Easier for you to read a PDF or a better format as well.
I don't want to hijack the authors story. But reading it as he writes it works best for me. Short segments like this match my attention span better than a long book would ;-)
Liz turned away from the bar with the tall glass of soda water she'd ordered. Helen, white wine in hand, stood speaking with Sarah Bradford. Liz watched Derek bring Sarah a tropical fruit drink of some kind, then retreat to a table where Heather soon approached to ask if she could sit with him. Mark and Wolf stood looking at the ocean. Odd person out in James's absence, she hesitated a moment and then approached Helen and Sarah. "It is so beautiful," she said, echoing Helen's words. "I can see why you like to visit here. How often do you come?" "We've been here three times," Sarah answered. "It's such a long trip from England. Helen - you've been here quite a lot, I think. Helen and I" - she turned back to Liz - "met here last winter. Derek had to go back for work. I stayed for a month." "A dance group came in from Tahiti," Helen remembered. "Exciting to see. There were so many people here!" "Usually more than now?" "Sometimes every cabin is full, of course." "Liz," Sarah asked, "this is your first time? How did you find your way here?" "James suggested it. He heard about it through his work; he travels a lot for work." "Like my Derek; such a pleasure to travel. What does James do?" "Resource management, they call it. Mostly helping mines sell what they dig up, I think." "Where's he disappeared to?" "Probably off to inspect the plumbing. He's been very curious about how things here are built and how they work." "Derek's been fascinated by that, too. I think it's just a miracle how we get by in a place so far away from the world."
Their attention was caught by the two musicians carrying instruments across the terrace. Helen pulled away to greet Anjelo, then returned to say "Come, sit." But no one sat. Helen went to catch Mark and Wolf's attention; Derek rose to join Sarah, and Liz, scanning the space, saw James coming into view, still nursing his martini. Anjelo exchanged smiles with those he knew, but spoke only to the elder musician, in a whisper, then positioned a chair and sat with his guitar. He picked a few notes and sat silent until the elder man repeated them and began to play. They were situated to provide background music for a cocktail hour, but there was nothing casual about what they were doing; it was clear that there was meaning in the music, and it commanded silence. Everyone settled into a seat. The music accompanied the setting of the sun.
As the sky faded from pink into bright silver twilight, the music stopped, or better said, concluded. In the language of music a story had been told, and was now at an end. Silence continued as the musicians sat for a moment lost in thought, then walked away with their instruments. James thought about Anjelo, who could gleefully riff on movie cliches and perform outrageousness at the bar, but who was so plainly rooted in this place, among these people. How fragile a place to be rooted, and how difficult, drawing life out of speck of coral rock.
Across the terrace strode a man plainly in charge of the two younger women who hung back behind him. He was older, with the taught, trim body of an athlete who had lost muscle without gaining fat, erect, purposeful. Helen rose to greet him. "Kenji how good to see you!" "Helen, welcome. Always a pleasure to have you here. I'm glad you could come." He then picked out her two traveling companions, who stood when he extended his hand. "Mark and Wolf. You are...?" "Mark," the first of them identified himself. "Wolf." "I hope you are enjoying your stay. Take good care of Helen, will you? I've heard of some of your projects. Helen's very impressed with your spirit."
He did not give his name, nor did he need to. The remaining visitors stood to be greeted. He extended a hand to Derek. "Derek, good to see you. I'm glad you could get away. Let's make some time to catch up. Sarah..." She extended her hand, which he took in both of his. "Sarah, it's a long trip; I trust you've had time to rest from it?"
It surprised James that he did not have a Japanese accent, but the placelessly correct English of an educated European.
"Heather. Heather Green, what a lovely name." She'd heard that many times before, but smiled as if it were new, and offered her hand. "How have you liked the place? I want to show you around; let's find a time."
"Liz, welcome. Malia tells me you've been exploring, I'm happy you've had the chance. It's an interesting island, isn't it, and good people."
He turned to James. "Mr. Edgerton, James, hello. I'm sorry Peter could not come." Just that. "I'm sorry Peter couldn't come." James flushed red, embarrassed, feeling unwelcome, angry at Peter for setting this up, realizing that he should not show surprise that his boss had been expected, recovering with a lie, "He sends his regrets."
"Shall we eat?" With that, the two women who'd come with Mr. Nakamura ushered the group to their seats at the table.
The roofed area of the bar was now flanked by torches, As the arrived, the couples, separated by their assigned places at the dinner table, now sat together. Wolf, and Mark took a table with Heather at the table nearest the two musicians who occupied one corner of the square of light. Liz and James - Liz with her coffee, James with a sherry sat close.
Liz edged her chair even closer, and into James' ear whispered "Did you hear that Derek Bradford asked me to tell him what I'm learning about this place?"
