Rika sniffed, gave a small laugh, a long moan.

‘I’ll back you whatever you decide,’ Gina said. ‘Other people will too.’

She’d back her if she decided to go with Aaron. If he asked, Rika said, which he hadn’t. For the rest, Gina said, they’d have to ride it out. Don’t be frightened off. Change was coming, and it was coming faster than this town realised.

‘Independence,’ she said. ‘Think about it. Its widest meaning. For you, for me, for all of us.’ A bracing concept, independence.

‘Now go home,’ Gina said. She kissed Rika on the cheek. Courage, she said. She took Martha’s hand, a slight squeeze as if to say they were in this together, all of them, and that she, too, must measure up.

Back at the house, with nothing to do but wait, Rika couldn’t rest; she couldn’t even sit. She felt singed, as if her nerves had moved closer to the surface, a form of sickness, maybe, or of sorcery.

‘We’ll clean the cupboards,’ she said, startling Mela into a rush of activity: furniture-moving, cupboard-emptying, bucket-filling. Lizards dozing on the walls and ceilings watched in disbelief.

The afternoon wore on. Rifle watched from the shade with the men who came and went, joining him for a smoke as they picked their way between the houses. There seemed more of this traffic than usual; Rika could see them nodding their heads and looking towards the house. Towards her. Mela came out with a bucket and Rifle called across to her, a stream of language that had her tutting and shaking her head.

‘What?’ she asked Mela. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Sorry,’ Mela said. ‘Sore tumas.’ There’d been a row. A big row in the canteen between Jacob and Aaron. One of the bois from the kitchen was outside under the tree. He’d seen it all.

‘Tell me,’ Rika said, going out to Rifle. ‘What happened?’

The story emerged in a torrent of words. Jacob had brought back kago bilong tumbana – traditional artefacts – from the fjords. ‘He sell them for money,’ Rifle said. He’d sold them for money to a no-good Chinaman, who had come to town last week on a balus, an aeroplane. ‘Tomorrow he go.’ Aaron was angry. Kross tru. He’d shouted at Jacob in the canteen. Many bad words.

Rika was confused. Aaron hadn’t said anything to her about ancestral objects. What were they exactly? Lime pots, Rifle said. Necklaces. Plumes. She still didn’t understand. When had Aaron found out about this?

The sun slipped down the sky. Four o’clock became five. Still no Aaron.

At five-thirty, Sam arrived with a message.

‘Apologise,’ Rika said. ‘Why should he apologise?’

‘He has to go to town. It’s important and he’s sorry. He didn’t expect it. He’ll come as soon as he can.’

‘Why’s he gone to town?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t quite understand. Something to do with things Jacob brought back with him from the fjords. Carved lime pots and head-rests. Bird of paradise plumes.’