Christmas for Kong had never been as bloody, nor as violent and carnal, as legend might lead one to expect. For so many decades the community on the other side of the barrier, seething with their own concerns, had made tribute to the great Kong, the King Kong. Fashions and tastes changed from generation to generation behind the barrier, but the offerings remained as steadfastly, as solidly, uniform as the dread Kong himself. It is no wonder, of course, that the people thought of him as a god. And as a god he could not go blameless when a typhoon capsized the fishing boats and destroyed the market. But as a god he could be placated; a quiet Christmas could be predicted by a doubling of tribute. Not just a young girl, scented with clove oil and drugged to calmness, but also a teenage boy picked by a lottery, and a basket of glass blown into shapes too delicate for Kong to handle. The glass shapes represented fishes, fruits, sometimes eggs (for fertility), female shapes (for luck in marriage) and flowers. For the people behind the barrier, flowers symbolised prosperity. If Kong overturned the basket while ripping the human offerings from their stakes, then a bad year was foretold. If the basket remained more or less intact then the people could rejoice in a great and fortuitous year ahead. He ate the offerings. This is what he has always done. For the offerings to take place at Christmas was natural: the Winter Solstice heralded the triumph of light over darkness and a true beginning to the next twelve months of survival and trade.

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