

‘Headache?’ a voice said.

Lisa started. It was an English accent, here of all places. She shuffled over to the other side of her cage and stared in wonder at the face that had produced the voice. It was a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair that seemed to take on a holy glow in the light from the flames. He was smoking a pipe that sent billows of fumes up into the air.

‘Yes, you’ll have a headache for a while. Sorry about that but we never know what you might do. We’ve had a number of your type coming through here.’

Lisa gulped some of the water. ‘My type?’ she asked.

‘Yes, foreigners.’

Lisa found it strange that this Englishman would refer to her as a foreigner. ‘Who are you anyway?’ she asked. ‘And did you put me in here?’

The man thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to wait in there for a while, at least until we get a little more idea of who you are. I take it you’re here for the treasure.’

Lisa wriggled a little at this. She was not sure whether to admit she was there for the treasure or not; was she supposed to be there for the treasure? She decided to change the subject. ‘You still haven’t told me who you are.’

The man leaned forward and his nose touched the bars of the cage. ‘Winthrope,’ he said. ‘W.G. And you are?’

‘Lisa. I doubt we will know each other long enough to get better acquainted.’ She wriggled in her bonds but was unable to get herself free.

‘Hmmm,’ Winthrope said. ‘You might have a little trouble there; they are pretty tight, I think.’

He laughed a little and sucked on his pipe. As he did so a shy teenage girl appeared from out of the darkness and set down a bowl in front of him. Winthrope looked at her and stroked her naked thigh. He said something to her and the girl giggled a coy laugh. Winthrope leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek; Lisa thought he looked old enough to be the girl’s grandfather. Then another girl appeared with some fruit and meat in vine leaves and set it down in front of him. He looked at her lasciviously and stroked her hair. Lisa felt disgusted.

‘Are they your daughters?’ she asked and Winthrope laughed, nearly choking on the leg of chicken that he was gnawing on.

‘Oh no, my dear, they are my wives.’

‘Both of them?’

‘No, not both of them…’ Winthrope smiled. ‘All of them, well very nearly all of them, I am working on the others.’

‘Don’t the other men mind?’

Again Winthrope laughed, throwing his head back and exposing his dark pink gums. ‘There aren’t any men, my dear.’

Lisa slowly began to remember. It was true: all the people in the village, all those running about, preparing meals, sitting with her in the hut, all had been either women or children. There was not one man among them. There had been women of all ages and certainly boys but no men.

‘Where are they? Where are all the men?’ Lisa asked.

‘Gone. Taken by the aswang. Killed.’

Lisa looked incredulous. ‘You believe that?’

Winthrope looked pensive and closed his eyes. ‘There are more things than you would care to guess at in this jungle, Lisa. I have seen things that would make you scream.’

‘But you don’t believe the aswang killed every man in the village? You can’t believe in such things.’

Winthrope shooed his two wives away and leaned closer towards Lisa.

‘Belief is everything!’ he said. ‘Lisa, these are simple people with simple minds. They have no understanding of cause and effect, of science. You and I… well, you and I have been brought up in more sophisticated surroundings. We are people of technology, of reason; we have no need for gods or devils. We do not need spirits to make us see things clearly. We have our minds, our mathematics and our intelligence.’

He stopped and swigged a mouthful of steaming tea from the bowl. As he did so, streams of liquid ran down his chin. His tongue flicked at them and sucked them back into his mouth. ‘It’s not me that tells them the aswang killed the men folk. It’s not me that puts it into their pretty heads; it’s their culture to believe — to believe is to relinquish worry and responsibility.’

Lisa felt uncomfortable at this conversation but she was still confused. She had no idea who this man was or what he wanted with her. She thought it best to try and extract as much information as possible, if only to keep him talking so that she could think of a way out of the cage.

‘But what did happen to the men?’

Winthrope sighed. ‘Something much simpler I’m afraid — economics and microbiology. Most of the men were hired to accompany an expedition by a group of American treasure hunters. They were paid well, as well as could be expected, anyway. They all headed out into the jungle, a party of about fifty men and about five or six hunters from what I can remember. They trekked for a few days, but it travels fast out here. If you are not used to it you can succumb very easily indeed. One moment, you are fine, walking along; next moment, you’re down with it, coughing, spluttering, sneezing, eyes watering, chills, everything.’

Lisa was confused; she strained her ears to hear as Winthrope’s voice got quieter and quieter.

‘What travels fast here? The aswang?’

Winthrope smiled and leaned in. Lisa could smell the fumes from the tea that he held in his hand, she could see his pulse beat through the veins in his forehead, and smell the musky aroma of sweat on his skin.

‘Flu,’ he said. ‘Simple common or garden flu. The treasure hunters brought it in with them, in their lungs, in their bloodstream, and it was as effective and as deadly as any poison. They could not have known when they hired all the men from the village that they were really condemning them to death and also the womenfolk to a lifetime of celibacy. That was, of course, until I came along.’

