‘Anyway,’ Mary continued, ‘Eliot learned to use his head. When they said something to make him angry so that he wanted to answer back, he just shut his ears. It worked, until the end. . . We were happy.’ Mary hesitated and sat back on her heels. Her eyes were bewildered and tired. ‘After all that, I lost him. And now. . .’ her voice trailed away. Mary let out a short sigh that sounded like a sob. ‘Now, it feels like one of my arms is missing.’

Mary insisted that Ginie begin to walk in the garden in the mornings, to build up her strength. ‘We’re all animals,’ she said. ‘We need food, water, sleep and exercise to live.’

The rains were over, the humidity of the jungle had disappeared and the grass was drying out. The skies were deep and clear and the days were warm, but the air in the early mornings and evenings held a chill edge, signalling the approach of winter.

Ginie felt like she was recovering from a long illness. She still weak, she held Mary’s arm as they walked. But it wasn’t a physical illness she had suffered; it was an illness of the mind. She was going through an inner adjustment, letting go of what she’d believed she must have in order to live.

Her recovery was marked by the return of the pleasure she took in her garden. It looked established now: the trees growing, shrubs blooming, and flowers in profusion. Despite the changing weather, she and Mary still saw butterflies, birds and the odd buck. Ginie was especially fond of the monkeys who gathered in the trees, waiting to raid the oyster nut vines, or chased each other over the grass. There was one who always walked on his hands, his tail in the air exposing startling turquoise balls. He probably had something wrong with his hips, but Ginie loved him for being different.

Each day, they visited a different section of the land. Some days, they went to Ginie’s beloved roses, which bloomed all year round. On other days, they took empty baskets to the vegetable garden and walked up and down the neat beds, picking salad or vegetables for lunch. Ginie refused to set foot in the Dell and Mary did not try to persuade her. They spoke the entire time they walked.

Mary confided in Ginie that she had wanted to be a teacher, but her family didn’t have enough money for her to train.

‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘my father thought it a waste to school his daughters beyond grade six. Girl children would get only get married and enrich another family. He used to say, “You can’t cook books and serve them to your husband for supper.”’