Once we had come through two further walls and there was still no sign of our being pursued, I felt for the first time a kind of exhilaration at being finally reunited with my old friend. I found myself laughing a few times as we staggered on together; then Akira too gave a laugh, and the years seemed to melt away between us.

‘How long has it been, Akira? It's been such a long time.’

He was moving painfully by my side, but he managed to say: ‘A long time, yes.’

‘You know, I went back. To the old house. I suppose yours is still next door.’

‘Yes. Next door.’

‘Oh, have you been back too? But of course, you've been here all the time. You wouldn't see it as anything so special.’

‘Yes,’ he said again, with some effort. ‘Long time. Next door.’

I brought us to a halt and sat him on the remnants of a wall. Then carefully removing the ragged jacket of his uniform, I examined his wounds again, using the torch and my magnifying glass. I was still unable to ascertain a great deal; I had been afraid that the wound under his arm was gangrenous, but it now struck me the foul smell might be coming from something smeared on his clothes, perhaps from where he had been lying on the ground. On the other hand, I noted that he was alarmingly hot and utterly drenched in sweat.

Removing my jacket, I tore several strips off the lining to use as dressings. Then I did my best to clean the wound with my handkerchief. Though I tried to wipe the pus off as gently as possible, his sharp intakes of breath told me I was causing him pain.

‘I'm sorry, Akira. I'll try to be less clumsy.’

‘Clumsy,’ he said, as though turning the word over. Then he gave a sudden laugh and said: ‘You help me. Thank you.’

‘Of course I'm helping you. And very soon, we'll get you proper medical help. Then you'll be fine in no time. But before we do that, you'll have to help me. There's a very urgent task for us first, and you'll understand better than anyone why it's so urgent. You see, Akira, I've located it at last. The house where my parents are being held. We're very near it at this moment. You know, old chap, for a time, I was thinking I'd have to go into that house alone. I'd have done it, but really, it would have been an awful risk. Goodness knows how many kidnappers are in there. I'd originally reckoned on getting a few Chinese soldiers to help, but that's proved impossible. I was even thinking of asking the Japanese to help me. But now, the two of us together, we'll do it, we'll manage the thing for sure.’

I was all this time attempting to tie the improvised bandage around his torso and neck in such a way as to maintain some pressure on the wound. Akira watched me carefully, and when I stopped speaking, smiled and said:

‘Yes. I help you. You help me. Good.’

‘But Akira, I have to confess to you. I've got myself rather lost. I was doing quite well till shortly before I came across you. But now, I really don't know which way to go. We have to look out for something called the East Furnace. A large thing with a chimney. I wonder, old chap, do you have any idea where we might find this furnace?’

Akira was continuing to look at me, his chest heaving. When I caught sight of him like that, I was suddenly reminded of those times when we had so often sat together at the top of the mound in our garden, recovering our breath. I was about to mention this to him when he said:

‘I know. I know this place.’

‘You know how to get to the East Furnace? From here?’

He nodded. ‘I fight here, many weeks. Here, I know just like’ – he suddenly grinned – ‘like my home village.’

I smiled too, but the remark had puzzled me. ‘Which home village is this?’ I asked.

‘Home village. Where I born.’

‘You mean the Settlement?’

Akira was quiet for a moment, then said: ‘Okay. Yes. Settlement. International Settlement. My home village.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose it's my home village too.’

We both began to laugh, and for a few moments we went on giggling and laughing together, perhaps a little uncontrollably. When we had calmed down somewhat, I said:

‘I'll tell you an odd thing, Akira. I can say this to you. All these years I've lived in England, I've never really felt at home there. The International Settlement. That will always be my home.’

‘But International Settlement …’ Akira shook his head. ‘Very fragile. Tomorrow, next day …’ He waved a hand in the air.

‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘And when we were children, it seemed so solid to us. But as you put it just now. It's our home village. The only one we have.’

I began to put his uniform back on him, taking every care not to hurt him unnecessarily.

‘Is that any better, Akira? I'm sorry I can't do more for you just now. We'll get you properly seen to very soon. But now, we've important work to do. You tell me where we go.’

