Chapter 31

Several revisions of my Sally speech rolled around my head all afternoon until I gave up. The freshness of a deliberate attempt at spontaneity, paradoxical as that may sound, would be more convincing than a finely scripted performance.

For weeks I’d been working my way through The Brothers Karamazov. I opened at the bookmarked page but couldn’t concentrate, which wasn’t entirely Dostoyevsky’s or his translator’s fault. I abandoned the unequal struggle with patronymics and sat daydreaming until it was time for a shower. I went to supper a little before eight and found her alone at the table. Sometimes she came to meals in casuals that had been washed a hundred times too many, but tonight she could have walked straight out of the shop. She was the personification of beauty whatever she wore, but that she’d made herself especially alluring augured well. Her crisp sea-green cotton shirt was perfectly matched with a burgundy skirt. She’d washed her hair, fluffing it up like black fairy floss, and her lashes were longer.

We ate almost wordlessly. All went according to plan until Liz joined us at table, and for coffee. Often she ate and disappeared but tonight of all nights she flopped into an armchair in crushed work clothes, plainly with time to spare.

‘You’re leaving us on the twentieth, Magnus?’ she said, at which Sally couldn’t fully suppress a gasp, which she must have noticed.

‘Sadly, I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m severing connections with Baraga,’ I said, deliberately addressing them both. ‘Richard wants me to come back and I expect to be available, but I have business to attend to at home first.’

‘Did you have rabies shots before you came out? No? You should if you do return. I’m serious. Rabies is out there; it’s easy to forget it. That’s why dogs aren’t allowed on the compound. One of the theatre girls reminded me about it today—she wanted money for antiserum for a family member bitten yesterday. It’s fiendishly expensive by their standards, but is supposed to be available free at government hospitals. It rarely is, but you’ll always find it in private pharmacies, labelled Property of the Ministry of Health.’

She rambled on with a numbingly tedious account of rabies, including an item that must come close to holding the world record for useless trivia: the hyena is said to be the only mammal with natural immunity to this fearsome disease. Mundane conversation ground on until Liz picked up her stethoscope and asked Sally if she could take her mug.

‘No thanks, Liz,’ she said, all sugar. ‘I need another.’

After a moment’s hesitation Liz regrouped and said, ‘Allow me, then. Now that you mention it I could do with another myself. What about you, Magnus?’

I thanked her and waved her away. When she was out of earshot I whispered, ‘I reckon she aims to sit us out.’

She returned with the coffee, made herself comfortable, and droned on. Perhaps she’s still uptight about that abortion. Does she wish to discuss it when Sally leaves? Pause. She’d heard from Herbert Morrison. Had I? No? She gave us the gist of his email, little more than a bread-and-butter thankyou note, the regular homework of any courteous guest.

Sally pushed things along. ‘My turn, Liz. May I take your mug?’

‘Thanks so much,’ she smiled. ‘I thought I needed two, but these things are more like jugs than mugs, aren’t they? Pity to waste it, but sillier to drink it, I say.’

She relaxed, arms folded, assuming that Sally was about to depart, so was astonished when she returned with a refill. ‘Three? Are you an addict, girl? How do you sleep with all that on board?’

‘No problem. I’ve been at it since I was about five. Dad was a great coffee drinker, and some girls ape their fathers, you know?’

After a tiny pause Liz said grimly, ‘I don’t know that I do.’ There had to be a sad story behind this admission, but we weren’t to hear it. Her embarrassment at having opened a painful emotional window was obvious to us all. After an awkward silence she asked about my itinerary. If I planned a stopover in Singapore she had friends who would show me the sights. They were in business on the main drag, and knew the Tiger Balm Gardens family. I said I’d seen enough of Singapore but would remember her offer in case I was ever stuck there again.

Another twenty minutes of insipid chitchat ground on before it dawned on her that we were waiting to be left alone. She wished us goodnight, adding that if I could find time tomorrow she had a problem to discuss. Nothing urgent. Sure, Liz. About five seconds after leaving the room she returned, and couldn’t have missed Sally’s ear-to-ear grin. She said she’d forgotten to check the noticeboard, made a most unconvincing show of scanning it, and departed. Sally bit her cheeks until we heard the outside door shut.

