The breeze was becoming a wind. Bright drops of rain fell from the small dark cloud. Birds vanished into the trees. They stood there, Naomi with them, for the minutes that passed, each as long as an hour, before Aaron and the men came running into the village. The boatman looked across the fjord to choppy water. ‘Time we must go.’

The last sound from the village as the dinghy rounded the point was of women keening, calling Aaron’s name. ‘Son of ours. Brother. Come back. Return to us. Oh, misfortune.’

THE VERANDA OF THE KIAP’S HOUSE LOOKED OUT OVER THE FJORD to mountains that stretched, fold upon fold, to the south-east. It was sunset, six o’clock, and he was pouring gin and tonics. Martha and Rika were sitting in wicker chairs; they could have been colonial travellers from Martha’s research.

‘Cheers,’ the kiap said, sinking himself into the chair beside Rika. He was dressed like Dawson, in long white socks and buff shorts. ‘Used to be a good place, here, but even this is frowned on now.’ He lifted his glass. ‘The planter’s drink.’ His foot prodded at the half wall of woven pandanus. ‘There won’t be any of this left in twenty years.’

Rika made a noncommittal sound. Her lips were pursed, enough to register her mood. Aaron was in the office with Dawson on the radio telephone to Derek.

‘How are you getting on in the village?’ the kiap asked her.

‘Okay,’ she said. Her voice was flat, resistant.

‘It’s beautiful there.’ Martha filled the gap.

‘Yes, they’re very picturesque, the villages. All those palm trees and the reef. We get young Australians wanting to dive here, and we try to keep them on the station. We’ve got a dormitory.’ He waved his hand behind him. ‘But they want to stay in the villages. It’s usually a disaster.’

‘Maybe because they’re not invited,’ Rika said.

‘The villagers are on the make, looking for any chance. You should be careful, young lady, they’ll be wanting a lot from you. They see us as cash cows.’

Martha blushed.

‘I’m jaundiced,’ the kiap said, getting up. ‘Another?’ Rika shook her head. ‘Oh, they can be charming too, the Papuans.’ A lot of gin went into his glass, a splash of tonic. ‘I’ve friends here I’ll miss. But I’ve seen a lot of people hurt. Young people. Romantic people. They go to the villages and expect a paradise.’ He paused. ‘Has Aaron got gardens down there?’

‘They’re clearing one for him.’ Rika said, and at that moment Aaron appeared with Dawson.

‘G and T?’ the kiap asked Aaron. ‘A beer for you, Dawson, I suppose.’ At least he gives him a drink, Martha thought, softening to him by just a degree, then rebuking herself; why should he be praised for a common civility?

When they were alone later that night, on the walkway to the rooms where they were to sleep, Rika said to Aaron that the sooner they got the likes of him out of the place, the better, and he replied that there weren’t many of them left, the old-style kiaps, and they had their uses. Somare didn’t want them back in another guise. ‘At least if they’re working for us, we know where they are.’