The crowd had grown and the mood was turning.

‘We must hear each other. We must hear all the people of Papua.’ Papua, came the response. ‘And all the people of New Guinea.’ New Guinea. ‘We must hear what the people are saying, those who are afraid of this new day coming. Why are they angry? Why are they afraid? What injustices have they seen? We must ask these questions before we can know what can be negotiated, what must be compensated, what must be restored. Our elders know this when they step into the meeting place to speak to the clans.’

Martha caught a glint of sunglasses, and saw that someone had got out of the car and was leaning against it. With a jolt she realised it was Jacob, and that he was watching her and Rika, unwatched himself. He inclined his head towards them. So he was back from Malaysia.

Rika looked towards Martha. She’d spotted him too. The last time either had seen him was at a party, which Martha didn’t want to recall. It had been at Hohola, with the string band playing. Pete was away somewhere; she and Jacob were dancing. The band was playing and they were dancing, closer and closer, until they fell into the cushions on the veranda bed. Hand, mouth, breast, breath. Then Rika was standing over them. ‘Go home, Jacob,’ she’d said. ‘You’re drunk.’

Below them, standing with the megaphone in his hand, Aaron was still talking.

‘We know how to talk. Papuans can hear New Guineans, Highlanders can sit down and talk with coastal people. We do not need to fight. We need to listen with our many ears. We need to see with our many eyes. We need to come together. Bung wantaim! Ahebou! All of us together.’

By the time Somare appeared, the crowd was ready for him.

As Somare took the megaphone, Martha caught another flash from Jacob’s sunglasses. Silver rims. He opened a small, shiny case, took out a cigarette and bent to light it. His law firm must be doing well. There were rumours that he had Malaysian money behind him. When Somare finished speaking, the crowd, primed by Aaron, rearranged itself to march with him in a gesture of peace to Hanuabada, the harbour village. The canoes that had been out over the reef for safety were returning there.

‘Let us greet them in peace,’ Somare said.

Rika and Martha watched Jacob tack through the crowd. He shook a hand here, stopped for a word there, offered a cigarette, slapped a shoulder. He was making his way towards Aaron. They shook hands, a quick exchange, then Jacob greeted the men around him and continued his way through the crowd, moving slowly towards Rika and Martha.

‘Rika,’ he said with a short bow, which in another age and place might have been accompanied by a click of heels. ‘You’ve been in the fjords,’ he said. ‘Afa Noah told me.’ But whatever it was that afa Noah had said was left to hang in the air. Rika lifted her camera. Click, click. ‘Is that so?’ she said as she moved away. In the photo Jacob is standing beside Martha, looking into the sun. His hair is billowing out around his large black glasses. Her hand is raised against the glare.