‘Sal, there’s a few things I must say. First, I’m sorry she blurted out my departure date before I had a chance to tell you myself. Fact is, she’s right, and I’m feeling more miserable by the minute because you, my dear, make my days rich and exciting and worth living, far beyond anything I’ve ever imagined. That may sound corny, like the ravings of a teenager delirious with sap, but I can’t help that because it’s true. So I’ll be back. I’ve had one failed marriage, not all my wife’s fault, and maybe you think that brands me forever as a bad bet, but I’d like you to look at it this way: I’ve been to a hard school and have learnt a few things I needed to know.’

Her expression beat Mona Lisa’s by a country mile and she was about to interrupt, but I raised a Halt! hand. ‘Before you say anything I must tell you that since that ghastly afternoon when I told you I was married, kind of, Priscilla has seen a divorce lawyer. It sounds as if that’s all she’s done, but if she doesn’t follow through the first thing I’ll do when I hit Sydney is set it in train myself. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I must be a free man, in a position to ask you to marry me. There’s nothing in the world I want more than that. Something clicked the day I woke in that hospital bed and saw you leaning over me, and it’s gone on from there. First up I told myself it was nothing but—to put it bluntly—a testosterone tingle that’d fizzle out, given time. Let’s face it, our society is full of examples of exactly that, dressed up in romantic clothes that didn’t survive their first trip to the laundry. Maybe that was one of the flaws in my first marriage. I don’t know. Whatever it was, I’ve been running shy for fear of being burnt again, but the more I see of you the more I’m convinced this is the real thing.’

She drank in my ardour and was ready to reply, but I pressed on. ‘I don’t watch your roster so I sometimes walk into the ward hoping to find you but you’re off duty, and the day suddenly turns cold. That’s nonsensical in this climate, but that’s the effect you have. I don’t pretend to understand you fully, Sally, but I’m beyond caring. You’re a glorious new colour in the rainbow and the wellspring of all that I could possibly want, now and forever. I can’t find words to describe how much I long to spend the rest of my life making you happy. So, when I’m a free man, do you think you could bring yourself to marry me?’

Tears of joy aren’t common but I reckoned I saw them now. ‘Magnus, I don’t know where to begin … I thought this was coming and I dreamt about it for weeks, but it’s not as simple as you think.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘I don’t know if you’ll understand what I’m about to say, but you must try. I have two huge problems.’ She leant toward me, her face cupped in her hands. ‘I’ve always believed that, as a Christian, it’d be unthinkable for me to marry a man who wasn’t. You’re a good man, you’re kind and considerate and generous and all that, but—forgive me if I’m wrong—you’re not yet a believer. You’re still a live-and-let-live-er, right?’

‘Yes, but—‘

It was her turn to raise a traffic cop’s hand. ‘If you’re not a Christian, that puts a barrier between us, however much we’re in love. Weeks ago I told myself God couldn’t have brought us together in that extraordinary way without a purpose for us. I mean: whoever heard of a story like ours, you with your accident and me there for you, only because I was waiting for a visa? I thought the Lord couldn’t have done that, then send you here when we needed a specialist so desperately, for us to be sure we’re in love, and then tear us apart. I didn’t know how it’d play out, but I saw you trusting in Jesus and turning your life over to God, preferably before we were married, but if not then, some time afterwards.’

Her tone told me to brace for the big refusal, and if I’d known how to head her off I would have, but I sat transfixed as she dropped her head further into her hands. ‘I had that worked out beautifully, weeks ago. I was silly enough to think life shouldn’t have loose ends, but it seems to, you know, sometimes. When I found out you were married I nearly fall apart. You must’ve thought I was mad. I’d lie awake for hours because, you see, I’ve always believed that marriage is for life, which makes remarriage after divorce simply not on. I’ve known a few Christians whose love was complicated like that and they wriggled around their beliefs somehow but I’ve never been able to follow their reasoning. Now that it’s me on the spot and painfully personal instead of all theoretical, it’s a much harder question. I’ve prayed about it, Magnus, you’ve no idea how I’ve agonised over it, but I have no peace if I let myself dream about becoming your wife.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘I don’t understand you, Sal. Listen. There’s a few books in my house, and one quotes the stats on Christian marriage. It says twenty-five per cent of Americans who call themselves born again have been divorced, even more in the Bible Belt than elsewhere. Most marry again, of course. Are you telling me you’re holier than all those people, or what?’

