II

Davit found Claudia washing shirts in a large tub, squeezing them out before hanging them on a line stretched between two cabins, while a wizened Malagasy woman on the porch watched her closely, as if hoping to find fault.

‘Work, work, work,’ said Davit.

‘Work, work, work,’ agreed Claudia, wiping suds from her nose with the heel of her hand.

He nodded at the old woman, not wanting to cause trouble. ‘May I borrow Claudia, please?’ he asked. ‘Only I’ve a problem in my cabin.’ Claudia translated for him;the woman nodded sourly. They walked off together down a darkened path towards the beach.

‘What problem?’ she asked.

‘No problem,’ he assured her. ‘I just wanted to get you alone.’ She smiled with such guileless pleasure that he couldn’t help but smile too. ‘But I do have a question. A favour.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes?’

He told her about the pirogue with the Western Union sail, how he and Boris wanted to know where it had gone. She assured him she’d ask around later, for she still had a shift to do in one of the local bars. He looked at her in astonishment. ‘You’ve still got another shift to do?’

‘Yes.’

‘Work, work, work,’ he said sadly, because he was beginning to realise it was true.

‘Work, work, work,’ she agreed. Their gazes met for a moment; he touched her hand. She gestured back along the path to the high mound of clothes that still awaited her, then she nodded goodnight and went to wash them.