ABSTRACT
I am in Hong Kong Harbor in 1960. The air is perfumed and the sky is warm and blue. The harbor is absolutely gorgeous. I am riding the Star Ferry across to Kowloon, and the sails of a thousand junks leap toward the sky like tigers. All around me are junks, so many that I can’t count them all. Some sail alone; others are strung together like so many crest-shaped beads. Inside and on top of them, mothers cry out to their children; others stand silently looking at a pot or some other object on the deck. Some look at me as the ferry heaves and rocks past them in a noisy whiff of engine oil and sea spray.
