689
1937
Alex stumbled toward the gate of the diplomatic compound in Anqing as the sun rose above the harbor below. The morning’s first rays were blocked by the clouds of smoke hanging above the city the Japanese had bombed the afternoon before.
Before entering the pristine compound, he looked down toward the school he had helped build eight years before. Now it was nothing more than detritus of his effort: broken glass, splintered timbers and concrete rubble.
Sugar was waiting for him on the front steps of their home when he walked up, unsteady from the alcohol of another night’s drinking.