“You see?” Peter said quietly to me. “Life.”
We set up camp in a shaded clearing on the edge of the jungle, within sight of the beach. Mamoru hacked at some saplings with a parang, felling them with single strokes of the curved blade. The clearing was ideal, Mamoru said. The ground was dry and covered with short grass and sand. Around it stood trees with firm trunks — perfect for hammocks — and thick foliage offering cool respite from the sun; the barrier of scrub at the edge of the beach provided a natural windbreak.
The men left in search of fresh water. Mamoru said that he sensed it close at hand. Once we had a reliable source of water for bathing and drinking, there was little else we needed, he said. He lifted his head as if to smell the air. “We will not want for much in this place.” They split up, Mamoru pairing with Honey, and Peter with Johnny.
“Coming, Snow?” Peter said. I looked at him and Johnny and then turned to catch Mamoru’s eye.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think I will stay here and get things organised for your return.”
As soon as they left I took out my diary and began to write.
Recording the events of the past few days has not been easy for me. The reliving of certain moments has been more painful than I had anticipated. Whilst writing these last entries, I have found myself pausing in order to contemplate the words, to rethink the sequence of events. I have never done this before. It is as if I am unsure of everything. The world in which I seek refuge — this world, my world — is no longer as assuring as it once was. This diary is still my own. I can still be alone within it. But I am not certain now of what it means to be alone.
MAMORU AND HONEY RETURNED FIRST. It was as they had expected. A freshwater stream was close by, barely half a mile away. “Let me show you,” Mamoru said, extending his hand to me.
“Yes, what a good idea,” Honey added. “I’ll leave the two of you to enjoy the walk on your own.” He had a smile on his face, yet he looked as if he was frowning with worry. I could not decipher this expression.
We walked through an ancient and silent jungle, the tread of our feet crunching loudly around us. Hazy sunlight filtered through the foliage and conjured shadowy shapes in the air.
“I am sorry about what happened at sea, during the storm,” Mamoru said.
“Please,” I said before he could continue. “I do not want you to apologise. You did what you believed was right. That is all we can do in our lives. You did not know where I was — how could you have saved me? If you had not acted as you did, Johnny would be dead. I do not want to hear any more on the subject.”
We walked in silence for a while. I reached out and felt for his hand. When I touched it he clasped mine in return.
We reached a clearing by the stream. A grove of wild bananas and elephant grass encircled us.
“Please forgive me,” said Mamoru, unbuttoning his shirt. “I need desperately to bathe the salt from my body.” He waded into the water, his khaki shorts ballooning as he did so. When he reached the middle of the stream and the water was at waist height, he curled his body and plunged underwater. After a few seconds, he surfaced some distance away, breathing out with a strangled yell of exhilaration. “The water feels wonderful,” he said, his whole face shining. “You should come in.”
I stood uncertainly for a second, my toes curling into the mud at the edge of the stream. He turned away from me to swim down-river with the current, and I began to unbutton the blouse of my samfu. I was unsure as to what to do with my trousers, but finally I undid them too and stepped into the icy water.
Mamoru turned around as I called out with the shock of the cold. He swam towards me, but by the time he reached me my skin had acclimatised to the temperature of the water. I experienced the most curious sensation. Whilst my skin tingled with cold, a warmth I had never known grew from the core of my body, spreading inside me, into my chest, stomach, neck, fingers. Where the warmth met the cold, a glow covered my body, sheathing me in a new, different skin. My old flesh no longer existed.
“How is it?” he said.
I simply smiled.
He scooped some water in his cupped hands and brought it to his lips. As he drank a trickle ran down his chin and down his chest. He cupped his hands again, and this time moved towards me. Without thinking, I opened my mouth and drank. The water tasted of palm syrup and stale rice.
We bathed for a while, paddling silently in the shallow water.
“I promise I shan’t look,” he said as I went back to the bank.
I laughed. “That might be wise,” I said. “You might be shocked if you do.”
He turned away and swam gracefully, hardly causing a ripple. Against the dark, tree-shaded water, his skin glowed a pure white.
We had only been back at our camp for a short time before Peter and Johnny appeared, breathless from their walk. Johnny was rubbing his shoulder, and Peter’s face and arms were flecked with little red cuts.
