by Mandy Hager
“All right. You can look now.”
“Sorry,” Lazarus said. “I couldn't sleep after all.” He stood in the entranceway, grinning down at her. “So, what do you think?”
Maryam tapped the cabin wall. “What's it made from?”
“Jo called it fibreglass. She said it's really old—that most of the boats made this way have long since crumbled, but that this one was found buried in a shed by her father's friend and he said I could have it so long as I was prepared to take the risk.”
Maryam frowned. “What risk?”
“That it was still seaworthy…and so far old Windstalker here has done me proud.” He patted the shelter roof, as if congratulating it.
“It could do with a good clean,” she said. She had a flash of Mother Evodia's face as she inspected the Sisters’ huts to check they were orderly and spotlessly clean. If she saw the state of this, she'd have a fit!
“You try tidying up after yourself when you're sailing on your own,” Lazarus shot back.
Maryam laughed. “Don't be so touchy,” she said. “Nothing is unclean in itself, but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean. Romans fourteen!”
“Ah, then I say to you to eat with unwashed hands does not defile anyone. Matthew fifteen. Take that!”
They grinned at each other, both obviously scrabbling around in their memories for more apt rejoinders from the Holy Book. Then Maryam gave up. It was too hot inside the little shelter to think so hard.
“Truce,” she said. “Come back to land and I'll show you the most amazing place where you can wash the salt out of your hair.” She clutched the towel around herself as she climbed back on deck. “Give me a head start,” she said, “so I can get dressed before you return.”
“Don't you think perhaps we should drop the false modesty?” Lazarus asked. “I've seen you before and you've seen me…and Windstalker's a very small boat…” He scrutinised her face, causing it to heat up as if his eyes propelled an open flame. “I promise you you're safe from me.”
Maryam stared down at her feet, trying to decide. Her toenails were long and in need of trimming, the skin around her ankles flecked with insect bites. So this was to be the test of their fragile friendship—whether she could fully trust his promise and swallow down her suspicions, and whether, in fact, he could truly prove himself worthy of that trust.
Above her, Lazarus squirmed. “Look, if you still don't trust me—”
“No, I think I do.” She glanced up at his face, seeing how he flinched at her emphasis. “All right I do.” She shook an accusing finger at him. “But if you ever—ever—touch me, I swear on the Holy Book I'll—”
Lazarus reached inside to grab her finger and gently folded it back into her palm, his voice remarkably calm and good-natured considering her threat. “Enough. I get your point.” He ducked down into the shelter. “I'll just sort this a bit. I'll meet you back on land.”
He turned his back on her now, leaving her feeling a little foolish as she dropped the towel, baring herself only to an audience of terns reeling high above her as Lazarus pointedly worked inside. Oh dear Father, of course! It is so stupidly obvious. Now he'd seen her in the flesh, and compared her to all the girls at Newbrizzy, the thought of touching her revolted him. What a conceited fool she was.
She launched herself off Windstalker's side, swam ashore and dressed. As she trudged down the beach to prise some bwa-oysters off the rocks for lunch, she was still blushing at her vanity. She only hoped that by the time Lazarus swam back to land he'd be so impressed by the delicious meal he'd wipe their embarrassing discussion from his mind. And, indeed, he did not raise it again nor even let slip with one of his famous smirks. Instead, he began to devour the bwa-oysters with such relish it made her wonder just exactly how much food he'd eaten in the last few weeks. His story of the conditions for people on the mainland had so shocked her, she'd not really appreciated what it must have been like for him.
She paused in her meal to ask the one question that kept pressing at her mind. “How could it be so bad on the mainland, yet still draw so many people to its shores?”
Lazarus licked his fingers. “Good question and one I struggled with for weeks. But the more I came to know the people there, the more I understood.” He slurped another bwa-oyster down before he continued. “For a start, they come because wherever they have come from is even worse.”
“This is also what Aanjay said—that even the camp is better than some of the places they escape. But, surely, once they see this Newbrizzy they don't want to stay?”
