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words were gibberish, like a record played at triple speed, and he was interrupted by the sound of trumpets, and then bells, and sticks beating on pans. Everyone began to run so he ran too, blindly through the grove, past great numbers of soldiers lying dead on the ground, out of the grove to the rim of a high, steep hill and there, looking down, saw hundreds of North Koreans charging towards him and there was gunfire and explosions and men fell all around him screaming but the bullets passed through him and he felt nothing and then the Koreans reached the crest of the hill and ran past him as though he were invisible and he picked up a gun and fired over and over again but it was impotent. He ran after them, back to the conference table and now there were Americans and Italians and North Koreans standing at the table, judging him, pointing all around him to the bodies of the soldiers swinging from tree limbs. And he looked at them and he knew them but he could not put names with their faces and when he tried to speak to them, the words that came out of his mouth were foreign to him.
    He awoke in a sweat. For a minute it was difficult for him to breathe. He stood up and took several deep breaths and stood watching the sampans and junks gliding lazily through the harbour. Below, the street was alive with the sounds of civilization and he began to relax.
    He tried to ignore the dream, to concentrate on other things.
    He thought about the man he had seen on the floating restaurant the other day and tried to place his face. He was sure he knew the man. Perhaps from Honolulu when he was stationed at Pearl. Or from the days in Tokyo, before Korea. But the mental walls were still there, separating Halford from his subconscious.
    He began to think about tonight. Perhaps be should not have accepted the invitation. The last time, in Tokyo, he bad been embarrassed. The young girl had tried so hard, been so understanding and, ultimately, comforting. He was not sure that he wanted to risk so soon again the anguish of an emotional need he could not satisfy physically.
    When he had left Tokyo for Hong Kong and terminated his three-month, twice-a-day therapy with Captain Friedman, it was like cutting an umbilicus. Friedman had recommended the four-week leave. ‘Get out of here, try some of the things we’ve been working on,’ he had told the sceptical Halford. ‘Look, it’s going to be like going to camp by yourself the first time. Scary, but exciting. You’re going to be okay, Charlie. Thing is, don’t be afraid to try. Remember what Bishop Chamberlain said in the seventeenth century: “It’s better to wear out than rust out.”’
    An hour out of Tokyo old fears had begun chewing at his gut again, but he owed it to the doc to at least try. And he had to admit, in two weeks things had improved.
    Then there was Kam Sing, who had gone to such trouble contacting his cousin here, arranging ‘something special’ for him. Yes, tonight he would have to try again. For months, Kam had been a faithful collaborator in Korea and he could not risk insulting the man who had become his friend.
    He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face and then fixed himself a Scotch and started to dress for dinner.
    Burns had time for only an hour’s nap before the phone jarred him awake.
    ‘Seven forty-five, Mr. Burns,’ the hotel operator said.
    ‘Dor jeh,’ he said.
    ‘Dor jeh.’
    A moment later the alarm went off. He closed up the travel clock and put it in the toilet case. The pill had worn off and he felt even worse than he had that morning. His mouth was fuzzy and his eyes burned. He took a quick shower, shaved, and put on a clean shirt, clean socks, clean underwear, and threw his dirty clothes in the carry-on bag.
    He took the attaché case out of the drawer, examined its contents once more, and went down and checked out. Then he walked two blocks on Nathan Street to the Imperial Hotel and took a cab to the airport. There he