Martha sat at the front, looking resolutely forward, and by the time they rounded the tip of the finger and turned towards the village, the day had arrived, the land had regained its texture, smoke was rising from the cookhouse fires. A canoe, probably Naomi’s, was crossing the fjord to collect water. Another canoe was rocking over the reef.

‘Aaron,’ Jacob said.

‘How do you know?’

‘Who else would be out swimming at this hour?’ He screwed up his eyes, looking into the bright glare of water until he found them, two heads, all that showed of them, and slid the canoe alongside.

‘You swim what?’ he called. ‘You tourist, eh?’ And then to Rika, ‘You watch him well. No good he drowns.’ Martha saw his words register on her face. ‘That’d finish you with the village.’ He laughed, but there was nothing merry about it, and they pulled away, gliding on towards the village.

‘Why did you say that to her?’

‘She needs to watch out. There’s talk of sorcery.’

‘Don’t put it in her head. She’s nervy enough.’ He was playing into her fear, flirting with it.

‘What I don’t understand,’ Martha said as he brought the canoe into the rocks at the edge of the village, ‘is what it is with you and Rika. I don’t know if you love her or hate her. Nothing you do makes sense when it comes to her.’

‘Ah, Martha,’ he said, ‘you read too many books.’ With that he walked up the grass to Noah’s house, and soon after she heard the engine of the dinghy coming from the station to collect him for the plane.

Now she and Rika were on that same stretch of grass, forlorn and alone with Dawson, the clerk, waiting for Aaron to come down from the gardens. The breeze had come up, ruffling the water. A small dark cloud was hanging above them, and though the sun was still out, it had turned the water a glittery mauve. It was hot and humid. Rika’s face shone with sweat and distress. She looked wretched. Over at the cookhouse the women kept their backs turned. Only Naomi crossed the grass. ‘Do not be afraid,’ she said, and Rika’s banked tears spilled over.

‘It was not me,’ she said. ‘I do not want him to go. True. It is the government. Always the gavman.’

Naomi looked towards the women, hesitated, then gestured for her to accompany her to the cookhouse. They were boiling water for tea. Rika shook her head, refused.

‘We go,’ Dawson said, meaning over to the women, who had turned and were watching. ‘For you, they make tea.’

Again Rika shook her head.

‘I think we should,’ Martha said. She could see from the way Naomi looked at Rika that it was an offer, a hand stretched back towards her. ‘We should go,’ Martha said again.

Rika swung round. ‘Stay out of it,’ she snapped.

A pulse in Martha’s chest played an angry riff of fear.