By Tammy Ho Lai-ming

Most residents in this particular old Sham Shui Po building, a tong lau typical of the district's earlier decades, heard the chopping sound. The building had six floors, and each floor held four flats arranged around the stairwell. The sound travelled through the narrow structure each day, sometimes at dusk and sometimes in the early morning.

I lived on the top floor of the six storey walk-up. After long weeks confined to my flat under pandemic rules, I felt a growing strain. The loud repeated chopping unsettled my thoughts and interrupted my rest I decided I must identify its source. I believed I could not continue without understanding who produced the sound and why it persisted.

I stepped outside and approached the three other flats on my floor. I knocked on each metal gate and asked whether the residents heard the chopping. Their replies varied. One said he noticed nothing unusual. Another said he heard it but did not know where it came from. The third said that old buildings always carried noise and that I should try not to think about it.

I continued my enquiries on the fifth floor, then the fourth and the third, but no resident gave a clear answer. Some spoke briefly and ended the conversation at once. Others refused to comment. The sound continued as I made my way down.

On the second floor I stopped at one of the four flats Its metal gate and inner wooden door were newer than the others, and beside the bell was a taped list of six unit numbers. I understood instantly that the flat had been subdivided, which was unlawful yet common in the district.

I knocked. A woman from the nearest unit opened the gate. She looked cautious but did not refuse entry. When asked whether the chopping came from somewhere inside, she nodded once. The original flat had been cut into six small units. Each had a metal gate and wooden door. The air carried the smell of cooked food. Several light bulbs hung at different heights, producing uneven brightness across the interior.

The chopping came from the final unit. I walked to it and knocked. There was no reply. I pushed open its gate and door. A woman sat at a low table with a large wooden board in front of her. A mound of raw pork lay on it. She held a cleaver and chopped through the meat in the standard hand mincing motion, turning it and striking it again and again. She did not react to the presence of another person. After several more blows she looked up and said, "My children love minced pork."

I looked around the unit. There were no signs of children. There were no shoes, no bedding and no clothing for anyone else. The woman lowered her head and continued chopping, preparing more pork than one person would reasonably need.

I stepped out of the unit, then left the subdivided flat. As I reached the stairs, the air shifted and I could smell cleaning products. I climbed back to my own floor. The chopping continued inside the building, rising through the floors.

_____