WARD 10

We shift out chairs
across the ward to the old man's
bedside. "He's looking better," we say.
His hands looser after
their hot wax baths.

At another bed, the voice of a woman,
"If you're not going to talk to me,
I'm going home." The elderly man
cowers beneath the bedclothes
like a ferret.

The woman rises to leave.
"He'll only talk to me in French.
He knows I can't understand a word he says."
The man opens one eye and looks at his wife.
She tells us she is paralysed down one side

only has one leg and a missing
kneecap on the other leg. "He knows
how hard it is for me to get here.
Look at him. I'm going home."
We return to my friend's father.

"You look so much fitter," we tell him.
"Next time we see you will be at home."
The old man presses our hands with his,
the gnarled stumps of his fingers
swollen and disfigured.

We say farewell and step
into the autumn sunshine, remarking
on the number of butterflies there are
at this time of the year
and how the leaves are changing colour.

CHURCH OF ST. PAUL, MACAU

"They're coming!" whispers my friend urgently. "Let's hide!"

We make our way up the grand staircase and slip behind the sad ruins of the once magnificent church and hide on either side of the fortified doorway. I press hard against a battle-scarred wall where strange grasses grip the bricks and scarlet bougainvillea scrambles unchecked above me. A gecko is sunning itself close to me. I hope scorpions and snakes aren't lurking in the crevices.

church facade
between cracks
a dead fly
Gravel crunches under approaching footsteps that stop outside our hiding place. The drone of cicadas and chirping of birds are silenced as voices call through the sultry air. It is hot and I desperately want to wipe the perspiration crawling down my temples but movement or noise is out of the question. The voices rise and fall and although I can't understand the language, I can sense the disappointment that their quarry has eluded them. After some desultory discussion, the voices move away.

After a minute or two we cautiously rejoin the path and are about to take a different direction when an urgent voice rings through the air. "Excuse me, madams! It is holiday. No worries!"

Chinese New Year
a faint cloud of smoke
hangs in the air

When half a dozen youths materialise out of the bushes and encircle us, our hearts sink. Encouraged by the others, the lead youth steps forward importantly and hands us a stream of red firecrackers. "For you. Holiday. New Year." My friend and I look at each' other. It is a stark choice. We take the fireworks and wait while the boy lights them for us. "We love them!" we chorus and with a satisfied nod, they turn and leave us.

loud report
a firecracker stream
catches fire

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