"No. What's his interest?"
"I was talking about diving for water with Malia. Until then, he'd been very standoffish. He said he didn't know much about the island, and wanted to know more."
"Don't we all. Except Peter, who wasn't interested. I'll get back to Peter tomorrow morning on the radio. Just hold off..."
Derek and Sarah Bradford appeared from the darkness. Liz and James dropped their conversation and said hello. Then they turned their attention to the music.
Some time later Liz heard more people approaching, and looked up expecting to see Helen and perhaps Mr. Nakamura. But it was Malia and Afitu. They stood in the line of torches until the musicians reached a stopping point, then Malia stepped forward, caught Liz's eye, and Sarah's, and knelt among the tables, to say "We here when you need ride. Stay long as you like, OK?" She signaled the musicians, who began another number, and retreated to the shadows. Afitu conferred quietly with the bartender and did the same.
"I'm ready to go," Liz told James.
"Go on ahead. I'll stay for a while."
Liz walked out through the line of torches. The evening clouds had cleared and a round moon low in the eastern sky cast long shadows across the terrace, its silver light brightening as Liz's eyes adjusted from the flame yellow of the bar. Malia and Afitu sat at a nearby table. They invited her to sit with them. Wolf found them there, verified that they would wait for him, then returned to the bar. Sarah joined them, and Wolf returned with Mark. The group assembled, Malia and Afitu led them across the terrace and bridged entrance, and onto the path to the water. The path's white coral surface glowed in the moonlight, six naked walkers in single file easily finding their way. Afitu carried a flashlight, but did not use it.
At the shore, a group of paddlers idled by a fire. Three of them took Mark and Wolf across, leaving one of their number with the visitors on the on the other side of the narrow channel. The remaining two returned for Liz and Sarah, Malia and Afitu. Once across, Afitu offered to walk Sarah to her cabin. Malia addressed Liz. "I walk you to cabin?"
"I'd appreciate that." Walking easily in the moonlight, more cautiously in the shadows of the coconuts, they made their way. "I'm impressed with Mr. Nakamura's setup. It's quite a house. And so many people working there I wouldn't have thought that many people even lived here."
"We there for him when he need us."
"Do you have to go back tonight?"
"No, I off work, " Malia grinned. "Go drink..." She stopped midsentence. "You drink kava?"
"Kava?" Liz was not sure she'd heard the word. "Kava. I've heard of it. No, I never have."
"You like come?"
"Over to the village?" Malia nodded assent. "What should I wear?"
"What you like. I wear skirt."
"I have a pareu at the cabin?"
"OK."
At the cabin, Liz wrapped the rayon cloth around her waist. Malia, still naked, walked them to the pavilion, from whose back room she produced a wrap of her own. The water washed only ankle-deep across the low ground between the resort and the village. On the other side, Liz found the path difficult as they relied on moonlight to climb to one of the houses. Attached to the tiny frame structure was a porch, larger than the house, low-roofed, thatched with coconut fronds. Dim electric light underneath barely outshone the moon.
Malia called a quiet greeting as they approached. Not in English, Liz realized. Malia took a few steps forward. Liz was suddenly self-conscious, standing there bare-breasted in cheap beachwear, unable to understand the language, alien to the culture. She for a moment considered a retreat, but could not have found the path back. She would just have to let herself be led. She followed Malia under the thatch. On mats on the bare earth, around a small, low, table, sat a circle of women. Malia addressed one very elderly woman with a few sentences, of which Liz understood only one word - "Liz."
Liz sat on the floor next to Malia where the circle opened to accommodate them. A young woman across from them smiled. "Hello, Liz." She wore a red-and-green patterned sundress, her hair tight in a bun at the nape of her neck. Liz returned the hello. Another woman about Liz's age wore shorts and a T-shirt. The elderly woman to whom Malia had introduced Liz wore a skirt made of a stiff handmade fabric, patterned with shades of brown, with no top but accessorized with a heavy bracelet woven from split leaves. Next to her was a second elderly woman similarly dressed, her generous gray-flecked hair trailing down her back to the floor, with a girl of four or five on her lap, the only person in the room who was naked. Into the room walked a beauty draped in a pareu tied over one shoulder. She exchanged muttered greetings and nods with the seated women. Noticing Liz, she nodded a "Mrs. Edgerton," her New Zealand accent making Liz recognize her as the greeter from Mr. Nakamura's, now evidently off work. "Liz," Malia corrected her. Then looking to Liz, "This Elena." Elena took a place in the circle, and the little girl crossed to fall into her lap, burrowing her head into her mother's belly.
