Bugail Enlli rounded Pen Cristin and came into calmer water. The sound had been wilder than Gethin could remember and everyone was soaked. The two Germans left behind by the Observatory boat had sat next to him and in the first minutes of the crossing, in the relative calm of the Llŷn’s lee, they’d introduced themselves. Gethin, filled with the confidence of his A*, had said, ‘Hallo! Mein Name ist Gethin Llŷr.’ He’d tried to explain that it would probably get rougher once they got into the channel and that it might be a good idea to wear the waterproofs that were tucked through the straps of their rucksacks. Bernd, the one Gethin supposed was about his own age, speaking in English that was better than Gethin’s German, had said that it was his first time on such a small boat. When all the conversations had submitted to awe at the waves and silent prayers, Bernd wove his arm through Gethin’s to stop himself being thrown around so much. Later, standing side by side on the uneven jetty in the Cafn, passing all the luggage from the boat along the line to the waiting tractor and trailer, Gethin and Bernd talked easily. The German boy was impressed that Gethin had been to the island every summer; he asked about its wonders. Did Gethin know about the Seal Cave? He’d read all about it; was it hard to find? Gethin said that it was, but that he’d take him there if he liked.

When Bernd came to Carreg Fawr later in the day to find Gethin, Ann Jones, who’d been kneading the first batch of dough, had tried to explain that she wasn’t Mrs Llŷr, but Mrs Jones – but that he could call her Ann anyway. Bernd, in his confusion, had said that in Germany it was impossible for children not to carry their parent’s family name. Ann had done her best to explain that her three children were named according to an old Welsh tradition whereby sons were known as ‘son of’ and daughters as ‘daughter of’ – so Eilir was Eilir Ann and Gethin was Gethin Llŷr. Though Gethin had gone fishing with Seifion and Ann didn’t know for sure when they’d be back, Bernd stayed with her at Carreg Fawr and she told him stories about the island; he especially liked the idea that they might be stuck there for days if the weather turned bad. When Gethin and Seifion returned with three large pollack, more than enough for supper, Bernd and Gethin went to climb all five hundred and forty-eight feet of Mynydd Enlli; from the ‘mountain-top’ Gethin could point out interesting places and give Bernd his bearings.

The hour after all the supper things had been cleared away was quiet time. Gethin had never thought to question this, it was part of their life on Enlli; an hour in silence to listen for the wisdom of the twenty thousand saints and God. The last quarter of the quiet hour was evening prayer and they all came together in the small front room; sometimes this was silent too, and at other times someone would say whatever their day on the island moved them to say. Gethin thought about Bernd; when he’d put his arm through Gethin’s, on the boat, he’d become aroused… he’d had an erection. The memory of it, now – before God, left him filled with shame. It would be hard to live as a homosexual in a world with God, Gethin thought, but how much harder might life be without God?