She shook her head and found her handkerchief as real tears came. ‘Of course I’m not. Other people have to answer to God for themselves; it’s not for me to judge them. All I know is that obeying him can be costly, and however much I want to marry you, I simply couldn’t do it and keep saying I’m a believer. A believer who doesn’t follow Jesus Christ isn’t a believer, I’m sure of that. If you ask Richard—in fact, you could ask any of them—I’m sure you’ll find they agree with me.’

I was flabbered. I’d already learnt that these folks saw divorce as a major disaster, but calling it a barrier to remarriage was preposterously medieval. Or was she a half-baked closet nun, or tempted to sit on the fence for some other crazy reason? ‘You’re not a Catholic, are you?’

‘Of course I’m not. I’m affected by what my own church teaches—it would be strange if I weren’t—but that’s not the point. It comes down to whether or not I believe what the scriptures say. The way I read the Bible our marriage’d be adulterous, so I have no alternative but to say I can’t marry you. In fact, if I was half as good as I should be I’d shoo you off home to plead with your wife to give you another chance.’

I looked into her eyes, willing her to change her mind, and such was our rapport that she picked it and said, ‘Magnus, my love, they say hypnotists can’t make you do things you wouldn’t do otherwise, so please don’t try. It only makes it harder for us both.’

I flared. ‘Sally, I’d crawl to hell and back if it’d make you change your mind.’

She shuddered. ‘Don’t say that.’

It was well after 9.30, and for us to be sitting here so late was a dangerously nonconformist act, culturally speaking, but no matter. It was unthinkable that we break off now, with episode two to be screened tomorrow, or whenever. I’m no whiz at thinking with my mouth open but this was close to life or death, and I searched frantically for the right words.

‘I don’t get it, sweetheart. If I’ve heard you correctly, your first point was that you reckoned God brought us together, so you were able to adjust your beliefs so that you could consider marrying this particular unbeliever, if he were single. So isn’t it entirely logical to accept the same man after he’s been through as clean a divorce as they come? There isn’t the slightest scandal hanging over it—it’s a deadly dull story with no features of tabloid interest. Isn’t there someone you can go to for advice or counselling or whatever you want to call it? It’s a huge decision to make on your own, perhaps the most important decision of your life. That doesn’t sound all that modest of me, but you know what I mean. Another point: just now you said, “the way I read the Bible,” which sounds as if there could be other ways to read it. Isn’t there somebody you can talk to?’

The suggestion of a smile crossed her face. ‘There’s certainly nobody here. Like I said, I know what the answer would be.’

‘What about at home? Your mother, or her husband, What’s-his-name?’

Another thin smile. If I hadn’t known better I’d have thought she was toying with me.

‘There’d be no joy there, I’m afraid. They’re worldly-wise enough to understand us but if I asked their opinion, and perhaps even if I didn’t, they’d tell me I was making a monumental mistake if I married a divorced man.’

She stole a glance at her watch; I tried again before she could move. ‘Please hear me out, Sal. We’ve got all the time there is.’ She perched on the edge of her chair, inching closer, while I continued, ‘I still don’t get it. For both our sakes, please think about it, pray some more, do anything you like, and if you come up with anyone whose judgment you’d trust, and you’d like to consult them face to face, I’ll buy you your ticket home, or anywhere else. There must be someone.’

She stood, and I followed immediately. ‘Magnus, you’re a dear man, and if I thought it was right I’d marry you like a shot. And if I do think of somebody, of course I’ll go and see them, no fear, but that’s a forlorn hope so you mustn’t count on it. Now, perhaps we should both go home—the longer we talk about it the more miserable we’ll be.’

She was right, so I suggested she leave me alone for a bit. The first kiss and the passionate embrace I’d been expecting us to enjoy in the solitude of the corridor were suddenly illusory. I didn’t dare say I was afraid of losing control if we walked out together.

She sobbed a soft ‘Goodnight, Magnus,’ and was off.

For a few frenzied seconds I allowed myself to hope she’d reappear, but the outside door banged shut, exactly on time. I felt abandoned in a gulag.

