The Couple in Hall 44: A Hong Kong Ghost Story

What follows is taken from a bundle of pages which arrived at the offices of HK Magazine earlier this week. It appears to be scrawled on the back of some kind of academic dissertation. We present it here in the hopes that someone might be able to identify the writer.

Part I

After graduating in London with my doctorate last year, I found it hard to find work in the city. For reasons I would rather not discuss—but in which I am blameless—it was plain that a career in the capital would not be easy to find. I decided therefore to try my hand somewhere overseas, where news might not travel so quickly. On learning of a teaching place at a university in Hong Kong, I put myself forward for the position. The romance of it appealed to me: another westerner heading east into the unknown, to forge a new life.

I sent my application to the university, and it was not long until I heard back. The institution was impressed by my accomplishments, and would be happy to offer me a place on very generous terms—including accommodation—as long as I would begin teaching within a week: the middle of term-time. It seemed rushed to me—but perhaps, I mused, this was simply the way of the Far East? At any rate, I had nowhere else to be.

Part II

One week later, I was in Hong Kong, thrown into the middle of the chaos of an academic term. My first months in Asia were spent almost entirely in Hall 44, the tiny basement room where I lectured my class of 30. I was led to understand that my predecessor had left under something of a cloud, and the otherwise jovial Vice-Chancellor of the university would not be drawn further on the matter. But lectures commenced with no major issues. After all, I was eager to continue teaching after the unpleasantness of the last few months in London. My fellow teachers were aloof, and reluctant to join me in conversation: a quirk I put down to cultural differences.

As for my students, they were largely attentive and eager to learn—none of the laziness I was so accustomed to back home! I began to congratulate myself on my great Asian adventure, satisfied that I had made the right choice.

We made excellent progress, and soon the whole class was like a well-oiled machine. There was one exception: two students in the class who were inseparable. Joseph Chan and Joanna Chen were always late, but I never saw them sneak in. They would sit at the back of the lecture hall at the edge of my vision, holding hands and gazing at each other. The rest of the class ignored the couple: I had read enough to be aware that public displays of affection are frowned upon in eastern cultures, and was sure that this couple’s overt show of romance made their classmates feel uncomfortable.