On an island so mountainous, the only means of penetrating the interior was to work one’s way up the valleys. The valleys began to narrow, the sides growing precipitous. He and Mehao climbed for hours, while the ravine narrowed to the width of a streambed. The sides were vertical, with vegetation choking every handhold. Pal labored over obstacles, scrabbling on the loose debris in the dark.

The ravine finally opened into a narrow track spanning a ridge, far above the tree canopy.

The sky began to pale. The track led to a large flat rock above a precipice six hundred feet high. The abyss was partially concealed by overhanging ferns and lilies. The Alps have a grander scale, Murnau thought, but for abruptness of the fall, nothing compared with this.

There Mehao extracted his gift from his shirt: a small folded parcel of leaves containing starfruit and two unripe bananas. A picnic, intended to cheer up his friend.

Murnau thanked him. The boy made them comfortable in a hollowed-out notch in the rock a foot or so back from the edge. Then he pointed out an interesting feature of the track off to the east, where it bordered an innocent-looking bank of moderate steepness. He was pointing to a notorious spot about which Murnau had been warned. The bank grew steeper in the center, where the slope was nearly 65 degrees. Off the track the grass was cropped short by the goats, and slippery. There was nothing on which to catch hold, and every so often a hiker would slip. He could slow himself, but not stop. His slide proceeded from exasperating to terrifying, and from there off into space. The place was called the Judgment Seat. The boy didn’t know why.

The two of them contemplated the slippery grass without speaking. Beyond it they could see the Residency. The light was brightening behind the islands to the east. The mountain ranges were lifting into relief. Attenuated clouds took flight overhead.

He began to weep. He took the boy’s hand. Who knew what he’d left untouched and what he’d polluted? Who knew what he had yet to ruin? The boy lifted their clasped hands and brought them to his chest. Again he seemed content to sit and respect his friend’s incomprehensible grieving.

It was as if freedom were an endless, snowy plain. He had come to make a movie. He had conceived the idea, sold it, talked his collaborators into working with him, raised a crew, sailed to the islands, written the story, and dealt with the collapse of funding. He had overseen the casting, the locations, the schedule, and the natives’ training and discipline. He’d ferried groups about, fought, ordered, wheedled, lied, seduced, abandoned, settled disputes, hated, and loved. He’d attempted to snatch opportunity as it had revealed itself.