The host, coming to greet them on the veranda, was Alex Penrose, a plump man whose glasses slid down his nose in the heat. He was the professor of anthropology.

‘Welcome,’ he said, his arms out wide. ‘Come in. Come in. Let me introduce you.’

Professors. Wives in those terrible slacks. The vice-chancellor. A politician from the new indigenous party, serious, with neat, cropped hair. A sea of hands shook Rika’s. Names skimmed through her head and were gone.

The room was sparsely furnished. The chairs were pushed to one side, and standing back against a wall was a group of young men with springy hair – students, she supposed. They had beer bottles in their hands; they held them as the white men did, but their faces were hesitant. There seemed something transitional about them. She liked that. Maybe she was too. She smiled and a ripple passed between them as they watched her, all blonde fringe and pale legs. Her indigo shift was getting more attention than Alex Penrose’s story of how he’d lured Leonard to this new university that was still being built in this dry valley.

He’d been visiting the Martyrs School across the mountains, over on the north coast, where the Japanese had landed during the war. ‘Named for the Anglican nuns who left their retreat too late,’ he told Leonard. ‘Foolish creatures, they trusted their god to save them.’ He paused for laughter, which duly came. ‘Still, it’s a good school – we’ve a lot of students from there. I’d been there all day and was about to leave, when a boy came up. Smaller than the others, lighter-boned. From the mountain, the headmaster said. I thought the boy wanted to ask more about coming to the university, but, no, my introductory talk doesn’t usually get such a response.’ He paused for effect. The vice-chancellor laughed. The men crowded around laughed. ‘The boy said, “The mountain asks for you,” and I said, “You mean the chiefs,” and he said, “No, the mountain.” It was one of those moments. I might as easily have said no – it’s not as if they don’t keep us busy here’ – another pause, another laugh – ‘but how can you turn down an invitation like that?’

‘If you hadn’t gone,’ Rika said, ‘we wouldn’t be here.’

‘I suppose you wouldn’t,’ Alex said.

‘Or maybe you would,’ the politician said. ‘More than one road can lead to where we’re going.’

‘Yes?’ Rika looked at him. Cautious. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her. She thought not.

‘You people have strange ideas of causality. You like to see the link and prove it.’

‘How else would we get here?’

‘Maybe the boy was right and the ancestors were calling you.’

‘To here?’ Rika was doubtful.

The politician smiled. ‘I meant to the mountain,’ he said. ‘But maybe here as well.’

More laughter, though not from Rika.

‘As an anthropologist, I wouldn’t dismiss the possibility,’ Leonard said. He had turned to the politician. ‘I’ve seen evidence of other causalities.’ He took a long draw on his pipe, and the conversation, with Alex conducting, returned to the mountain.