* * *

I thrashed around my bed for hours, angry, frustrated and bamboozled. She revelled in the dizzying verve of being in love and was blown away by my clumsy effort to embellish my feelings with words, but simultaneously rejected the possibility of marrying me. I couldn’t see that two such powerful but totally contradictory sentiments could coexist for long in a sane heart and mind, as logically impossible a pairing as the irresistible force and the immovable object. Something had to give. I consoled myself with the gut wisdom that, human nature being so amazingly malleable, she’d be driven to find a way of legitimising a decision to marry me, if only I showed patience and consideration.

Nevertheless I was in such need of a heart-to-heart that I went to Richard’s office late next morning, despite fearing what his response would be. He saw I was overwrought so left his high-back to join me in the more sociable armchairs.

Far from ecstatic himself, he said, ‘You aren’t your usual happy self, Magnus. What can I do for you?’

‘I won’t waste your time beating about the bush. I need advice. You know I plan to divorce my wife. Well, there’s a special reason for it: I want to marry Sally, but there’s a hitch. We’re in love, I have no doubt about that, and she’d have me if I were single, but she says there’s no way she can marry a divorcee. I couldn’t believe my ears, and told her that according to a book I read, a quarter of American Christians—the born-again variety, I mean—are divorced, and most remarry, of course. She was unmoved by that and said the Bible, which seems to be all she goes by, prohibits remarriage of divorcees. Is that so?’

He sat through this impassively and ran a hand through his crew cut as if scratching around for a reply. ‘I feel for you Magnus, believe me,’ he began with encouraging warmth. ‘Sally must make up her own mind about such a vital matter but since you’ve asked me a straight question I must give you a straight answer, which is that I have no doubt she’s taking the scriptural view. I don’t know the book you mentioned and not much about the evangelical scene in the States, but it seems to me that over there, as in many parts of the world, there’s far too much of what I’ve heard called Christianity Lite. Christian froth is all too often confused with Christian faith. I wouldn’t take such a mixed bag of believers as an infallible benchmark for standards on marriage and divorce, or on anything else for that matter. In our country—Britain, I mean—you’ll find few evangelicals who’d disagree with Sally. Plenty of other church people would, there’s no denying that. Charlie and Camilla’s register office wedding shows where the rather liberal Anglican Church stands, so our archbishop must have confused more than me by blessing them afterwards.

‘As for you, I’d be failing in my duty to you both if I didn’t point out that if you’re in love and there is an impediment to Christian marriage, you’ll impose intolerable strains on yourselves by continuing to work here. Our set-up inevitably throws you together, regardless of the cultural constraints, and this can only be unhealthy and unhelpful to you both.’

I got the message, but was far from down and out. ‘Understood, Richard, but let me tell you what I’m clinging to. She said she’d always held that she could never marry an unbeliever but over the last few weeks, until she found out I was married, she came around to thinking God had thrown us together, so she revised her belief and would’ve taken the plunge. So if her initial position was biblically based—and for argument’s sake I’m prepared to accept that it was—and she did a major back-flip in what seems to be good conscience, why can’t her views on divorce change too?’

With his chin propped on his hands and his elbows on his knees, he looked extremely uncomfortable. ‘Let’s take this a point at a time. First, it’s true that Christians of a conservative stripe have always taught that marrying a non-Christian is a recipe for spiritual disaster. It’s not specifically prohibited in scripture but the guiding principle is clear. Christians should—indeed, must—go into marriage united in spirit and able to pray together, for example, as a matter of course, seeking God’s guidance and blessing on every aspect of their lives. That can’t be a realistic expectation—in fact, it’s a nonsense—when one partner isn’t a believer. Ultimately they’re pulling in different directions, spiritually speaking. Plenty of starry-eyed lovers have flouted biblical principles and in rare cases the unbeliever has been won over in the course of time, but usually the Christian abandons his or her faith. I’ve seen that, time and time again.’

I’d seen it myself, in young doctors who’d spouted Bible at every opportunity but who married out by Richard’s criterion, and soon put their Bibles away.

He wasn’t done. ‘It’s most unusual for Christians to maintain a vibrant faith if they marry unbelievers. Sally must know that, but from what you tell me she was prepared to accept the risk. I can understand her, but if she were my daughter I’d be having kittens. That’s not a final judgment on you, of course; it’s simply recognition of your status as an unbeliever, which can change.’ He allowed himself an optimistic smile. ‘Now, the second point: remarriage of divorcees is another kettle of fish entirely. If we accept scripture as our guide to faith and practice, which I know Sally does, a union such as yours would be is prohibited. Jesus’ teaching is clear.’

