An odd smell wakes him from his slumber; it reminds him of the cheese larder in Richmond Hill. Dawn is breaking and light bruises the room. Leonard turns his head and sees a yellowed body lying beside him with floppy cheeks like failed soufflé. When the body's eyes open and it turns his head towards him, Leonard sees that it is Mao Zedong.
'Mao. I saw you . . . when I was in Beijing. I saw you. The guards, they pushed me in the back because I stopped the queue moving to get a proper look at you.'
'You must be preserved, like me,' Mao says. His lips are pale and his eyes are dark and weary.
'I know. But nobody wants me. I'm not famous like you.'
'But your skin is famous.'
'Everyone wants to bury me.'
'You should stand your ground.' Mao doesn't blink. His body is motionless, only his head is turned towards Leonard.
Leonard sits up in bed and unbuttons his nightshirt as though he is preparing himself for a lover. He points to his lower left abdomen.
'There, there you are,' he says excitedly, pointing to Mao's face in black and orange ink. 'X did this one in '88. It's one of my favourites.' Mao studies his tattooed face with interest. 'Oh, oh . . . and there's another one too. Where was it?' Leonard pulls his pyjama pants up, his age spelled out in his slow, frail movements. He checks his right leg first, then finds what he is looking for on his left leg, just under the scar on his knee from the surgery. 'Can you see the words "Once all struggle is grasped, miracles are possible"? They're your words. Can you see them?'
'I can see them.'
'Fantastic words. Fantastic,' Leonard says, shaking his head with enthusiasm. 'I used to make my students learn that line.' Happily, he buttons his shirt again and lies back down facing Mao. 'We're lying in state together,' he whispers.
'Huh?'
'In state.' But the conversation is over, because Mao has disappeared.