It was hateful being shut inside. Aunt Constance had practically sealed off the entire house. Hannah ran a finger around the uncomfortably high collar of her blouse and considered changing it for another. Her neck was damp with perspiration.

‘Joshua! Must you make that irritating noise?’

He looked at the quill pen in his right hand, surprised. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah.’

Fleetingly, she felt guilty. Joshua wore a look of genuine contrition. This time he had not goaded her on purpose. But even so, the continual tap, tap had scratched at her nerves, making her want to scream. If Joshua actually had ink on the nib, it would have spattered everywhere.

The sound of singing drifted from Deborah’s bedroom. Aunt Constance had a sweet voice, but Deborah was taking a while to settle for her nap. Merelita had refused to return to the village, but wouldn’t sit with Hannah and Joshua inside the mission house. She was out in the partially reconstructed cookhouse preparing a meal, which Hannah hoped would be vegetables.

Ashamed of herself for the dreadful thought that came to her, yet incapable of stemming it, Hannah wondered about Merelita’s past, before she lotu’d. And what about Luata, Beni, and the others she had come to think of so fondly? Mentally, she chastised herself. The past had gone. Let it rest in peace.

Giving up all pretence that she was actually writing, Hannah looked across at her cousin. He too was not concentrating, but simply stared at the closed curtain, his mind elsewhere.

Without preamble, she whispered, ‘Have you ever seen the villagers actually …?’

‘No.’

‘Uncle Henry and Reverend Flower have been gone for ages.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Do you think they’ll stop them?’

Joshua shrugged. ‘It’s hard to say. Sometimes the Chief listens, sometimes he doesn’t. It might depend on what Father offers him in exchange for his mercy.’

Hannah chewed her lip, then glared at the page in front of her. What was intended to be a letter to Jenkins had stopped at the date. She couldn’t think of anything to write. It was unthinkable to put ‘As I am writing this the villagers are eating a neighbouring tribe’.

Joshua lowered his voice in a conspiratorial manner. ‘In the village where Reverend Flower lives, the Chief counts how many bodies he has eaten by placing stones in a line along the village square. At the last count, there were 872.’

‘That’s impossible!’

The boy merely shrugged, his face showing that he didn’t care whether she believed him or not. ‘Ask him when he returns. Reverend Flower was almost eaten when he first arrived.’

‘No!’

‘One of the villagers was feeling his calf muscles, which are quite large. Did you notice?’

She couldn’t say that she had. The Reverend’s legs had no special attraction for her.

‘It seems a villager was clicking his tongue, which means he approved, and making comments about how tasty the leg would be. The Reverend saved himself by taking out his false teeth and holding them up for everyone to see.’ Joshua’s eyes lit up. ‘They all thought he was a god because he was able to extract his own teeth then replace them. They never touched him again. And the man who wanted to eat him lotu’d.’

‘Does everyone …?’

Joshua rested his chin on one hand then shook his head. ‘Only some. Fijians believe that several of their gods live in plants or animals, and they are not allowed to eat that thing. So if your god lived in humans, you wouldn’t be allowed to eat them. Some won’t touch turtles or sharks. If a man ate a tabu’d food in front of a person who has that god, they might try to strangle him because he showed disrespect.’

Hannah recalled the night of the meke. All kinds of cooked foods had been taken from the heated rocks of the underground oven. It was only a small step to picture things that she would rather not.

‘My father may convince Ratu Rabete, but he’s been gone a long time … At least the captives are not from a wrecked ship. Shipwreck victims have “salt in their eyes”. They’re a “gift from the gods”.’

Hannah’s stomach flipped. She imagined being cast into the ocean during a storm, clinging to a piece of wreckage, tossed about by huge waves, and finally being washed ashore only to find a mass of natives, dinner forks at the ready, waiting to grab their gift from God!

‘Why do they eat bokola with forks and not fingers?’

Joshua frowned. ‘I’ve heard that it gives off a glow and, if you touch it with your fingers or lips, they’ll shine in the dark. The villagers are frightened, so they use the long forks.’

‘Is that true?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. And there are certain places near the village where people won’t walk at night. A man said some bones whistled to him.’

For the first time Hannah began to understand why Uncle Henry was determined to bring what he called ‘civilisation’ to Fiji. And yet, there were still contradictions she couldn’t understand. While he talked about being ‘civilised’, he also preached a savage message himself. In church, and again last night in the mission house, Uncle Henry had outlined the punishment the Almighty would mete out to unrepentant sinners. Her uncle had spoken of bodies being roasted in the ovens of hell. And didn’t the Devil have a special fork? She’d seen a picture somewhere … And the suffering in that place would never end. It went on forever.