“It's not so simple. What they told me is that, if you work hard enough, you can escape the misery—that there are people who arrived with nothing but now, thanks to good luck and hard work, they have more riches than they ever dreamed possible.”
“But they don't use it to help free others from the grind?”
He shrugged. “Not that I could see. It seems that if you fight your way out of there, you can't risk looking back in case someone drags you down again.”
“Why don't they try moving somewhere else? I mean, there are islands like this one and Onewēre scattered all over that old map we had back on the boat. Wouldn't they be better off coming here?”
“Once they've heard about the incredible riches, it seems to draw them like pollen draws a bee. Besides, there's plenty of talk of plague—it seems Te Matee Iai was not the only sickness that rained down from the solar flares. They talk as if all the small islands are cursed.”
“Perhaps we're lucky they think this so.” Maryam shuddered. The thought of these wild, desperate people flocking to Onewēre was frightening indeed. But where did that leave good people like Aanjay, who merely longed to live in peace? The whole situation was a lot more complicated than simple speculations on right and wrong. She let the matter drop for now, needing further time to think such complications through. Instead she sucked the last shell clean of its slimy goodness and wiped a sticky hand across her chin.
“Come on, let me take you somewhere you can wash in fresh water.”
“You've no idea how much I've dreamt of that!” Lazarus said. He chucked the shells into the fire and stood up stiffly.
Maryam led him through the jungle, its ground still drenched and slippery from the prolonged bout of rain. She said little about their destination, wanting the miraculous sight of the butterfly pool to be as much of a joyous surprise for him as it had been for her. But when at last it came into view, he was not hushed in reverence at all. Instead, he squawked like a strangled rooster and launched himself toward the middle of the pool, his knees tucked tightly to his chest as he took flight. He landed in an explosion of water and sent the butterflies into a fluttering frenzy. Still on the bank, and drenched with spray, Maryam rolled her eyes. There were some things about male behaviour she'd never understand.
As Lazarus scrubbed himself beneath the stinging waterfall Maryam slid into the water in what she hoped he'd see was a gesture of good faith, even though she remained dressed. She rested her head back to wash her long black hair and to rinse her clothes of their accumulation of salt, sweat and grime. Later, after they had both tired of the water, they lay side by side on the hot shingle bank to dry. She forced herself not to shy away from his gaze, although the water had plastered her clothes to her body and her nipples rose beneath the damp fabric as if trying to elicit his attention of their own accord. Beside her, Lazarus's thin bare chest and belly gleamed in the sunlight, attracting a cloud of butterflies which drifted down and landed on his freshly scrubbed skin. He chuckled, sending shockwaves right down to his belly, where the creatures clung on despite the rocky movement like seabirds riding on the ocean's swell.
“So,” Lazarus said now. “Tell me your plan.”
Maryam shrugged, not wanting to admit that she'd put off thinking about her actual arrival at Onewēre until she'd built the raft. “It's all still a bit blurry, but I know in theory how to make the cure. Get this: it turns out it's already growing there. Miriki-tar
ai.”
“You're having me on? That weed?”
“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But Aanjay's old friend Filza insists it's the one. There's quite a rigmarole preparing the tonic.” She laughed. “You won't believe what else goes in—trust me, it's better not to know! But the first thing I want to do when I get back is visit Joseph's mother. I'm sure she'll be able to help.”
“Good idea,” Lazarus responded. “I reckon Aunt Deborah's is the best place to start. Still, before we do anything else, we first must tell her of my cousin's death.”
“I know,” Maryam said. “I dread that almost as much as I do confronting your father. It will break her heart.”
“When do you plan to leave?”
Again she shrugged. “I don't know now. It was always my intention to leave as soon as I'd floated the raft.”
Lazarus propped himself up onto one elbow and looked into her eyes. “If we re-provision Windstalker this afternoon, we could sail on the first slack tide tomorrow if you want. I'm not that tired. After Newbrizzy I have this terrible urge for home.”
So soon? The thought made her feel dizzy. Faced with the reality, was she really brave enough to see this through?
