The drone grew louder, then suddenly dropped in pitch. Prabir remained paralysed, picturing bombs tumbling through the air, falling towards their target as the plane accelerated away. But as the retreating engines faded, nothing followed. Only frog calls from the jungle.
Prabir almost laughed with relief, but the sound stuck in his throat. Maybe the signs had protected them, the paint visible against the warmth of the roof panels, black-on-green in the false colours of an infrared display. But if the plane’s destination had been elsewhere all along—if Teranesia had meant nothing to the pilot but a fleeting piece of scenery beneath the flight path—then the bombs could still fall tonight. On some other island.
Prabir stared into the darkness, a hollow ache in his chest. He put his hand into the cage again, and continued the search. This time he was rewarded: his fingertips brushed against the side of a chrysalis. The impact set it swinging, but the silk thread holding it was resilient. He waited for the oscillations to die down, then cupped it gently in the palm of his hand. The surface was cool and smooth, like shellac.
He wasn’t sure now how much sweat he’d had on his palm, and he didn’t want to try to move his left hand into the cage as well—that would mean twisting his body, and worrying about new obstacles. He stood perfectly still for a while, fixing the position of the chrysalis in his mind. Then he withdrew his hand, coated it thoroughly, and wiped a second, surer dose of poison across the surface of the sleeping insect.
He closed the cage and walked out of the hut the way he’d come. Belatedly, he crouched to check for footprints, but there was enough grass along the route he’d taken to keep him from making any impression in the soil, and to keep his feet from being dusty enough to have left a visible trail indoors.
As he lay down in his hammock, he felt physically drained, more exhausted than when he’d half climbed the volcano. But everything he’d done in the butterfly hut already felt less real than a dream. Not having seen the crime would make it easier to keep the guilt from his face when he heard the news. By the time the poisoned butterfly failed to emerge—or unfurled its wings and died in the sunlight—no memory would remain of the faint mental image of his hand inside the cage.
Prabir was walking back from the beach, Madhusree in his arms, when he heard a loud, dull thud from the direction of the kampung. It could almost have been a tree toppling, but there’d been no screech of tearing wood, no rustle of branches.
Madhusree gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t press him for an explanation; she was perfectly capable of inventing one herself. They’d all get to hear it at dinner: a new creature on the island, probably, blundering around in search of children to eat.
Prabir heard his mother cry out, her voice rising in horror. ‘Rajendra!’ Madhusree looked startled, then her mouth curled. Prabir put her down on the path. ‘Stay here.’ He began running towards the kampung. Madhusree screamed wordlessly after him; he turned and saw her flapping her arms in distress. He stopped and gazed back at her, torn. What if there was danger here, too?
He ran back to her and lifted her up. She clawed at his cheeks and pummelled his neck, tears and mucus streaming down her face. Prabir ignored the assault and started jogging down the path again, indifferent to her weight and her struggling. It was like running in a dream; the jungle flowed past him, but it took no will, no effort to move. The dream itself propelled him forward.
His mother was standing alone in the middle of the kampung, distraught, looking around as if searching for something. When she spotted Prabir she started banging her fist on her forehead. She screamed at him angrily, ‘Take her away! She mustn’t see!’
Prabir stopped at the edge of the kampung, confused, fighting back tears.
His mother stared at him as if he was an idiot. ‘Where’s the ladder?’ she wailed. ‘What did you do with the ladder?’
Prabir couldn’t remember. He’d meant to put it in the storage hut when they’d finished painting the roofs, but that would have been the first place she’d checked.
He stepped forward uncertainly. ‘I’ll help you look.’
His mother waved him away miserably, then started walking in circles around the middle of the kampung.
Madhusree was scarlet-faced, screaming and trying to slither out of his grip. Prabir ran over to his parents’ hut and placed her in her cot. She was tall enough now to climb over the sides if she wanted to, but smart enough to realise that the fall would do her serious harm. Prabir knelt down and pressed his face against the bars. ‘I’ll be back soon, I promise. With Ma. OK?’ He didn’t wait for an answer.
He found the ladder in the undergrowth behind the butterfly hut, the last place he’d used it. He picked it up one-handed and started running towards his mother; it wasn’t all that heavy, but it swayed sideways as he moved, throwing him off balance.
He called out nervously, ‘Where should I take it? Where’s Baba?’
She stared at him blankly for several seconds, then put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Prabir stood watching her, his skin growing icy.
When she opened her eyes she seemed calmer.
She said softly, ‘Baba’s been hurt. I’m going to need your help. But you have to do exactly what I tell you.’
Prabir said, ‘I will.’
‘Wait there.’ She vanished into the storage hut, then emerged with two empty wooden packing crates. ‘Listen to me carefully. I want you to follow five metres behind me. Walk where I walk, nowhere else. Bring the ladder, but don’t let it touch the ground.’
As she spoke, Prabir heard doubt rising in her voice, as if she was beginning to think this was too much to ask of him. He said firmly, ‘Follow five metres behind you. Walk where you’ve walked. Don’t let the ladder touch the ground.’
She smiled reluctantly. ‘OK. I know you’re not stupid, I know you’ll be careful. Can you be brave for me, too?’ She searched his face, and Prabir felt his chest tightening.
‘Yes.’
His father was lying in a shallow crater in the middle of the garden behind the storage hut. His legs were mangled, almost shredded. Dark blood was spurting from his thighs, welling up through a layer of sand that must have rained down on top of him from the blast. His eyes were closed, his face set against the pain. Prabir was too shocked for tears, and when he felt a plaintive cry of ‘Baba!’ rising in his throat, he silenced it.
His mother spoke almost in a whisper. ‘I’m back, love. It won’t be much longer.’ His father showed no sign of having heard her.
She turned to Prabir. ‘There could be more mines buried in the garden. So we’ll put the ladder between the crates, like a bridge. Then I’ll walk across to Baba and bring him back. Do you understand?’
Prabir said, ‘I can do it. I’m lighter.’ The ladder was aluminium, and he was afraid that it might not take the weight of two adults.
His mother shook her head impatiently. ‘You couldn’t lift him, darling. You know that. Just help me get the ladder in position.’
She placed one of the crates squarely on the ground at the edge of the garden, at the point nearest his father. Then she walked a couple of metres away, and motioned to Prabir to approach the crate. When he was standing beside it, he swung the ladder towards her, and she took hold of the end. She was still carrying the second crate in her left hand, gripping it by one exposed side.
As his mother walked around the edge of the garden, Prabir fed her more of the ladder, until he was holding it by the opposite end. She smiled at him encouragingly, but he felt his heart pounding with fear for her. Staying out of the garden was no guarantee of safety. The rectangle of cleared soil must have looked like an ideal target from the air—and maybe it was easier for a self-laying mine to penetrate the ground and cover its tracks where there was no vegetation—but there could still be others, buried anywhere at all.
As his mother approached the far corner, they both had to stretch their arms to keep their hold on the ladder, and it was soon clear that even this wouldn’t be enough. She seemed to be about to cut across the garden, but Prabir shouted out to her, ‘No! I can move closer to you!’ He gestured towards the corner nearest to him, where
