Merelita could turn a simple walk into an adventure. She did and said the most unexpected things. Flumping onto the side of the path, she waited as a man walked past. ‘He a Chief,’ she explained, then stood and dusted her gritty knees.

She wouldn’t allow Hannah to tread a certain part of the path, but insisted they walk beside it. ‘Man die here—pineapple club.’ Violence was not surprising when most men carried a weapon. ‘Light spirit here where body fall.’ Merelita’s pupils grew large. ‘Sometimes when rain fall, spirit moans. He sit up. Bad pain in head.’ Having seen several clubs recently, Hannah could quite understand the victim’s ghost having a headache—a severe one at that.

A shower fell, but soon both girls were dry and wishing it would rain again to ease the sultry atmosphere. Today Uncle Henry was with Timothy on the other side of the island. He had left before breakfast. Consequently, Hannah felt much more relaxed and able to be herself.

Merelita had an endless supply of anecdotes. Some stretched the limits of credibility, but they were always entertaining. Hannah’s favourite was about a man who went out in a canoe with several others. The weather turned sour and when he stood to adjust the sail, he was pitched overboard into the writhing sea. It would have endangered all lives to attempt a rescue so, sadly, the men waved goodbye to their friend and continued their journey. Several days later, the man staggered ashore, exhausted but alive. Although far out to sea, he had worked out which direction to swim home by feeling the wind on his ears.

Hannah responded by retelling the story of Jonah surviving for three days in the belly of a large fish. Merelita liked that one; asking a dozen questions about life inside a fish which Hannah couldn’t answer.

Hannah stopped short as the path led them to a small bure. It was some distance from the village. ‘What is this place?’

‘Not go there.’

Insatiably curious, Hannah was about to ask why, when she heard a groan. Assuming it was not the spectre from the pathway with a migraine, someone was inside. ‘Someone lives here?’

‘Bad bure.’

‘Bad people live here? You mean they have done wrong?’ She was confused. Punishment was meted out instantly by the head Chief, Ratu Rabete. A wrongdoer’s crops could be destroyed, or a wife taken away, or his skull reshaped with a club, but there had been no hint about locking people up. Merelita must have meant something else.

‘Sick.’

‘Oh.’ Hannah struggled to understand. ‘Do you mean that sick people live here?’

Merelita shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘Is anyone in there now? I thought I heard something.’

A second and, this time, unmistakable groan drifted through the thatch.

‘That person may need help.’

A blank expression settled on Merelita’s face.

Hannah waited for further reaction, but as none was forthcoming, made her way towards the miniature doorway. ‘Ni sã bula … hello,’ she called, then poked her head inside.

There was only one person in the bure. A woman. She lay on her side, scarcely moving.

‘Merelita! Come here.’ Hannah not only needed assistance with interpreting, but longed for moral support. Courage increased tenfold in the company of a friend.

The woman opened her eyes and stared unsmilingly at, or perhaps it was through, her uninvited visitors. There was nothing to fear, Hannah told herself. She sat beside the woman and, sensitive to custom, crossed her legs beneath her bulky skirt and petticoats.

The woman was young, probably in her mid-twenties, and obviously ill. Her cheeks were flushed; her glazed eyes excessively bright. She licked her lips as though thirsty.

‘Merelita, would you ask if we can get her anything?’

‘Wai,’ the woman whispered.

‘She want water.’

A quick scout round the room showed Hannah there was no water here, no food, no comforts of any kind. ‘Is no one looking after her?’

‘She dead,’ was Merelita’s reply.

‘Dead?’ Hannah was shocked. ‘She is not dead. She just spoke to us. See … she moves.’

‘Her spirit already gone.’

‘Nonsense!’ Irritated and uncomprehending, Hannah demanded Merelita fetch liquid for the patient. Her tone brooked no argument.

While Merelita was absent, she took a handkerchief from her pocket, mopped the perspiration from the woman’s face and smoothed back her hair. The bed looked comfortable enough—a mat unrolled over a thick layer of grasses. With her scant knowledge of Fijian, Hannah had few words to communicate, and the woman didn’t have the strength to try.

Before long, Merelita returned with a length of bamboo. She handed it to Hannah and retreated to a corner. Apparently she felt her contribution was over. Now it was up to Hannah. This was not the sort of drinking utensil she was used to, but after a few false starts, she managed to get a little liquid into the woman’s mouth. The rest tipped onto the floor, onto her navy skirt, and a trickle or two down the woman’s face. Out came the handkerchief a second time.

‘Why isn’t she with her family, so they can look after her?’ Hannah asked.

Merelita gazed at a point somewhere above Hannah’s head, ‘Maybe she spit in water. All get sick. Better here.’

Cleanliness was important, and so was preventing the spread of disease, but it was beyond Hannah to imagine an ill person deliberately spitting into the family’s drinking water.

‘What’s the matter with her? Should I fetch my uncle?’

Eyes wide, Merelita shook her head. ‘Vakadraunikau.’

‘What, may I ask, is that?’ Trying to assure a reply, Hannah used her most imperious voice.

‘She cursed.’

‘Poppycock! How can someone die from à curse? They die because they have a disease, or have had an accident, or because they’re old.’

Merelita said nothing. In the distance a dog howled plaintively and a knowing look, tinged with apprehension, showed on her face. It did sound eerie, but that was only because of the echoes, and any dog set one’s teeth on edge when it bayed in that manner.

‘She die!’

Uncertain whether to be irritated at Merelita’s blind conviction or embarrassed, Hannah shushed her, and hoped the sick woman didn’t understand English, but even if she could, she was probably too drowsy to pick up the meaning. Still, it was not the done thing to speak like that in front of someone, especially when it concerned her own death.

The woman opened her eyes and muttered.

Merelita interpreted: ‘She say in two days, when tide go out, she die.’

‘Merelita …’ Hannah faltered. Was there any point in arguing with someone who, although mistaken, had already made up her mind? How could she convince Merelita that it was impossible for anyone to predict their time of death, that a dog’s howl meant nothing sinister, when stubbornness had set her face like a mask?