She sat up, tossing one flawless black pebble into the middle of the pool, and watched as the ripples radiated out in perfect ever-increasing circles from its new water-bound home. She had feared this moment of decision for weeks now, trying to fob it off with the busy work of construction, but Lazarus's arrival was as dramatic—yet somehow as completely predictable—as the pebble's faultless arc though the air.
Yes, as with nature, so with her quest. One action triggering another, on and on, until all the vital elements were linked together and the surface was forever changed. It was the way of all natural things. The way it had to be.
She blew out a resigned breath. “All right then. Tomorrow we will leave.”
In reality there was little to do to prepare to set sail again, apart from replenishing the yacht's supply of fresh water and stocking up on food. With an abundance of fish, coconuts, fresh fruit and gull eggs there for the taking, the job was completed long before the sun had set.
As Maryam lit the fire and nestled the wrapped takabe under the coals to bake, Lazarus disappeared around the coast, drawn to her disastrous raft-building venture to see the fallout for himself. She waited for his return with trepidation, not sure if he could resist rubbing in her failure. But when he returned, just as the sun was setting clear-weather red, his demeanour was not mocking at all.
“From what I can see, you did a really good job,” he said, drawing close to the fire as she hooked the package of fish from the embers and replaced it with fresh water to boil inside a pot she'd borrowed from the yacht. “That landslide was just plain bad luck.”
Maryam shrugged, trying not to let him see how much the disaster had upset her. Bad luck already clung to her like an extra layer of skin and she didn't want to tempt fate by speaking of it further. “Tomorrow, before we leave, I want to go one last time to see the Buddha,” she said, knowing this would shift the direction of his thoughts.
“Why?” Lazarus asked. He began to pick away the outer layers of scorched banana leaves, revealing the delicious mango-encrusted fish inside.
“I can't really explain. There's just something about being there that makes me feel calm.”
Lazarus laughed. “You're a strange one, all right. How can going to the site of a mass murder make you calm?” He scraped a handful of the fish off its bones and dropped it in his mouth with a greedy slurp.
“It's funny, but I feel as if those people rest in peace. I can't explain it, but I think whatever evil took place there is long gone.”
“Sister Ruth wouldn't approve. She'd say you were being seduced by a pagan god.” He eyed her in such a way she couldn't tell if he was serious or not.
“Ruth wouldn't understand. She sees things as either very good or very bad—to her there's no in-between where similarities or inconsistencies could possibly exist. But it seems to me that the teachings of both the Lord and the Buddha had useful things to say—and some of them not so very different when you boil them down.”
“Like what?”
“Like caring for people and showing compassion to those less fortunate. And about focusing on love, not hate.”
“Not values my dear father is keen to promote,” Lazarus said. “He has a knack for finding texts that he can bend at will—and you can guarantee that if he heard you say what you've just said to me, he'd string you up as a heretic quick as that.” He snapped his fingers together sharply. “Please, Maryam—when we return you must be very careful what you say.”
“You think I don't know this? Every night I lie in bed and tell myself it's time to plan exactly how to put things in motion, but it's so overwhelming my mind just shies away.”
“But it's important to plan. I was thinking—”
“Don't,” Maryam said. “This is the conclusion I've come to: that it's impossible to plan anything before we get to Onewēre and find out what's actually happening there—then, I think, my actions must respond to that.”
“But we still have to have a rough idea…to go there with no plans at all is foolish and dangerous. You know how risky it will be.”
“One step at a time, that's all I'm saying. Step one: get there safely. Step two: find Mother Deborah and seek her help. Step three simply can't be planned until those first two steps are followed through.” Maryam yawned. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I think I need to sleep now. It's been quite a day! Tomorrow, when we're rested, we can talk again.”
“Fair enough. A decent rest sounds good to me as well.” Lazarus pulled the pot off the fire with the help of two sturdy sticks. “I'll sleep aboard Windstalker to make sure she holds her anchor in the night.” He held the pot of warmed water out for her and tipped it slightly so she could wash the sticky juices off her fingers and sluice her face. He rinsed his own, then stood up and stretched. “Good night then.”
