“Why does that make you smile? There was never a man you were interested in?”

Abby shook her head, her mood lightening. “The other way around. There was never one interested in me. The men figured I wouldn’t be the kind of wife they wanted. Which was true.”

“And what kind of wife did they expect?”

“One who would do the hard work. Women gather the food, except for the meat. They fetch water from the river, prepare the meals, care for the children. They weave the baskets, make the clothes, mend holes in the huts—”

“What do the men do?”

“They hunt, mostly. And fish. And train the boys.”

“So the men go hunting every day, and the women do everything else.”

Abby laughed. “Pretty much. Inisi men have one set of tasks, the women another. For the Inisi, that’s what marriage is about.”

“What about…you know, love?”

“Tribal marriages aren’t about love. Well, a few started to be, after watching my parents. Their marriage was…” Abby thought for a moment. “Tender. That’s the best word to describe it. Fun. Dad and Mom laughed a lot.

“Seeing them, a few of the younger men started to woo girls romantically—what they considered romance, in any case. But marriages are still primarily for subsistence. That arrangement never appealed to me, not after seeing what my parents had.” Abby glanced around. “This house is big. You live here by yourself?”

Kate smiled. “It’s not so big. Until a couple of months ago, my partner, Matt, lived here too. But he moved back to the States.”

“He was your husband? Why did he leave his house?” Abby looked truly perplexed.

“No, he wasn’t my husband. He…” How to explain Western social mores? “We both owned this house. When he left, I bought his share.”

“Oh.” Abby seemed like she might have other questions, but Kate rose and began clearing the table. She didn’t know if she could talk to Abby about Matt—it was so complicated. She insisted that Abby relax on the couch while she straightened the kitchen.

When Kate entered the living room, she found Abby curled up with a large, old book. The binding was fragile, but Abby seemed to be tender with the antique. “I see you found my photo album. My grandmother put that together sixty years ago.”

Abby gingerly turned a couple of pages. “These are your sago drawings.”

“My what?”

“To remember family members when they die, the Inisi cut a long piece of wood from a sago palm and carve drawings to tell that person’s life story. They hang the wood in their huts. If you visit them, they’ll point to the drawings and say, ‘This is my mother’s story. This is my grandfather’s. That’s my sister’s.’” Abby closed the book. “Do you have recent photos from the States?”

“Of course. I can pull them up on a visiscreen.”