The man led Gideon into the first house with his family, Munro and me trailing behind. Rough weatherboards on the outside, hessian sheets lining the interior walls. It was dark inside, basic and small enough to feel crowded. A hen bolted through underfoot as we entered. There were dried tussocks thrown on the floor here, too, and the planking was an odd miscellany of rough-milled timbers that looked local, combined with more finely cut ones that showed flakes of paint from previous lives. A handful of bottles and jugs sat on the mantel, and a central table, waxed to a shine, was dominated by the bulk of a heavy bible. There were blankets strewn on chairs. These were not affluent people, but I marked that once again the interior was neater and cleaner than my own home.

Gideon looked through the two bedrooms and then followed the man out the rear door to the wash-house and privy. Nothing appeared to catch the doctor’s eye; nor did he appear any more interested when we passed through the second, smaller house. He was led into a rickety timber shed that contained tools: he examined them cursorily but said nothing.

At first, not knowing him, I had scorned him. Then I knew him—and I wanted him. At this moment he seemed unknown once more. Maybe he was several people, I thought now. Maybe we all are.

Bugs circled in a beam of light that came through a high gap in the wall; he watched them carefully but without investment: as if they could tell him nothing.

On returning to the vegetable patch, he squatted down and peered at the seedlings, asking what variety each of them was. Then, to the consternation of the family, he reached under the net and began pulling them out, one by one, sniffing at them and chewing one or two: when he ate a sour one he made a comical grimace and a small boy, the one who trailed behind the nursing mother, laughed. She freed a hand to cuff the child over the back of the head.

The doctor was led next to a series of pens and small paddocks containing the family’s livestock: two pigs, a small herd of goats, a single cow and some chickens. He asked about each, about their health and their manner, how they were producing and whether anything tasted strange. The boy went straight to a russet hen and picked it up, stroking its feathers and presenting it proudly for our inspection. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.