Mamoru joined me when Peter and Johnny were at the far end of the beach. “Peter and your husband are very good friends,” he said. “I think they mean a lot to each other.”
I laughed. “I had not thought of it before. It doesn’t seem to me that the two of them are capable of the emotional bonds you speak of.”
“I didn’t mean to say that they have established a spiritual rapport, or that they would remain close friends forever. I simply said that they represent something to each other.”
I looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He laughed. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m not sure. Each seems to symbolise something in the eyes of the other. I have not been able to discern the nature of these symbols. How terrible for an academic to be so vague.”
“Honestly, Mamoru,” I said, smiling at him, “I didn’t think you spent so much time observing people. Your brain must never rest.”
He dropped his head and looked at the sand. (He is so easily embarrassed.) “I don’t spend time watching people,” he said, as if he had made a mistake and was apologising for it. “I do think about things, of course, but that is after all what my profession demands of me.”
“I was only teasing,” I said. I wanted to touch him, to assure him I meant no offence, but I did not; I was not sure it was the right thing to do. He sat up and looked out at the beach. No one was in sight. He took my hand and placed it against his cheek. “You are allowed to tease me as much as you like,” he said.
Later in the day we remembered something important. Mamoru noticed the tide coming in and gathered us all together. We gazed out at the islands. The copper-coloured water glowed uncertainly around them. “They’ve got to be Maidens,” Peter said softly. “Come on, disappear.”
But they did not. The sun had dipped below the horizon but the islands were still there.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Peter said. Mamoru agreed, saying again that we needed to survey the area.
We trudged back to our little camp under the tree and set about preparing supper. I helped Mamoru collect broken coconut husks and small pieces of wood. No one spoke. We settled down with our tins around the hesitant fire. The last of the purple light stained the sky. I allowed myself a final look at the two small islands.
“Look,” I whispered.
In the glowing twilight only one island remained. The other, which previously sat immovably beside it, had vanished into the sea. In its place there was only twilight sky. It was as if it had never existed.
There is only one other thing I need to say (the fire is nearly out): at last I can believe we are truly alive.
WE SAILED AROUND THE ISLANDS in waters smoother than glass. Peter’s voice filled the space around us with song. It seemed to echo in the windless sky; each note hung in the air for a very long time, playing in my ears whilst the next note danced over it. Sometimes (as when Peter sang that song which seems to be his favourite) I could not understand any of the words. The notes seemed to weave in and out of one another, no longer discernible, like a length of shot silk held up close to your eyes. It made me smile. I looked at Mamoru; his hands steered the boat with the lightest of touches, his eyes were clear and very bright.
I sat with Peter and Johnny as we went past each of the islands. Earlier that morning we had made the decision to pack our things and set off exploring the islands. Mamoru was hopeful our reconnaissance would unearth a site suitable for a permanent camp. Although they varied in size — some were little more than large boulders whilst others seemed to stretch for miles — the coastlines of the islands were similar: rocky barriers punctuated by sandy coves. Behind them, small coconut trees rose from the low, scrubby forests, their trunks dried bone-white by the salty air.
“How will we know which one to stop at?” I said to Peter. “They all look the same.”
“It’ll announce itself to us, my dear, it’ll announce itself,” he replied.
By midday, however, we had still seen only six islands, and none of them seemed very special. Not one showed any signs of life. Not a single bird hovered over the trees; the forests looked dry and fruitless. “Aren’t the Seven Maidens renowned for their flora and fauna?” I asked Peter.
“That’s what people say, yes.”
“There doesn’t appear to be any.”
“How can you tell? That rather unpromising façade may disguise an entire universe of riches.”
“Or it may be even more barren than it appears.”
Mamoru and Honey were deep in discussion, examining one of Mamoru’s maps.
“The Seventh Maiden isn’t where it should be,” I overheard Mamoru say.
“I don’t understand,” Honey said, his voice lowered. “You said these maps were a hundred percent accurate.”
“They are. Something is not right.”
“Maybe we’re not looking in the right place, or we’re overlooking something? Perhaps the Seventh disappears with the tide too?”
