Red Phoenix

demonic-looking deity with horns; a benign elderly scholar with a flowing white beard and traditional robes; and another demonic-looking red-skinned figure. They were Dei Ching Wong, Ruler of the Underworld; Do Dei Gang, the Kitchen God; and Shang Shan, the God of Earth and Mountains.
    There was no effigy of Pak Tai; he was far too awesome to be shown like that. But he would have his chance later.
    After we’d lit some incense at the temple and John had bought Simone a brightly coloured good-luck pinwheel, we wandered back to John’s house on the island. No motorised vehicles were permitted on Cheung Chau, so the streets could be very narrow.
    We stopped at a plain concrete three-storey village-style house on the main thoroughfare. John pushed the door open.
    The lower floor of the house was paved with pale green tiles and had bare concrete walls. The living room was minimally furnished with old-fashioned rosewood furniture and a stained coffee table, with a folding mah jong table. A set of rusting metal bunk beds with faded silk quilts folded at the feet stood against the wall on one side. It appeared to be a typical island village house, like many rented out for holiday weekends. John led us up the stairs to the second floor.
    The second floor was plushly decorated with smooth cream Italian floor tiles and textured wallpaper. A comfortable leather lounge and a wide-screen television stood to one side and a rosewood six-seater dining table to the other. A well-fitted kitchen was at the back of the house, and Monica was already busy in there.
    John opened the French doors onto the balcony. The balcony overlooked the main street of Cheung Chau, a perfect location for watching the parade. John gestured for me to sit at the outdoor table there, on one of the comfortable plastic chairs. Simone climbed into John’s lap and leaned on the railing. Monica brought us iced lemon tea; the day was already very warm and humid.
    A lion dance led the procession, with three lions: one gold, one black and one red. The drummer did his best to bring down the houses, banging for all he was worth. A martial arts troupe followed, performing acrobatics as they passed us on the street.
    ‘Any of them ours?’ I said.
    John shook his head.
    A small altar followed, carried by four proud young men. I peered down to see inside; it held an effigy of a god seated on a throne with his hands on his knees, his black robes flowing around him and his long hair over his shoulder. His face was square and dark, and his bare feet perched on a snake and a turtle.
    John squeezed Simone. She whispered in his ear and he nodded. She leaned back to stare at him, incredulous, and he nodded again. She collapsed over his lap laughing.
    John and I shared a smile.
    About twenty people followed, all holding lanterns with good-luck characters on them.
    The next altar contained a serene goddess sitting on a lotus flower, wearing flowing white robes and holding a small bottle in her hand.
    ‘Aunty Kwan!’ Simone yelled, pointing.
    ‘That’s right,’ John said.
    The next altar contained a goddess with colourful flowing robes and a benign smile. She wore a hat with a square brim with beads that hung in front of her face.
    ‘Tin Hau?’ Simone said, naming the Goddess of the Sea.
    John nodded.
    ‘Do you know her?’ she said more softly, barely audible over the noise of the drums and gongs. John nodded again.
    Simone turned back to the parade and jiggled with excitement in John’s lap.
    The final altar contained Guan Di, the red-faced God of Justice, holding a huge halberd and glaring fiercely.
    ‘He’s actually a very nice man,’ John said into Simone’s ear. ‘But he doesn’t come for this. This is mostly for me.’
    ‘Why you, Daddy?’
    ‘A long time ago, a vicious band of pirates was attacking this island. The peaceful fishing folk here had no defence against them. The pirates attacked again and again. So I came down and had a small chat to them about their behaviour. They went away, and the people of the island built the temple for me, and hold the festival every year.’
    ‘I heard you cured a plague,’ I said.
    ‘That too,’ John said, smiling. ‘I’m not sure if any of us remembers the exact origin of the festival. There were a few things. But the talk with the pirates is the one that sticks in my mind the most.’ He gestured over the balcony railing. ‘Here come the Floating Children.’
    ‘Floating Children?’ Simone squealed,