Our progress was slow. It was hard for me to keep the torch pointed before us, and we often stumbled in the dark, at great cost to Akira. Indeed, he more than once came close to losing consciousness on that lap of our journey, and his weight around my shoulders grew immense. Nor was I without my own injuries; most annoyingly, my right shoe had split apart, and my foot was badly gashed, causing a searing pain to rise with each step. Sometimes we were so exhausted we could go no more than a dozen steps without stopping again. But we resolved on these occasions not to sit down, and would stand swaying together, gasping for breath, re-adjusting our weights in an attempt to relieve one pain at the expense of another. The rancid smell from his wound grew worse, and the constant scuffling of the rats around us was unnerving, but we did not, at this stage, hear any sounds of fighting.

I did what I could to keep our spirits up, making light-hearted remarks whenever I had the breath. In truth, though, my feelings concerning this reunion were, during those moments, of a complex hue. There was no doubting my huge gratitude at fate's bringing us together just in time for our great undertaking. But at the same time, a part of me was saddened that our reunion – which I had thought about for so long – should be taking place in such grim circumstances. It was certainly a long way from the scenes I had always conjured up – of the two of us sitting in some comfortable hotel lounge, or perhaps on the veranda of Akira's house, overlooking a quiet garden, talking and reminiscing for hours on end.

Akira, meanwhile, for all his difficulties, maintained a clear sense of our direction. Frequently he would lead us along some route I feared would finish in a dead end, only for a doorway or opening to appear. From time to time, we came across more inhabitants, some no more than presences we sensed in the darkness; others, gathered around the glow of a lantern or a fire, would stare at Akira with such hostility I feared we would be set upon again. But for the most part we were allowed to pass unmolested, and I once even managed to persuade an old woman to give us drinking water in return for the last banknotes in my pocket.

Then the terrain changed perceptibly. There were no more pockets of domesticity, and the only people we encountered were isolated individuals with abandoned looks in their eyes, muttering or weeping to themselves. Nor were there any more surviving doorways, but only the gouged-out holes of the sort the lieutenant and I had negotiated at the journey's start. Each of these presented us with much difficulty, Akira being unable to climb through – even with me assisting his every move – without inflicting dreadful agonies upon himself.

We had long since given up conversation, and were simply emitting grunts in time to our steps, when suddenly Akira brought us to a halt and raised his head. Then I too could hear a voice, someone shouting orders. It was difficult to say how near it was – perhaps two or three houses away.

‘Japanese?’ I asked in a whisper.

Akira went on listening, then shook his head.

‘Kuomintang. Christopher, we now very close to … to …’

‘The front?’

‘Yes, front. We now very close to front. Christopher, this very dangerous.’

‘Is it absolutely necessary to go through this area to reach the house?’

‘Necessary, yes.’

There was a sudden burst of rifle fire, then from further away, the reply of a machine-gun. We instinctively tightened our grasp on one another, but then Akira freed himself and sat down.

‘Christopher,’ he said quietly. ‘We rest now.’

‘But we have to reach the house.’

‘We rest now. Too dangerous to go in fighting zone in darkness. We be killed. Must wait morning.’

I saw the sense in this, and in any case, we were now both too exhausted to go on much further. I also sat down and switched off the torch.

We sat in the dark for some time, the silence broken only by our breathing. Then suddenly the gunfire started again, and for perhaps a minute or two continued ferociously. It ended abruptly; then after another moment of quiet, a strange noise rose through the walls. It was a long, thin sound, like an animal's call in the wild, but ended in a full-throated cry. Next came shrieking and sobbing, and then the wounded man began to shout out actual phrases. He sounded remarkably like the dying Japanese soldier I had listened to earlier, and in my exhausted state, I assumed this must be the same man; I was on the point of remarking to Akira what a singularly unfortunate time this individual was having, when I realised he was shouting in Mandarin, not Japanese. The realisation that these were two different men rather chilled me. So identical were their pitiful whimpers, the way their screams gave way to desperate entreaties, then returned to screams, that the notion came to me this was what each of us would go through on our way to death – that these terrible noises were as universal as the crying of new-born babies.