He delivered this opinion with the warmth and emotion of a high court judge. We sat in silence until I recalled a remark of Delia’s. ‘One of the girls reckons St Paul’s writings about divorce mention grey areas. That came up when we were discussing the McInnes recruit. I didn’t ask her to elaborate, for fear of giving myself away, probably. What did she mean?’

I thought I had him, because his smile was forced as he chose his words. ‘Presumably she was referring to a passage in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthian church, which was a group of first-generation Christians living in a society that, generally speaking, was antagonistic to this new religion. If one member of a marriage became a Christian but the other remained strongly opposed Paul encouraged them to stay together, and forbade the Christian spouse to divorce the non-Christian. But he was more practical than many give him credit for, and said if the unbeliever got out the Christian was free to act. Some people say the only sensible interpretation of “free to act” is that the Christian was free to remarry.’ He didn’t enjoy this discussion, sensing that I knew I was forcing him to backtrack.

‘What does the pope say about that?’ was the first response to enter my head.

‘I have no idea,’ he said briskly. Then, more smoothly, ‘I’m more concerned about what the Bible says.’

‘Wait a moment, Richard,’ I said, springing up to sit on his desk. ‘I don’t get it. Just now you said the Bible prohibits remarriage of divorcees, full stop. Now you’ve admitted there’s at least one circumstance in which some people, some people, whatever that means, say it’s OK, so how many more situations are there like that? We’re talking about the happiness of two people, remember, not debating piffling abstractions like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. So please come clean and tell me how many other exceptions there are to the rule. In your opinion, that is,’ I concluded, just short of viciously.

‘If one of the divorced pair dies, that frees the other to remarry.’

‘I reckon I could’ve worked that out for myself,’ I shot back. ‘Give me credit for having a few functioning neurones, please. Now, for the last time—sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but right now I feel like some poor … some poor devil who doesn’t know if he’s to be shot at dawn tomorrow or not. What I want to know is this: how many other situations are there in which,’ and I speared the words at him, one at a time, ‘according to your interpretation, the Bible permits divorcees to remarry?’

He looked cornered. ‘I once knew a man who was divorced some years before he became a Christian and by that time his wife had remarried, so there was no question of them coming together again. He subsequently married a Christian lady, his rationale being that as a Christian he was a new creation, a new man, which meant, among other things, that there was no barrier to his remarrying. Some of his friends, mature believers, saw this as a logical extension of the permission Paul gave the Corinthian church.’

I was in no state to grapple with woolly argument, and asked him to explain the Corinth business again, which he did while I did my best to concentrate on his line of thought, which carried more than a whiff of nitpicking sophistry.

I was angry. ‘OK, Richard, if I understand you I go home, divorce my wife, become a Christian and, hey presto, I’m in the clear. Right?’

‘Magnus, believe me, the last thing I want to do is offend you,’ he said, increasingly uncomfortable with a discussion that threatened to become irreparably confrontational, ‘but I think you know I mean no such thing. You’ve been with us long enough to understand that becoming a Christian isn’t like joining a darts club or giving mere intellectual assent to statements about Jesus Christ. It’s a change of heart and direction and allegiance so radical that Jesus called it being born again. The course of action you describe would be a despicable, coldly calculated, legalistic attempt to manipulate God. He doesn’t play that sort of game. Can’t you see that?’

I lowered my voice and reined in its brittleness. ‘But you’ve just described something fairly close to that scenario, I thought approvingly.’

‘You misunderstand me,’ he said patiently. ‘Now that you mention it, I’m not sure I agree that the fellow converted years after his divorce was free to remarry, but I certainly wouldn’t pass judgment. Meg and I chewed it over at the time and concluded that we had no right to hold an opinion, much less express one, even if we had all the facts, which you never do. If he and his new wife were genuinely satisfied that God was in their marriage that was the end of it as far as we were concerned. I haven’t given them another thought from that day to this.’

I stood glaring at him. ‘I’m serious, Richard. I want answers. Nothing is remotely as important to me as being able to marry Sally, under circumstances that her conscience will allow—no, better than that—under circumstances her conscience accepts without reservation. She said it was impossible, full stop, and now you describe one situation that has St Paul’s imprimatur and another in which you won’t presume to judge, which must mean you’re not prepared to rule out its legitimacy on scriptural grounds. You’re both Bible believers yet you’re singing very different tunes. What’s more, it’s Sally, the person affected by far the most intimately, who takes an even harder line than you do, which isn’t what you’d expect. If there’s any logic you can’t both be right. Do you see my problem?’

