Away from land, the water was very still as the afternoon blended down into evening. A breeze barely filled her sails, but the little sloop was light and slippy on the ’Auhangamea current.
Kay drifted in and out of a cloud. It was late to be setting out, but Ha‘ano was only a short sail along the coast—hardly even separated from Ha‘apai. John Giles said he’d like to stop at the village of Ha‘ano for the night, to have a visit with his wife’s sister before heading out over the long stretch to Papua, and also to find the last crew member, his brother-in-law Fokisi, who was famous for being late, having been born late, and who had missed the boat to Pangai that morning.
Sound came slipping down from the prow, where Aren and Mr. Brimner were talking. Once in a while their voices would make sense. The boat was named the Lata. Kay had seen that on the side as she came on board. No bigger than a racing schooner out of Yarmouth, but the men often went on those boats down to Bar Harbor and even to the Bahamas. It would get them to Pulo Anna.
Waking from a daze, she became aware of something odd. At length she realized it was silence. The air was so still, she had thought they might be dead. But it was only that being under sail again, there was no engine noise.
“Noise is the chief thing I notice on returning to the world,” Mr. Brimner was saying. Hearing him was why she had noticed it was silent.
“The water and the sky all through,” Aren said. She thought he said.
After what seemed like many days and nights, or an hour, they dropped anchor in the little half-moon harbour at Ha‘ano, and somehow Kay got down into the dinghy and out again onto the jetty, carrying Dash with her in his basket. Aren had fed him while they were coming over, so the puppy was sleepy again; she was grateful for that.
Aren took the basket from her arms and said not to worry, and a woman called Mahina came down to the water with her little boy Sione, and then they were all being taken somewhere in the darkness and there was a bed.
She woke in the dark and pulled on her dress, and staggered barefoot down to the scrubby beach, talking to Thea. Thea said “No no no, this is terrible, you are ill, I will book you into a hotel, there is one on the next island,” and Kay said “Oh no I must not, but if you insist, I will have a bath in a white bathtub.”
But it was just a dream, she was having bad dreams again. Thea could not speak to her here or hear her crying on the damp sand. She was alone and always had been.
And then she had to scramble into the bushes as another bout of cramping overtook her poor guts.
The moon was bright, so bright! But no, it was the sun, just rising. When she came out to the sand again, she saw two butterflies tangled in a complicated dance; they were going together, together, together, turning and tumbling in the air in a frenzied dance, mating or perhaps only quarrelling, flying apart and drawn back together.
Nothing was any use. She knew nothing understood nothing nothing made any sense. She made her way back to the bure, and into bed at last in the white cot, and untangled the mosquito netting and lay down—and as soon as she closed her eyes, Mr. Brimner’s friend Mahina came to her, looming kindly over the bed. She put a large, warm hand on Kay’s head, saying with great concern, “But you must hurry and get well! Queen Salote says you must leave if you are ill, no-one may stay on Ha‘ano if they are ill!”
And that was a dream too. But even though she understood, even in the grip of the night terrors, that it was only a dream, Kay resolved to be well. She was soaking wet in her nightdress. But if Queen Salote said she must leave unless she was well, she must be well.
Mr. Brimner and Aren were talking outside her door when she woke again. Aren said he did not think they could go on, with Kay in this fever, and Mr. Brimner said no, I believe you are right. So then Kay did get better.
By focusing her mind on the thing that mattered, which was Aren, she made herself come together into a clump and get up, and she put her dress on again and went out to the stoop where they sat talking in strong daylight.
They turned to look at her, surprised.
“Of course we must go,” she said. “Here is John Giles’s lovely boat all ready, and we do not want to miss the tide. I have had a very good rest and am feeling much better, only very sorry to have put you all out. I hope we can say goodbye to Lotoua, and to Mahina and her son, before we leave?”
She held herself in well. As well as if she was Thea, in fact. They all looked at her to investigate her health, and she passed inspection.
By a great exercise of will, she continued to feign fitness for travel all through the bustle of embarking. That was all right, she could keep doing that until they got to Pulo Anna. And then she could consider what to do next.