‘And what did you have to do with this expedition?’

‘I was medical officer, wouldn’t you know? I had inoculated myself before I came out.’

Winthrope crossed his chest. ‘Not guilty,’ he said, and smiled.

‘But you’re leading these women to believe that they’re the victims of the jungle when all the time they’re victims of your germs.’

Winthrope looked hurt. ‘My dear, I am providing a vital natural resource: my genes for the preservation of an entire culture.’

Lisa was unconvinced. ‘In the meantime, you have as many wives as you like and are treated like a king by women who are too scared of the stories you’ve put into their heads.’

Winthrope grew angry. ‘What am I? An ogre? A despot? What is the aswang, do you know, Lisa, have you seen one? What really are these spirits of the jungle? What form do they take? What is the difference, Lisa, between the aswang and the germ? Tell me that.’

‘Flu germs exist, can you see that? Flu, colds, diseases can be treated, people need not die of them.’

‘Gods can be treated too, Lisa, with time and science.’

Lisa fell silent. She stared at the dry ground beneath her knees. ‘So what do you want with me?’ she asked, hardly wanting to hear the answer.

‘The others,’ Winthrope replied.

‘What others?’

‘The others you came with. I’m assuming you did not come here on your own, and I am also assuming that you did not come here with an all-female group of sisterly treasure hunters.’

‘What makes you assume I came here to hunt for the treasure?’

Winthrope laughed. ‘Why does anyone come here, Lisa?’

She looked about her. ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘There are others. I don’t know where they are though. I got lost. I was swimming in the river and the current took me. I ended up here.’

She could feel herself begin to cry. It was all getting too much. She had never felt more alone or more afraid than she did now. The flames from the fire glinted in her tears and turned everything a hazy orange.

Winthrope’s voice softened slightly. ‘We need to find the others, Lisa. I am an old man and I am only one man. We need to expand the programme.’

Lisa could not believe her ears. ‘The programme? Are you mad? These women are people, not cattle to be bred and made to produce.’

Winthrope was getting excited. ‘Think of it Lisa. A community, right here in the middle of the jungle, a whole new start for mankind and civilisation. We have both seen the big cities, the mess we have made of them, the mess we have made of each other. I have been planning it all out. I know exactly what to do. This could be the start of a whole new world, Lisa. Just imagine, an interdependent community right here in the middle of the jungle.’

Winthrope’s eyes flashed wildly as his arms flayed in the air drawing imaginary diagrams of plans and aspirations. ‘A community with shared genes, but genes from all over the world: Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, American, English; everyone equal, everyone pulling together for the common good.’

Lisa started to worry — suddenly Winthrope’s face had changed. It took on the sheen of madness. She did not know how long he had been alone in the jungle but guessed it had been some time since he had seen the outside world. She moved further into her cage, for once glad that there were bars separating her from him. Winthrope continued to gesticulate wildly.

‘This is the ultimate dream of mankind, the only thing worth fighting for, worth dreaming about. Marx proposed it in Capital, Thomas More in Utopia, William Morris in News from Nowhere but we — we have the chance to do it, right here, to start again. To create an Eden here of our very own. But, Lisa, I can’t do it on my own, I need help. I am but one man. We need diversification, we need varied stock, varied genes. We need your party.’

Lisa was shocked; suddenly what he was proposing dawned on her. She giggled a bit at the thought of a whole village of Frasers and her uncles running around, examining rock formations and not being able to swim. Winthrope noticed this.

‘You find it funny, Lisa? You find the idea of a perfect society amusing?’

Lisa stopped. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I just had a thought that was all. So what do you want me for?’

‘I want you to find your companions and bring them to me. I want you to bring me stock, Lisa, bring me varied stock.’

Lisa realised the position she was in. If she found Joe and the others she would be leading them to this madman; if she didn’t, she would be stuck with him herself. Her head spun with the thoughts of what she should do. She felt torn in two, not knowing which way to turn or what to do.

Winthrope snapped his fingers and a middle-aged woman ran up to his side. He said something in her ear and the woman nodded and ran off.

‘Something to eat?’ he asked Lisa, who nodded doubtfully.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You’re quite safe now. Nothing can harm you.’

In their clearing, the professor and Fraser had worn a strip of vegetation away with their pacing up and down. They had been waiting for news from Joe for hours now and had all but given him up for dead. ‘I still say we stay here,’ the professor said suddenly, breaking the silence for no apparent reason. He and Fraser had been debating the relative merits of going and staying for most of the day. On the one hand, they thought, going would allow them to feel as though they were contributing to things. On the other, it would mean that they relinquished their post and Lisa or Joe might come back to find them gone. ‘I think we should go,’ Fraser replied. ‘We can’t stay here forever and perhaps Joe or Lisa needs our help. Anyway, what can we do here? Nothing. All we can do is pace up and down, it’s utterly useless.’

The professor slumped down onto the floor. ‘I say we stay.’