He made to leave, but Maryam called him back. “Lazarus—wait!” She looked up at him. “I just want to say thank you again. I'm…glad…you're here.”
“Me too,” he said, his voice a little croaky. “Night.” He turned away and headed back into the sea to swim out to the yacht.
She watched his progress through the water, phosphorescence trailing out behind him like the tail of a shooting star. How extraordinary that he was here, she thought, remembering one of Ruth's favourite sayings: The Lord works in mysterious ways. Whether it was the Lord who'd brought him here, or Joseph's spirit, or merely Lazarus's own desire to go back home, she wasn't sure. But, no matter the reason, she was glad of his company—for, though she fought hard to deny it, she was truly scared.
Maryam slept fitfully, the enormity of what she was about to embark on flailing around inside her head like a snared bird. Finally, when the first tendrils of light nudged at the dark surface of the sea, she rose and pulled on her boots, determined to head up to the temple for one last goodbye.
The dawn chorus was still clearing its collective throat as she clambered through the crumbling village and made her way up the incline to the steps that led to the plateau. The deep rich smells of the jungle served to settle her mind a little, so that by the time she stepped beneath the huge stone head atop the portal to the complex she found herself hurrying across the overgrown grounds, excited to return to the Buddha's company as if he were a trusted friend.
She didn't hesitate this time: marched straight past the bones and hauled herself up the Buddha's side until she was once again cradled in his protective lap. Here she sat, cross-legged like the great deity himself, and closed her eyes, feeling how his enormous stone body seemed to mould around her as if she were a tiny child supported within its father's loving arms.
Her dear old friend Hushai's words slipped unbidden to her mind. There are many different kinds of faith. Mine, I take not from the Rules that fetter us. I look to the mountains and the sea, the sun
and moon, the distant stars. We are all bonded together with this hallowed earth on which we stand…Of all the doctrines and beliefs she'd come to know of since her Crossing, this was the one that sat most comfortably with her, she realised now.
She was a girl shaped by the land and sea, no more or less important than any other living thing. Just as Aanjay had explained the cycle of birth, death and rebirth as being like the seasons of a tree, she too felt one with nature. In this crumbling world, where humans had tried to assert their will upon the landscape, only nature had prevailed. A wind-blown seed, patient in its resting place amid the cracks in the stonework, could wait an eternity for human folly to over-reach itself and cause its unnatural structures to tumble down—at which time that patient seed would finally sprout and prosper, subsuming the ruins into the eternal cycles of the growing tree, each part interconnected by the force of nature's inclusive will.
In Onewēre's story she must be the patient seed: ready to sprout amidst the cracks, and grow until the structure the Apostles had built tumbled back down and reverted into the essential—natural—goodness of all living things. She must believe it. Had to believe it if she was now to reveal the cure—the miriki-tarai and its bounteous gift of life—that, thanks to nature's goodness, was growing unimpeded on Onewēre's shores.
As they prepared to set off late morning, Lazarus stunned Maryam by revealing that they didn't need to raise the sails until they'd made it safely out through the reef.
“There's a little motor,” he told her, grinning at the picture of shock Maryam could feel forming on her face. “It's only meant for emergencies, but I have to say it's very reassuring to know it's there.”
“A motor? How do you even know how to use it?”
Lazarus laughed. “The old man who gave me the boat showed me how to work it all. It was amazing: he could hardly walk at all, his bones were so twisted, yet when he got on board he seemed as fit as me. He said sailing was in his blood!” He dragged her over to a huge wheel. “This is where you steer it—like the tiller, only round.” He pointed to a strange object mounted on top of the strong post that supported the wheel. It was as rounded and translucent as an eyeball, with unfamiliar markings inside. “This here's a compass—like the one we had on the way over here, only bigger and better. Look!” As the boat swung on its anchor, Maryam saw the needle of the compass swivel to match. “No losing this one, eh?”