She'd been in the park till noon, watching the gate to the Forbidden City, seeing the tourists as they milled about in mist-rimed sunshine. Finally, she caught sight of him as he approached the gate. Every day without fail, staggering slightly under the weight of his bag. She was overdressed for the streets in a red dress meant for parties not park benches. Flung out suddenly from the warmth of the car, out of favour and, quite suddenly without comfort. At the bottom of the hill she lost him briefly, then saw him, walking alongside two Western tourists, his sack made him look like a hunchback. The woman shook her head as he tried to push a jade dragon upon him, she could hear his wheedling voice. Here it was, the past before her, the poverty, the desperation, but here she was. As the Westerners went she finally said: Father?
He looked at her blankly. This was surely no daughter of his.