Fraser turned suddenly. ‘What was that?’ he said. The professor looked up.

Fraser continued. ‘I heard a noise, nearby.’ The professor waved his arm. ‘The jungle is full of noise,’ he said. ‘Noise and trees.’ Fraser moved over to where it was coming from. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Anyone there? Anyone?’

There was a crashing of branches and a rending of foliage. Without knowing what was happening Fraser was confronted with a mass of tangled vines and flailing arms. He put his hands up to cover his face but it made no difference. Whatever it was, was coming straight for him. Fraser staggered backwards and fell on to the floor and whatever it was fell on top of him. The professor darted up and pulled the figure off Fraser and rolled it on the ground; it was only when they had done this that they realised the figure was Joe.

The professor dusted the dirt from the jungle off of Joe and steadied him on his feet. The three stood and watched each other for a moment, not knowing what to do or say.

Slowly, Joe spoke: ‘I’ve been walking for these last few hours. I got nowhere. I tried to find her. I walked and walked but couldn’t see her anywhere. I know she’s out there somewhere. We have to go and find her. She might be in serious trouble.’

Fraser tried to calm him down; he poured Joe a drink from the canteen and made him sit on a pile of leaves they had fashioned to one side of the clearing. The professor sat down in front of it.

‘You may be right, Joe, it’s been some time now. We need to go and find her, but we need to be careful — we don’t want to be getting lost ourselves.’

Fraser butted in. ‘We could leave a trail of stones behind us, like they did in the fairy tale.’

The professor nodded. ‘Yes, I think that might be a good idea. We need to find our way back here at least, if things should go wrong. But Joe, you need to rest first. You are tired. We shall make you something to eat.’

Joe shook his head. ‘No, we need to go now. We need to find her as soon as we can, otherwise I have no idea what might happen. Professor, I’m worried about her. Someone could walk for days and days in that jungle and not know where they are, not come to a clearing, or anything. You can go crazy in there.’

He looked at the thick, dense foliage and shuddered. ‘Sometimes, I thought I was going crazy.’

He felt the eyes on him, the eyes of the jungle that always seemed to be trained his way. He pulled his coat a little further round his neck and, for a moment, closed his eyes. The professor picked up the kettle.

‘I insist, Joe. First you must rest, stay here overnight and tomorrow we will look for her. The night is drawing in and soon it will be dark. Lisa is a bright girl. She’ll know to keep out of trouble and to try to find her way back.’

Joe felt his head bob and his eyes closing slowly. Somewhere in his mind, a light was being turned off and his body began to shut down; he let himself fall into unconsciousness.

He was surrounded by the tunnel again, everywhere he looked there were bodies, skin and bone, teeth, hair. The first thing he was aware of was the smell of blood and the awful oppressive heat. Joe tried to scramble his way backwards but it was no good — something, someone was pushing him forward. He heard the moans and the cries of those around him and he knew they were dying. Even in his dream he knew that something was not right, that the calming, uplifting dreams of the last few weeks were fading and the spirits of the jungle were trying to tell him something. They were trying to tell him that he must hurry, hurry or all would be lost.

He tried to push his way through the mass of bodies that surrounded him. Everywhere he placed his hand it would touch a soft, hot surface of flesh. Those around him were dying. He lit a match and held it up to one of the faces and nearly dropped it as he recognised the face of his mother. Her eyes were bloodshot and staring and the nails of her hands were ripped from their roots in the attempt to claw herself free. He moved the match and saw Lisa, with her hair torn from her head and blood dripping from her face. He lit another match and saw the professor, face pale and bloodless as a death mask, propped up against the wall of the tunnel. He couldn’t stand any more of this. He just wanted to wake up. He knew it was a dream and he knew why they were goading him to continue into the jungle. They did not want him side-tracked by Lisa. They — whoever they were — were jealous of his relationship with her. He knew he was here for a reason, he knew that something was spurring him on but now, now they were punishing him for ignoring them.

Suddenly everything was silent; the moaning and the crying stopped. All that could be heard was a breeze, blowing like those he remembered from when he had been a child on the streets of Hong Kong. A hard breeze, but one that blew old memories and fears away, a breeze that was somewhere forever blowing, that could lift your spirits and send you soaring if only you believed you were light enough. A breeze that carried you away.

He could feel his skin become raw from the wind that blew in the tunnel. Even in his dream he knew such things could never happen, knew that it was absurd — but he just stood, feeling it hit, feeling it washing away his worries and take away his fear. There was a shadow moving in the darkness, a slowly-moving black shadow that seemed to creak as it moved and could barely be distinguished from the darkness that surrounded it. Joe reached out a hand and it touched something cold. The shadow revealed itself as an old woman with deep brown eyes and white hair. She moved closer to Joe and placed her hand upon his chest. Joe felt as though he had been hit by a lightning bolt, the shock almost sending him backwards onto the pile of bodies behind him. ‘Look for me,’ the old woman said. ‘Look for me and I will be there.’