'This is so kind,' Madam Okan said toothlessly, under her best coloured headscarf.
Mae did not have the heart to make them feel deserted at the New Year, so she sat with them and sipped the warm wine and itched to be away throughout, sitting up straight on the diwan.
'She sits so prettily,' said Mrs Okan.
'Relax, sit back, drink with us!' said Mr Okan. 'Allah forgives on this day, and besides, it is not made from grape, eh?' He winked, his skin like old stained leather shrunk onto bones.
They began to talk about children, grandchildren, even greatgrandchildren. Photographs, a tumble of babies, and babies who now sat babies of their own on their laps.
'If…' began Mae, 'if you hear a funny noise tonight-'
'Oh! New Year's. We don't mind the noise.'
'There could be a Flood,' Mae said. 'If there is a Flood, you need to get to Kwan's.'
Their smiles faded, they grew confused. Mae tried to explain. Mrs Okan's heart plainly sank. Mae had not come to be social; she had come because there was some kind of trouble. It was good when someone came because there was trouble, but even nicer when someone came to have fun. They nodded, and tried to smile. But their little glasses were lowered. Mae felt awful for them.
'How are we to get to Mr Wing's?' said Mr Okan, smiling with a shrug. 'I can only shuffle.' He moved his slippered feet back and forth and his wife of fifty years chuckled and put a hand on his arm.
How, indeed?
'I have to go,' said Mae.
At the door, the Okans chorused, 'How nice to see you, Happy New Year!' On impulse, Mae leaned forward and kissed them both.
'Oh-ho,' Mr Okan joked. 'I have a new girlfriend!'
Next door was Mr and Mrs Ali.
Mrs Ali opened the door, looking sour.
'You know why I have come,' said Mae, and passed one of her papers.
'I fear I do,' said Mrs Ali, Sunni's old ally. 'Is that all you have to say to me?'
'Happy New Year,' said Mae. 'Say hello to Sunni for me.'
Ali will be off to the others like lightning. I know that, but it would be wrong to leave anyone out.
Next door, the Dohs were having a party.
'Ah! Madam Owl!' called out Mrs Doh, red-faced and friendly. 'Hello!' She took Mae's hand and pulled her inside. Her house was full of people – her large family, the Lings, the Soongs, and the Pings.
'Our favourite madwoman!' said Mrs Doh, and crumpled a paper hat onto Mae's head. 'Oh, look, another piece of paper from our Mae!'
'You just stop work and get drunk like us,' said Young Mr Doh, and thrust some rice wine into her hand.
The radiocassette was on, and the younger people were dancing. Young Miss Doh wiggled up, took all of Mae's papers from her, and made her join the dancing circle.
Mae danced, and calculated. This party had saved her having to visit three other houses. She warned Young Miss Doh, who was pressed next to her in the circle. 'The main danger on Upper Street will be rocks falling from the terraces. Houses like yours will take the full force of them. You must leave everything.'
'Stop!' said Young Miss Doh. 'Have fun! Life is short!'
Mae allowed herself one dance. Then she cut everything off with a nod of her head, got her papers back, and left.
Mae climbed up and over the steep arch of their bridge. The next house belonged to Hasan Muhammed. Mae swallowed hard and knocked on his door.
It was answered promptly. Tsang's deserted husband stood, clean, pressed, and proud. He carried his young son in his arms.
'Yes?' he asked, his head held back, away, as if from a bad odour.
'Mr Muhammed-sir, I am sorry to intrude. Just in case.' Mae held out a paper towards him.
He didn't take it. He pondered her for a moment, and then shifted his child to the other arm. 'I already have everything in the loft,' he said, entirely serious. 'When it comes, we shall all go directly to the house of Mr Wing, me and my children.'
Someone believed her.
'You are well prepared,' said Mae. She took hold of the little boy's foot and held it.
'Bad things happen,' said Mr Muhammed. 'As both of us know too well.'
'Keep an ear listening. Happy New Year!'
He merely nodded, and closed the door.
'Thank you, Mr Muhammed!' she added, facing the blank door.
She turned and began to walk up towards the Atakoloos'. As she came around the corner of her brother's house, she came upon a group of people struggling up Lower Street.
'There she is,' said Kwan.
A flashlight darted over Mae's face, making her squint. The Wings, Sunni, and Mr Haseem strode towards her.
'Mae,' said Mr Wing. 'This has got to stop.' They all wore waterproofs. Kwan – neat, slim, and in black – was in front of them, all with papers in hand.
'We mean it, Mae.'
'Are those my papers?' Mae demanded. Kwan was nearly up to her. 'Are those my papers?'
'You are not going to make a fool of yourself on New Year's. Now, give me the rest.'
Mae felt fury. 'You give me that paper. Who said you could have that paper?'
'We took it from Sezen, if you must know. She spat at us, but I expect no better from her. Give us the paper, Mae.'
'It is not your paper, it is my paper.'
Kwan nodded over her shoulder. 'I am sorry, Mae, you can't go around spoiling everyone's New Year with these fantasies.'
Sunni, hiding behind Kwan, said over her shoulder, 'Mae: You are a traitor to yourself with this foolishness.'
Wing and Haseem came towards her.
'You keep your hands off me,' Mae warned.
Kwan shook her head. 'I am sorry it has come to this, Mae, but the madness must stop.'
'We are friends no longer,' warned Mae again.
'That is your choice.'
Mae was hugging her leaflets, the last of her papers, to her breast. Wing already had grasped them. 'Come on, Mae, don't make it worse,' said Wing.
'Your friendly madwoman,' chuckled Mr Haseem.
'Please, Mae,' Sunni wheedled.
'I have no friends,' said Mae in a small voice; jerking away from Mr Wing.
Mr Haseem took her arms. Mae doubled over, to clench the papers to herself. Fire burned in her belly. Wing reached around her.
'This really is getting us nowhere,' Mr Wing said, still neat, still smiling.
Mae began to yell. 'They are stealing from me! They are robbing me! Thieves! Help!'
The paper was shiny so that messages could be burned cheaply onto it. It was slippery, and it began to slide now.
'Sezen! Ju-mei! Siao! Help! Ju-mei!'
Fire shot out of her, fire like Dragon's Breath, and she turned and let them have it. Fiery juices shot out of her burning stomach and over Mr Haseem's face.
'Ah!' he yelped, and backed way. 'God! She spat at me.'
'Mae,' said Kwan, rolling her eyes, shaking her head. She looked at Sunni. 'She just gets worse.'
'Her and Sezen,' Sunni shrugged.
'It burns. It really burns!' yelped Sunni's husband. The acids gnawed at his skin.
And Mae froze, for she was indeed beginning to believe in sympathetic magic.
Dragon's Breath.
Oh God, what if I've helped it happen?
Suddenly Wing was shaking her. 'Mae! Enough!' He got the papers.
'There is a fifty-fifty chance,' said Mae, in a weak voice. 'I'm not saying it must happen. I'm saying it could. I'm saying we must be prepared.'
Kwan looked at her with something like sympathy. 'I'm sorry, Mae. If you feel like coming to the party later, you will be very welcome.'
'She must be like a nuclear furnace inside!' said Mr Haseem, wiping his face with a handkerchief.
'I'm trying to digest my baby,' said Mae, a little stupid from everything that had happened.
They left her.
She listened to the falling snow.
The front door of the Wangs' house opened. In the warm light stood her brother Ju-mei. 'Mae, what is going on?' he asked.
'Oh, Ju-mei! They have taken the last of my papers! And there is a good chance of a Flood.'