He rose and offered me his hand. ‘I do, but you’re mistaken if you think I disagree with Sally. She knows her Bible and must be aware of the situation Paul wrote about, but she also knows that it doesn’t apply to her or to you, so there would’ve been no point in her mentioning it. Now let’s sit down again and talk this through.

‘You’re both my dear friends, and Sally is almost like a daughter to us. She’s a lovely lass and deserves a truly blessed marriage. And you, Magnus, I’ve come to regard you as a good friend, and you know I value you highly as a colleague. In all my years here no other specialist has clicked with me as you have. They may have been Christians—I’ll reword that: they certainly were Christians—but, sadly, that didn’t automatically make us buddies professionally. So you must believe I want nothing but the best for you. I’ll say it again: I want God’s best for you, and for Sally. Now may not be the time for it, but I’ll be praying for you both as if you were family. Seeing you in emotional turmoil is painful for your friends, even if what we feel can be no more than a very pale copy of your own pain. In a sense you’re in this alone but I hope it’s some comfort to know that we really feel for you.’

‘You sound as if the whole compound knows about us,’ I said in some surprise.

‘Not at all,’ he said, too quickly. ‘Meg, bless her, she suspected something was afoot but we didn’t discuss it. She mentioned her suspicions once only and we left it at that. Nobody else has said anything to me—not that I’d expect anyone to—and I won’t be saying a word. Mind you, it’s a matter of such importance that Meg and I would pray about it together in the ordinary way …’

Off balance I might be, but I saw he was angling for permission to share our dilemma with her, to which I was strongly disinclined, if only because I was certain Sally would disapprove, so I kept my mouth shut.

He continued, ‘I don’t want to sound callous or give the impression that I doubt the depth and strength and sincerity of your feelings, but I want to be helpful so I’ll say this: I wonder if there could be a lesson for you from the experience of others who’ve faced the same impossible, almost unspeakably distressing situation. Some of the most moving stories in history and literature are about honourable men and women in the same bind, deeply in love but unable to marry for one reason or another, people who exerted the discipline to stay apart and who threw their energies into worthwhile enterprises, and came through.’ A bright idea hit him. ‘Perhaps you could involve yourself more actively in your twin study. How’s it progressing?’

‘It doesn’t need input from me,’ I could have screamed. ‘It’s Sally, and only Sally, that matters. The twin business is froth and bubble compared with her. Many other people are involved and I’m sure they’d be happy for me to walk away and let them take all the glory, if there is any glory. If that’s how it plays out, good luck to them. I’d gladly give it up for Sally. Everything I possess, in fact. I’m forty-three, Richard, old enough to know, and I can’t face the possibility of losing her.’

I doubt that he heard me. ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘Does Sally know you were coming to see me?’

‘Not bloody likely. She told me what you’d say—and she was right—so I wasn’t planning to try it, but I had to open up to somebody. That sounds ungrateful—’

‘No no, Magnus, not at all. I’m honoured to have your confidence, and that’s where it stays, I promise you. So unless Sally comes to me, and knows that you’ve spoken to me, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Now, I don’t want to hurry you, but is there anything else?’ he asked, fretting to close the conversation despite his disclaimer.

Jumping bridges was pointless so I suggested that we call it quits for now. He saw, if less blindingly so than I did, that if Sally’s attitude persisted when I finally shook myself free of Priscilla, the strains imposed on us by working together in this little hothouse would be almost unbearable, which would make further service at Baraga impossibly problematic for one or both of us. If she saw the light and married me, which in flashes of optimism I still regarded as better than an outside chance, it seemed clear that the mission board wouldn’t have a bar of us, judging by their treatment of the McInnes’s friend. Or it could be that we’d be acceptable locally, on sufferance, if we returned as self-funded volunteers. But she’d surely aim to start a family without great delay, which would mean her having access to the obstetric and paediatric refinements of Sydney rather than the best that Baraga could offer. And what then? All this, plus a pile of other imponderables, flashed through my mind in seconds. We shook hands again and I walked out.