After a time, I grew conscious of the fact that should the fighting spill into our room, we were sitting in a completely exposed position. I was about to suggest to Akira we move somewhere more hidden, but then noticed he had fallen asleep. I switched on the torch again and shone it about cautiously.

Even by recent standards, the destruction around us was severe. I could see grenade damage, bullet holes everywhere, smashed brick and timber. There was a dead water-buffalo lying on its side in the middle of the room no more than seven or eight yards from us; it was covered in dust and debris, a horn pointing up to the roof. I went on casting the beam about until I had established all the possible points from which combatants could enter our enclosure. Most importantly, I discovered, on the far side of the room, beyond the buffalo, a little brick alcove, which perhaps had once served as a stove or fireplace. This struck me as being the safest place for us to spend the night. Shaking Akira awake, I put his arm around my neck, and we both rose painfully to our feet.

When we reached the brick alcove, I pushed away some rubble and cleared an area of smooth wooden boards sufficient to allow us both to lie down. I spread out my jacket for Akira and carefully laid him down on his good side. Then I too lay down and waited for sleep.

But exhausted as I was, the continuing cries of the dying man, my fears of being caught in the fighting, and my thoughts of the crucial task before us all kept me from drifting off. Akira too, I could tell, remained awake, and when finally I heard him sitting up, I asked him:

‘How is your wound?

‘My wound. No trouble, no trouble.’

‘Let me see it again …’

‘No, no. No trouble. But thank you. You good friend.’

Although we were only inches apart, we could not see each other at all. After a long pause, I heard him say:

‘Christopher. You must learn to speak Japanese.’

‘Yes, I must.’

‘No, I mean now. You learn Japanese now.’

‘Well, quite honestly, old fellow, this is hardly the ideal time to …’

‘No. You must learn. If Japanese soldier come in while I asleep, you must tell them. Tell them we are friend. You must tell them or they shoot in dark.’

‘Yes. I see your point.’

‘So you learn. In case I asleep. Or I dead.’

‘Now look here, I don't want any of that nonsense. You're going to be as fit as a fiddle in no time.’

There was another pause, and I remembered from years ago how Akira would fail to follow me if I used colloquialisms. So I said, quite slowly:

‘You're going to be perfectly well. Do you understand, Akira? I'll see to it. You're going to be well.’

‘Very kind,’ he said. ‘But precaution is best. You must learn to say. In Japanese. If Japanese soldier come. I teach word. You remember.’

He began to say something in his own tongue, but it was much too extended and I stopped him.

‘No, no, I'll never learn that. Something much shorter. Just to make clear we're not the enemy.’

He thought a moment, then uttered a phrase only slightly shorter than the previous one. I made an attempt, but almost immediately he said:

‘No, Christopher. Mistake.’

After a few more attempts, I said: ‘Look, it's no good. Just give me one word. The word for “friend”. I can't manage anything more tonight.’

‘Tomodachi,’ he said. ‘You say. To-mo-da-chi.’

I repeated this word several times, I thought perfectly accurately, but then realised he was laughing in the darkness. I found myself laughing also, and then, much as we had done earlier, we both began to laugh uncontrollably. We went on laughing for perhaps as long as a full minute, after which I believe I fell asleep quite suddenly.

When I awoke, the earliest dawn light was coming into the room. It was a pale, bluish light, as though just one layer of darkness had been removed. The dying man had now gone silent, and from somewhere came the singing of a bird. I could now see that the roof above us had largely vanished, so that from where I lay, my shoulder hard against the brickwork, there were stars visible in the dawn sky.

A movement caught my eye and I sat up in alarm. I then saw three or four rats moving around the dead water-buffalo, and for a few moments I sat gazing at them. Only then did I turn to look at Akira, dreading what I might find. He was lying beside me quite still, and his colour was very pale, but I saw with relief that he was breathing evenly. I found my magnifying glass and began gently to examine his wound, but succeeded only in waking him.

‘It's just me,’ I whispered as he sat up slowly and glanced about him. He looked frightened and bewildered, but then he seemed to remember everything, and a look of numb toughness came into his eyes.

