She went into the dark bedroom and wept. She wept noisily, taking in sharp breaths, not caring if she was heard. When she returned to the platform, Leonard hovering beside her, she stood looking at the painted cloth on the wall. ‘Look at them. How can their art be so sure, so balanced, so absolute, when they blind the pigs?’ She leaned against him and sobbed. Her eyes were red and her nose wet when Nogi appeared, carrying two folded cloths.

‘A gift for you,’ Janape translated, as Nogi handed her the cloth Rika had seen her painting with Janape’s mother: a pattern of mountains, row upon row of them; black lines and a burned orange paint that glowed like the sun. ‘They make it for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Rika bowed her head. What to give in return? Money was a crude offering. Even so, she contemplated putting a note in each hand – an incongruous gesture, like tipping a maid. She looked into their eyes and the thought faded.

‘Huëmae,’ she said. ‘Duvahe. Sister-friend.’

Then Nogi handed her the second cloth and the women who’d come to cluster around them fell very quiet.

‘Nogi say, this cloth it is for you,’ Janape translated. ‘You have come to the mountain, the first tauba woman, the same as us. You have seen well, and we are proud.’

Rika knew, even as it came into her hand, that it was the ground-spider painting, the sunrays. She could feel tears rise and an impulse to say no, she was unworthy. But something in the way Nogi looked at her made it possible to accept, and when the tears spilled over, they were oddly calm, as if, just possibly, grief could be held in balance with the future.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Huëmae.’

Their hands clasped, tauba-style, but the exchange was in the eyes. Nogi wasn’t smiling exactly, but when Rika met her gaze she held it with kindness.

And so it was in some confusion of mind that Rika walked down to the river. When she stood on the rocks preparing to cross, Leonard leaned across for her Leica and took a shot of her and Janape, arms around each other beside the turbulent water. The sun was shining on their heads, the water was gleaming, and they were leaning in towards each other smiling. Then Rika took the camera back, turned it to Leonard and Janape, and there they were, Leonard pale and wretched, Janape shy beside him.

‘Go back up now, you’re still weak,’ Rika said to Leonard. ‘Let Boja help you.’

‘I will,’ he said. He put his hand to her cheek. ‘I’ll see you in a month or so.’

The river was high, covering the rocks where the women cleaned the vegetables. She waded across, one hand given to Janape, the other to Obi. Her every step was treacherous, while theirs were sure even as the current pushed at them and the stones moved under their feet. Albert crossed the river with Lilla on his shoulder.