The mother rubbed her hand in the girl's hair, then lifted her onto her feet and sent her back. On the table was a wooden bowl of pale brown liquid. The oldest of the women ladled some into a coconut-shell cup, and set the girl on her way, with very careful steps, to carry it back to her mother. With both hands, the girl presented her mother with the cup; with both hands the mother accepted it, with words Liz did not understand, and took a sip. Around the circle, the girl served each woman in turn. Malia, accepting her cup, replied as the others had, and then added "Thank you" in English. Liz, grateful for the hint, gave her own "Thank you" when her turn came.
Liz took a tiny, cautious sip. The drink tasted like mud. A sweet, medicinal sharpness crept into the taste as she let the liquid sit in her mouth. She swallowed, and took another swallow of saliva to clear the taste from her mouth. Following what the others did, she held the cup in her hands, and after an interval took another sip, which sat more easily in her mouth now that she knew what to expect. What surprised her next was a tingling numbness on her lips. This was strong stuff. Brief conversations came and went, outside Liz's understanding. The little girl, restless, wandered out from under the thatch and into the moonlight. Liz was surprised that no one dashed out after her. One of the women went into the house and returned with a plate of sweetened coconut confections. Liz found them the perfect antidote to the taste of the kava. Malia nibbled one, then took another in hand and stood to go out; Liz could see that she easily found the little girl, and offered her the treat. The mother went out to join them. With the only people she'd spoken with now outside, Liz sat in shared silence with the group. People began to stir; one woman excused herself to go. Malia came in to suggest to Liz "Come out watch moon."
The mother sat on the ground outside leaning against the side of the house, the girl now sleeping in a fold of her pareu. Malia sat next to her. The air was still; with any movement Liz felt a bit of chill. She pulled the pareu off her waist and threw it over her shoulders for warmth, then sat with the others.
The moon was now high above the horizon. The ground glowed diamond-bright under the black sky. Shadows shortened.
"I worry sometimes," Malia said. Liz and Elena let a long time pass for Malia to gather her thoughts.
"Before time, we fish. We grow garden, we grow coconut. Hard life, mostly come and go other island. Now we go school, go doctor, kid can stay on island, work resort, work Mr. Nakamura. He here long time, build electric, build water, build radio. What we do if he not here? Old man. Trouble in Japan, you know. We all know."
"He's had his place here my whole life," Elena explained to Liz. "And longer."
Liz felt sadness with them, but felt no need to speak. They shared a feeling. There was sweetness even in the worry. The moon crossed the sky. The stars turned. There were a few words now and then. The little girl whimpered in Elena's lap. "I'll get her to bed." Then it was just Liz and Malia and the worry and the moment and the movement of the moon, now descending from the top of the sky. Black turned to purple on the eastern horizon, the stars no longer sharp pricks of light, but sequins on velvet.
Liz thought that she had not felt any effect from the kava, besides the tingling in her mouth. And in thinking that, broke its spell and came to realize that she had just sat up all night, calmly alert, and now felt as rested as if she'd slept.
Malia turned to her and smiled. "You like? You OK?"
"Yes, thank you very much for this."
"I walk you home."
Liz was not in the cabin. James dismissed his concern with the thought that it was a bright, calm night and she would be fine wherever she was. He stirred awake when she came in, enough to know that it was nearing dawn, then he slept more soundly, until bright sun reached the cabin window. Liz was still asleep when he left to go in search of breakfast.
James found Mark and Heather together in the pavilion. "I put coffee on," Mark said. "Seems to be serve-your-own-breakfast day."
"Glad for the coffee. Thanks. Good morning, Heather."
"Good morning," she said. She finished her coffee in one gulp, and to Mark, "See you later. I'm going to go back to my cabin for a while."
"She didn't sleep well," Mark said to James by way of apology for her abrupt departure. "I hear you guys had an intense conversation last night after we left."
"She got upset over something, I could see that. Pretty much broke up the party."
"Well, yea. Nakamura's trying to sell a bunch of Jewish-owned art that he smuggled out of Nazi Germany."
James had only vaguely understood what 'provenance issues' meant. Now he knew, and he was part of it. He turned the conversation to the weather.
Liz woke to the warmth of the cabin in the morning sun. She kicked down the covers and lay on the bed, listening. Surf whispered in the distance. Coconut fronds rattled. She padded outside, barefoot and naked, and ground her toes into the sand, glad to find herself alone. For the joy of feeling the sand under her feet and the breeze on her skin she moved among the trees, wandering finally to the edge of the grove, where she came to the stretch of low beach that separated the resort from the village. The tide was low, and the surf high enough that between waves the way ahead was completely exposed above water. She walked on, stopping with each wave to let the water splash past her, stepping forward when the ground was again visible, finding and then not finding the rhythm of the waves.