‘You were dreaming?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes. Dreaming.’

‘Of a better place than this, I should hope,’ I said with a laugh.

‘Yes.’ He gave a sigh, then added: ‘I dream of when I am small boy.’

We were silent for a moment. Then I said:

‘It must have been a rude shock. To come from the world you were dreaming of into this one here.’

He was staring at the buffalo's head protruding out of the rubble.

‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘I dream of when I am young boy. My mother, my father. Young boy.’

‘You remember, Akira. All the games we used to play? On the mound, in our garden? You remember, Akira?’

‘Yes. I remember.’

‘Those are good memories.’

‘Yes. Very good memories.’

‘Those were splendid days,’ I said. ‘We didn't know it then, of course, just how splendid they were. Children never do, I suppose.’

‘I have child,’ Akira said suddenly. ‘Boy. Five years old.’

‘Really? I'd like to meet him.’

‘I lose photo. Yesterday. Day before. When I wound. I lose photo. Of son.’

‘Now look, old chap, don't get despondent. You'll be seeing your son again in no time.’

He continued to stare for some time at the buffalo. A rat made a sudden movement and a cloud of flies rose up, then settled again on the beast.

‘My son. He in Japan.’

‘Oh, you sent him to Japan? That surprises me.’

‘My son. In Japan. If I die, you tell him, please.’

‘Tell him that you died? Sorry, can't do that. Because you're not going to die. Not yet anyway.’

‘You tell him. I die for country. Tell him, be good to mother. Protect. And build good world.’ He was now almost whispering, struggling to find his words in English, struggling not to weep. ‘Build good world,’ he said again, moving his hand through the air like a plasterer smoothing a wall. His gaze followed the hand as though in wonder. ‘Yes. Build good world.’

‘When we were boys,’ I said, ‘we lived in a good world. These children, these children we've been coming across, what a terrible thing for them to learn so early how ghastly things really are.’

‘My son,’ Akira said. ‘Five years old. In Japan. He know nothing, nothing. He think world is good place. Kind people. His toys. His mother, father.’

‘I suppose we were like that too. But it's not all downhill, I suppose.’ I was trying hard now to combat the dangerous despondency settling over my friend. ‘After all, when we were children, when things went wrong, there wasn't much we could do to help put it right. But now we're adults, now we can. That's the thing, you see? Look at us, Akira. After all this time, we can finally put things right. Remember, old chap, how we used to play those games? Over and over? How we used to pretend we were detectives searching for my father? Now we're grown, we can at last put things right.’

Akira did not speak for a long time. Then he said: ‘When my boy. He discover world is not good. I wish …’ He stopped, either in pain or because he could not find the English. He said something in Japanese, then went on: ‘I wish I with him. To help him. When he discover.’

‘Listen, you great ape,’ I said, ‘this is all far too morose. You'll see your son again, I'll see to that. And all this about how good the world looked when we were boys. Well, it's a lot of nonsense in a way. It's just that the adults led us on. One mustn't get too nostalgic for childhood.’

‘Nos-tal-gic,’ Akira said, as though it were a word he had been struggling to find. Then he said a word in Japanese, perhaps the Japanese for ‘nostalgic’. ‘Nos-tal-gic. It is good to be nos-tal-gic. Very important.’

‘Really, old fellow?’

‘Important. Very important. Nostalgic. When we nostalgic, we remember. A world better than this world we discover when we grow. We remember and wish good world come back again. So very important. Just now, I had dream. I was boy. Mother, Father, close to me. In our house.’

He fell silent and continued to gaze across the rubble.

‘Akira,’ I said, sensing that the longer this talk went on, the greater was some danger I did not wish fully to articulate. ‘We should move on. We have much to do.’

As though in reply, there came a burst of machine-gun fire. It was further away than the night before, but we both started.

‘Akira,’ I said. ‘Is it far now to the house? We must try and reach it before the fighting starts again in earnest. How far is it now?’

‘Not far. But we go carefully. Chinese soldier very near.’

Our sleep, far from refreshing us, appeared to have made us even more depleted. When we stood up and Akira put his weight on me, the pain which went across my neck and shoulders obliged me to let out a moan. For some time, until our bodies grew accustomed again, walking together proved a torturous ordeal.

