Ching?
No, Changue.
Not Chong?
Not Chong.
Not Ching?
No, not Ching, Changue.
Not Chong, not Ching?
Not Chong, not Ching. Changue.
Ah, Changue!
Changue. No ‘ah’.
Noah Changue?
No, Charles Changue.
Not Noah?
No, no, no. No. Not Noah. Definitely not Noah. Charles.
Oh. I think it’s your accent. You don’t look Chinese.
I’m not.
What about Chong?
Chong?
Chong. Is he?
Is he what?
Is he Chinese?
I have no idea. I met him once, very briefly. When I was trying to get a sensible visa.
And?
And, well, I’m told that these things take time.
So he’s not Chinese?
He’s very, ah, professional. But that’s not enough, on its own, to make you...
No change?
No Changue. More like. I expect they’ll kick me out, eventually.
Baki.
I’m sorry.
Baki. Saki Baki.
Oh? Really? I thought. I’m sorry. I thought the chap I was speaking to earlier was Saki Baki.
No. There is only one Saki Baki here and I am that Saki Baki. Pleased to meet you. Charles. Why didn’t you say so? We needn’t have got stuck with all that chonging and chinging.
Do you have another name?
You don’t think that’s enough?
No. I mean, like a Christian, like a first name.
Saki.
Ah, and,
Baki...
Is your family name.
Saki Baki.
Pleased to meet you, Saki.
I’m glad we cleared that up.
So. Anyway. Soothsayers. Dragons. Comets. All that malarkey. In ancient China – that, I, obviously, as discussed, have no connection with, in ancient China, emperors and all that, the emperor, well, a total solar eclipse, for example, would be attributed to a hungry dragon intent on eating it up, the sun, that is. The emperor's astrologers would recommend much beating of pots and pans and drums, much chinging and chonging and by so doing they would scare the dragon off thus preserving the rays of Old Helios.
And this worked?
Without fail. Obviously it worked. Though, funnily enough. I seem to recall reading somewhere that there were two astronomers called Mr Hi and Mr Ho who were executed for failing to predict an eclipse.
Quite right.
I think so. Dog. Bark yourself.
And the moral of the tale?
It always worked.
Do you ever go to Flittner’s, the barbers?
On Calle de Alosno. Of course.
Do you know what Flittner called his son?
Which one?
I don’t know. Aren’t they twins?
The two youngest are twins.
So you know what he called them?
Bastiaan and Spirodon.
Why would anyone call their son Spirograph?
It’s a Greek name. What’s wrong with Spirodon.
I’m not sure.
Bastiaan. You know what it means, Bastiaan?
No idea.
Venerable.
How apt.
And Spirodon is soulful.
I bet he is.