Onto higher ground, she advanced along the ocean shore, until she came to the spring where she had dived with Malia. She sat, looking across the Pacific, her mind on the island behind her, the houses and yards that she would see if only she turned around and climbed a few steps. But she did not intrude even so much as that.
A chicken appeared beside her, examining the ground for insects, close but only so close to where she sat. She turned to look at it, and it edged away, finding something of interest a bit further on, and further still.
A confusion of waves threw water noisily into the air. A cool mist settled on Liz's skin.
Powerful and dangerous, this ocean had supported generations of islanders or borne them away. What supported them now was equally powerful and dangerous. Boatloads of propane and diesel fuel, visitors and videotapes, flour and beer and beef. Liz understood, she thought she understood, Malia's worry. They had shared a great deal between silences last night.
Another, wetter, splash caught Liz where she sat. She stood. With a ruffle of feathers, the chicken scrambled away.
Heather had listened with some interest to Helen's story, but bristled at this last remark. "I never said he was a Nazi and I don't care. What I care about is that he and his father bought goods in coerced sales, and very possibly bought goods that had been seized or stolen, and that those goods are sitting right here and are apparently about to go on the market."
"The Nakamuras never coerced anybody!" Helen shouted. "How could they have? Seized or stolen? No way. That just didn't happen."
"How do you know that? You've heard Nagy's story, OK, but Nagy didn't have anything of great value to sell; he was a new artist. And he was just one case. Do you know all the other people they bought from? Nakamura obviously knows he has a problem. You said so yourself: "provenance issues'. Provenance where the works came from, who they came from, how they were obtained. Why else do you think he's kept the whole collection under wraps for fifty years? Why has he taken everything out of Japan before starting to talk about selling it?"
"I dare you to find once piece of stolen art in that collection!"
"Oh, sure, like he'd let me look!"
Liz caught James's eye and motioned him to follow her outside. "I think Nakamura set this up. Heather wouldn't be here if he didn't want her here. Just like you. He knew way more about you than you knew about him. Do you mind if I tell her about your experience with that?"
"Go ahead. My situation with Peter may be beyond redeeming. But attempting discretion certainly hasn't worked."
They re-entered the pavilion to see Helen rising out of her chair, Mark putting his hand on her elbow. "Helen, just listen," Mark said. "Just listen for a minute." Heather began to stand; Liz quickly took a seat at Heather's table. "Heather, can I talk to you about this?" Heather dropped back into her chair; Helen, her attention now on Liz, did the same.
"Heather, you may not know it, but you are here because Mr. Nakamura wants you here. I've been talking a lot with Malia. She tells me that when Nakamura is here, the place is closed to the public. No one can book a cabin. They get a guest list from him, and handle the arrangements. With us, he must have put out a feeler to James's boss who quote "suggested' this vacation to us. We had no idea. We thought we were incognito, scouting the place for a possible real estate offer. Maybe that's what Nakamura wanted, but James's boss is more into the art collection as it turns out. Anyway, I'd bet the same sort of thing happened with you."
"Eisenthal Foundation got a tip that the collection was being moved," Heather said. "They asked me to come investigate. I was not invited here."
"Where do you suppose the tip came from?"
Heather contemplated the question. She didn't know; she hadn't been told. That was not unusual; sources were commonly kept anonymous. She wanted to call Eisenthal to ask. But of course she could not. There was a radio connection somewhere, she'd heard. But otherwise she was completely isolated. She sensed her vulnerability. "We are a long way from anywhere, aren't we?" she said.
"Yes, we are. We have each other, and that's about it. And the locals I'm completely sure we're safe here. James arranged a radio call back to the US yesterday; you can do that too, I'm sure. I doubt if it's a private connection. Look, you have no secrets from Nakamura. I'd suggest you just go talk to him."
"Liz," Helen said, "don't be so suspicious. I'm sure the invitation confusion was just a misunderstanding. Kenji was perfectly straightforward in asking me if I could come out for a visit."
"He knows you, and he knows Derek; Heather and James are strangers to him, and I don't think he knows James's boss very well. So he's been really cagey about getting us here without revealing anything. Let me ask you this when he invited you here, did he tell you he'd have his whole collection here for you to look at?"
"He told me he had some pieces for me to look at. But no. I found that out last night."
"Once you were over here and couldn't tell anyone."
Malia came in with apologies. "Good morning, good morning. Sorry I late this morning. You find food, good. I cook if you still hungry."
"I'm famished," Liz said. "Don't fire up the grill just for me. What can you do in a pan? Scrambled?"
"Omelette, vegetables, with toast? How that?"
"You're on. Thanks."
Liz went to sit under the umbrella at the volleyball court. After her intervention in Helen and Heather's argument, thankful for the interruption of breakfast. James brought her omelette when it was ready, and sat with his coffee to watch the morning unfold.
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