Return to Robinson Road

Chi Wai points to a column of pre-stressed concrete at the base of the office block.

"Many way can demolish building, depend how fast you want dismantle structure. But control explosive beautiful, like martial art. Fighter know weak point of body, know where strike for maximum effect. In same way, you must understand structure like you architect or engineer. Then, when building die, she fall where you make her to."

This is typical of Chi Wai Li. Whenever the normally articulate demolition expert becomes excited, his English fluency lapses into this intelligible but more fragmented kind, almost as though his internal translator has become overloaded. He rubs a crinkled handkerchief along his forehead, beneath the rim of a yellow hard hat as he glares up at the tall building. A dark stain marks the armpit of his tangerine regulation overalls. The sun at noon is unrelenting in the new world order.

"So why's this one different?" A cold trail of perspiration trickles down the side of my face.

"Different because not need so control. All building in area will be demolish. No need worry so much where they fall. Long as they not fall on me." His wheezy laugh reminds me of a tyre being pumped.

"I see. Sorry, my expertise is construction, putting them up not ripping them down."

People are filtering back to the region from overseas and new buildings are being planned, so a vacuum has developed for skilled labour. My familiarity with this once special administrative zone was in no small way responsible for my successful posting. Today I am on site with Chi Wai to learn about the newly implemented health and safety procedures.

"This building called Central Square Tower. Quite famous when originally built."

"I used to work up on the 44th floor twenty years ago." Chi Wai gives me an odd but familiar look. I smile back and say. "Yes, number forty-four, very unlucky."

In Cantonese, the word 'four' sounds similar to the word 'death' and being overtly superstitious, the locals avoid the number wherever possible. Forty-four is considered 'double death' and twice as bad as the single digit, although what is exactly meant by 'double death' remains a mystery to me.

I know this because I wake most mornings at four forty-four. I have no idea why but whenever I open my eyes, the luminescent digits on the alarm clock will burn with those ominous numbers, like a ghostly apparition. After that, I will be unable to sleep. Fortunately, this is the best time of day during the summer months, when pre-dawn bathes the city in its peaceful glow heralding another sunrise. Humidity subsides through the night making the air lighter, less thick and sticky with tension.

Only this morning, I trudged down towards Western Market, strolling along the middle of Des Voeux Road, stepping childlike onto the snaking iron tramlines as though walking on a tightrope, looking at the neon Chinese signage suspended above the road, dull now, each character beautiful yet meaningless to me. Standing still for a precious moment, I squeezed my eyes closed and breathed deep, trying to conjure the once familiar cacophony of sounds and smells that now elude the dormant city.

"Looks like smoke damage on the exterior." Black smudges stain the cladding above the windows on all floors. "Was there a fire?"

"Of course." Chi Wai does not acknowledge me and I feel instantly foolish at having stated the obvious. Similar marks tarnish other building around the square.

Chi Wai invites me to have lunch with his team. I accept, knowing it would be disrespectful to do otherwise but part of me is enjoying the freedom of the open air and cringing at the thought of the pre-meal ritual.

At 11:45am, a siren cuts the air and I follow the men through the main door to the white prefabricated structure at the edge of the site. We undress in the changing rooms in silence and I take my place in the queue outside the ablutions.

Ginseng scented soap does nothing to mask the pungent disinfectant mixed into the shower water but the coldness is refreshing and melts away the morning perspiration. Putting on protective goggles, we take turns to enter the drying cubicle, a small airtight container just large enough to stand up in, where warm air powdered with chlorhexidine acetate blasts the moisture from our skin dry. I step into the third area, the dressing room and tug on a clean set of orange corporation overalls and boots before entering the Portacabin, an air-conditioned canteen.     

We sit at plastic tables and eat a lunch of congee, a hot rice based soup, topped with slivers of local mushroom. Placed in the centre of the table, two varieties of green vegetables, gai lan and choy sum are the only communal dishes. A scruffy young server with purple hair slams Perspex mugs of sau mei, a strong earthy flavoured tea, down in front of us, all the while studying her reflection in the canteen mirror. The men glance at each other and share a silent joke. It is a simple meal but everyone is hungry. I think back on the colourful flavoursome array of dim sum dishes that I enjoyed when last here. When I break the silence, Chi Wai alone raises his head.

"I suppose they'll be putting up more high-rise buildings once these are pulled down."

"No. Here bad feng shui now. This will become park with many tree and flower." Chi Wai frowns and stares back into his bowl.

"But surely this is prime..." I stop myself, remembering the scars of the building. "Oh, you mean the fire? Were many killed?"

"Nobody killed. Department of Health ordered fire on purpose. No choice." He stares down. His expression is difficult to read.

His message sinks in. Global media coverage had reported little else that year. When it finally happened, as had been predicted many years before, borders were instantly closed but hospitals proved sorely unprepared and became quickly inundated. Make-do buildings, schools and sports centres, were hastily converted and employed.

Then, in the months that followed, it was the same for crematoriums.

Some of the other men glimpse at me and, although I am not sure if they even understand what I am saying, I sense that they would prefer us all to eat in silence. However, there is something else I need to understand.

"When I was here before the population was over six million. What is it now?

Chi Wai seems happy to answer this question. He tilts his head and says. "Estimate one and half million. And growing bigger every day. But never be what it was."

He is right. Living in Hong Kong today is like learning to live with an incurable disease, knowing you will never again enjoy full health and struggling each day to survive as best you can.

He leans across the table, picks up a stem of choy sum which he places in my bowl.

"Strange to think vegetarian people right all along."