Our physical conditions aside, the terrain we traversed that morning was by far the most difficult yet. The damage was so extensive, we would frequently have to halt, unable to find a way through the debris. And while it was undeniably a help to see where we were setting down our feet, all the ghastliness that had been hidden by the darkness was now visible to us, taking a profound toll on our spirits. Amidst the wreckage, we could see blood – sometimes fresh, sometimes weeks old – on the ground, on the walls, splashed across broken furniture. Worse still – and our noses would warn us of their presence long before our eyes – we would come across, with disconcerting regularity, piles of human intestines in various stages of decay. Once when we stopped, I remarked to Akira about this, and he said simply:

‘Bayonet. Soldier always put bayonet in stomach. If you put here’ – he indicated his ribs – ‘bayonet not come out again. So soldier learn. Always stomach.’

‘At least the bodies are gone. At least they do that much.’

We continued to hear occasional gunfire, and each time we did so, I had the feeling we had come a little closer to it. This concerned me, but Akira now seemed surer than ever of our route, and whenever I questioned his decisions, he shook his head impatiently.

By the time we came across the bodies of the two Chinese soldiers, the morning sun was coming down in strong shafts through the broken roofs. We did not pass close enough to examine them properly, but my guess was that they had not been dead for more than a few hours. One was face-down in the rubble; the other had died on his knees, his forehead resting on the brick wall, as though he had been overcome by melancholy.

At one point, my conviction that we were about to walk right into crossfire grew so strong that I stopped Akira, saying:

‘Now look here. What's your game? Where are you leading us?’

He said nothing, but stood leaning against me, his head bowed, recovering his breath.

‘Do you really know where we're going? Akira, answer me! Do you know where we're going?’

He raised his head wearily, then indicated over my shoulder.

I turned – I had to do so slowly, for he was still leaning on me – and saw through a broken section of a wall, no more than a dozen steps away, what was undoubtedly the East Furnace.

I said nothing, but led us over to it. Like its twin, the East Furnace had survived the assaults well. It was covered in dust, but looked virtually in working order. Letting go of Akira – he immediately sat down on some rubble – I went right up to the furnace. As on the last occasion, I could see the chimney above me pointing towards the clouds. I went back to where Akira was sitting and gently touched his good shoulder.

‘Akira, I'm sorry about my tone just now. I want you to know I'm very grateful to you. I could never have found this by myself. Really, Akira, I'm so grateful.’

‘Okay.’ His breath was now a little easier. ‘You help me. I help you. Okay.’

‘But Akira, we must be very near the house now. Let me see. Along there’ – I indicated – ‘the alley runs that way. We have to follow the alley.’

Akira appeared reluctant to get to his feet, but I hoisted him up and we set off again. I began by following what was clearly the narrow alley the lieutenant had pointed out from the rooftop, but in almost no time we found our way completely barred by fallen debris. We climbed through a wall into a nearby house, then proceeded on what I imagined was a parallel course, picking our way through rubble-strewn rooms.

These houses we now found ourselves in were less damaged, and had clearly been more salubrious than those we had lately come through. There were chairs, dressing tables, even some mirrors and vases still intact amidst the wreckage. I was eager to keep going, but Akira's body began to sag badly, and we were obliged to stop again. We sat down on a fallen beam, and it was as we were recovering our breath that my gaze fell upon the hand-painted name-board lying there in the rubble before us.

It had split cleanly along the grain of the wood, but the two pieces were lying there side by side; I could see also part of the lattice-work by which it had once been fixed to the front entrance. It was not by any means the first time we had come across such a thing, but some instinct drew my attention to this particular item. I went over to it and, extricating the two pieces of wood from the masonry, brought them back to where we were sitting.

‘Akira,’ I said, ‘can you read this?’ I held the pieces together before him.

He gazed at the script for a while, then said: ‘My Chinese, not good. A name. Someone's name.’

‘Akira, listen carefully. Look at these characters. You must know something about them. Please, try and read them. It's very important.’

He continued to regard the board, then shook his head.

