Hannah was tall, but as the men drifted into class, she felt Lilliputian. She was already on edge, uncertain about what was expected of her, or of the students. If a group of brawny six-foot warriors—or in this case supposedly ex-warriors—could be referred to as students. They arrived singly, in pairs, chattering, silent, some hand in hand.

She smiled. ‘Ni sã bula.’

‘Good morning,’ they replied. Then progress stalled. Lessons as she had known them back home were impossible, and it would be ludicrous to simply repeat words for an hour and a half like a deranged parrot. These were not children, but grown men. Lost for words, Hannah stared at her first class. The class stared back.

Joshua came to the rescue. ‘They like stories.’

Good. Hannah liked stories too. She just wished she could think of some. A man at the front, seated cross-legged like a child, gave her a toothy grin. Hannah could just imagine how Red Riding Hood felt as she looked at the impostor in the old lady’s clothing and said, ‘What big teeth you have, Grandmother!’ A shiver shook Hannah as she remembered the wolf’s reply. Little Red Riding Hood seemed as good a story as any to begin with.

With simple, broken English on the men’s part, practically non-existent Fijian on hers, and Joshua to interpret when things became too complicated, she began, ‘Once upon a time …’

A tinge of alarm invaded her newfound confidence when she saw the excitement the story generated, especially the part about Grandma being eaten. Her anxiety was only tempered by the thought that these men had lotu’d.

When Hannah finally came to the end of her story, a fellow at the back stood and delivered a monologue in Fijian. Joshua translated, ‘This man had all his teeth pulled out. They were defiled because when his black tooth ached, only human flesh would satisfy him …’

With great presence of mind, Hannah refrained from grimacing, even when the man came forward and stretched his jaws open wide to show her his smooth gums, devoid of a single molar.

Caught in the act of peering into the man’s mouth, Hannah jumped guiltily when Ratu Rabete suddenly swept into the church, a cluster of followers behind. Enoke was with him too, sporting the same bizarre haircut and ferocious scowl.

Ratu Rabete approached with Hannah’s green parasol hooked tantilisingly over one arm. He lifted Hannah’s hand and held it next to his, which was large and dark, with sinewy fingers. The Chief spoke to his group of friends, but Hannah needed no help to understand that Ratu Rabete was making a comparison. Hannah stared at his hand, remembering it around Uncle Henry’s throat.

‘The Chief does not want to interrupt,’ explained Joshua, ‘but he wished to see how the lesson was progressing.’

The class watched and listened. It was important that she give a careful reply. From what she had seen of the Chief, he could either make a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy; and his opinion was important to Uncle Henry.

‘Tell him it’s a good thing to have people in the village who are clever—as these people are.’

Ratu Rabete nodded, a secretive smile suggesting that although he knew Hannah was soft-soaping him, he didn’t mind: in fact, he approved.

‘These men,’ repeated Joshua, ‘have given up the old ways.’ He leant forward to make sure Hannah understood. ‘I think he means cannibalism.’

That was obvious, but Hannah smiled appreciation. Without Joshua’s help, she would be lost, and she didn’t want to put him offside by appearing a know-all.

‘Ratu Rabete says he would become Christian himself but the village needs a strong man to lead them. What if enemies attacked on the Sabbath? There would be no one to defend the village.’ Joshua listened, then added. ‘He says if their enemies heard they had all become Christians, they would light their ovens immediately.’

It seemed disloyal to Uncle Henry to agree, but Ratu Rabete made sense. Hannah decided it would be tactful not to comment.

Joshua said, ‘Enoke’s nephew was killed because he was a Christian. He would not lend his friend a knife because it was the Sabbath, so his friend became angry and clubbed him.’

That explained why Enoke was angry, but was it logical to blame Uncle Henry? In any case, the killer couldn’t have been much of a friend.

Ratu Rebete abruptly changed the subject, insisting, through Joshua, that a meke or dance be held to celebrate Hannah’s arrival.

‘Joshua, please tell the Chief that I am staying in my uncle’s house. Ratu Rabete must seek my uncle’s approval.’

A feeling of guilt touched her as she remembered all the things she had already done that her uncle would disapprove of.