It was seven o’clock in the evening and Cheng found himself watching the television while his father was engrossed in his newspaper. A large group of people was waving and chanting with their backs to the camera. They looked like schoolboys in white uniforms except that they wore white trousers instead of shorts. This caught Cheng’s attention for he could relate to events in which "schoolboys" like himself were involved.

Someone was making a speech but he was certainly not a schoolboy. He was much older and everytime he yelled, the "schoolboys" joined him in a chorus and started waving their hands and flags. The screen changed and Cheng saw people running and throwing rocks and stones, burning cars and buses along the road; there was smoke and men in other uniforms holding rifles and truncheons. The screen returned abruptly to the "schoolboys" waving their flags in unison with the speaker in school uniform.

“Schoolboys fighting, “ Cheng muttered.

His father glanced up at him and Cheng repeated his statement. Turning to the television his father shook his head “They’re not schoolboys. Demonstrators!” and continued with a frown: “They’re demonstrators. And demonstrations can turn bad, very bad. They get angry and become violent.” His father’s head disappeared behind the newspapers as he grunted, “Happened a long time ago- the 1950s. We don’t have them now.”

Cheng nodded. But he was watching the speaker whose expression seemed to alternate between intense deliberation and wild agitated gestures, his high forehead glistening with the heat of his passion.

“Schoolboys fighting.”