‘Akira, listen,’ I said. ‘Is it possible this says Yeh Chen? Could that be the name written here?’

‘Yeh Chen …’ Akira looked thoughtful. ‘Yeh Chen. Yes, possible. This character here … Yes, possible. This say Yeh Chen.’

‘It does? Are you sure?’

‘Not sure. But … possible. Very possible. Yes’ – he gave a nod – ‘Yeh Chen. I think so.’

I put down the two pieces of the board and made my way carefully over the rubble towards the front of the house we were in. There was a broken gap where the doorway had once been, and looking through it, I could see into the narrow alley running outside. I looked across to the house directly facing me. The frontages to the adjoining properties were badly smashed, but the house I was looking at had survived strangely intact. There were hardly any obvious signs of damage: the shutters on the window, the crude sliding wooden lattice door, even the charm dangling above the doorway, had all remained unscathed. After what we had travelled through, it looked like an apparition from another more civilised world. I stood there staring at it for some time. Then I gestured to Akira.

‘Look, come here,’ I said in a near-whisper. ‘This has to be the house. It can't be any other.’

Akira did not move, but gave a deep sigh. ‘Christopher. You friend. I like very much.’

‘Keep your voice down. Akira, we've arrived. It's this house. I can feel it now in my bones.’

‘Christopher …’ With an effort he rose to his feet and came slowly over the ground. When he was beside me, I pointed out the house. The morning sun shining down into the alley was causing bright streaks to fall across its front.

‘There, Akira. There it is.’

He sat down by my feet and gave another sigh. ‘Christopher. My friend. You must think very carefully. It is many years. Many, many years now …’

‘Isn't it odd,’ I remarked, ‘how the fighting's hardly touched that house? The house with my parents inside.’

Uttering these words, I suddenly felt almost overwhelmed. But I collected myself and said: ‘Now, Akira, we have to go in. We'll do it together, arm in arm. Just like that other time, going into Ling Tien's room. You remember, Akira?’

‘Christopher. My dear friend. You must think very carefully. It is many, many years. My friend, please, you listen. Perhaps mother and father. It is now so many years …’

‘We'll go in now together. Then as soon as we've done what we have to do, we'll get you to proper medical help, I promise. In fact, it's possible there'll be something, some first aid, in that house. At least some clean water, perhaps bandages. My mother will be able to look at your injury, perhaps put on a fresh dressing for you. Don't you worry, you'll be fine in no time.’

‘Christopher. You must think very carefully. So many years go by …’

He fell silent as the door across the alley slid open with a rattle. I had hardly started to fumble for the revolver when the small Chinese girl emerged.

She was perhaps six years old. Her face had a still expression, and was rather pretty. Her hair had been tied carefully into little bunches. Her simple jacket and wide trousers were slightly too large for her.

She looked about her, blinking in the sunlight, then looked our way. Spotting us easily – neither of us had moved – she came towards us with surprising fearlessness. She stopped in the alley just a few yards away, and said something in Mandarin, gesturing back to the house.

‘Akira, what's she saying?’

‘Not understand. Perhaps she invite us inside.’

‘But how can she be involved? Do you suppose she has something to do with the kidnappers? What's she saying?’

‘I think she ask us to help her.’

‘We'll have to tell her to stand away,’ I said, drawing my revolver. ‘We have to anticipate resistance.’

‘Yes, she ask us to help. She say dog is injured. I think she say dog. My Chinese not good.’

Then as we watched, from somewhere near where her carefully tied hair began, a thin line of blood ran down, over her forehead and down her cheek. The little girl appeared to notice nothing and spoke to us again, gesturing once more back to her house.

‘Yes,’ Akira said. ‘She say dog. Dog is hurt.’

‘Her dog? She's hurt. Perhaps seriously.’

I took a step towards her, intending to examine her wound. But she interpreted my movement as compliance, and turning, skipped back across the alley towards her door. She slid it open again, looked towards us appealingly, then disappeared inside.

I stood there for a moment hesitating. Then I reached a hand down to my friend.

‘Akira, this is it,’ I said. ‘We must go in. Let's go in now together.’