The Islanders

far distance.

The tunnel was painted white, a smooth glossy coat. Wooden acoustic baffles were placed along both sides of the tunnel wall. There were dozens of these close to the tunnel mouth, but deeper into the mountain their number rapidly declined. For most of the length that Oy could see there was none at all. He stared down the perfect perspective for several minutes, unmoving, beginning to understand. Yo was behind him.

‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘I think I’d like to fill it in. You’ve left all those tailings—’

‘You bastard!’

‘It’s what I do. I find holes and fill them. If I can’t find a hole I make one.’

‘That’s the same as what I do. I made this hole.’

‘How long has it taken you?’ Oy said. ‘Three years, four? And still not finished? I’ve made a dozen pieces in that time.’

‘This is almost ready. What’s the damned hurry, anyway. And who the fuck are you to criticize me?’ Her eyes were flared wide with anger. ‘I despise your attitude, the stand you take against art, your—’

Oy seized her violently, and took her neck in the crook of his arm. He silenced her by clamping a hand over her mouth. He had learned a lot about her in the last four days. At first she struggled and bit him, but then she licked the palm of his hand, nuzzling her face. He held her like that for a while longer, pressing his body against hers, then he released her.

‘I’m not mad,’ she said, moving away from him and wiping her saliva from where it had smeared around her mouth. She took a deep breath. ‘Many people think I’m mad —’

‘Not me,’ Oy said. ‘I did think that, but not any more. You’re just weird.’

His fingers and palm were bleeding. He wiped the blood on his shirt, then gripped his wrist to staunch the bleeding.

She showed him the little electric trolley she used for her inspection runs through the tunnel. He took the controls and drove slowly to each of the particular points she demanded. At each one she made a close and prolonged examination of the quality of the smooth surface, and tested the seals.

Towards the far end of the tunnel they came to the first of the three places where the roof angled down towards the channel of polymer below. Yo pointed out the system of software-controlled adjustable vents and ducts that were designed to ease the airflow and enable tuning of the reeds. Oy examined everything alongside her, feeling admiring of her and trying not to sound grudging.

In truth he was thrilled by what she was showing him. He sensed a new standard was being set here on Yannet, but Yo’s arrogance and violent disregard for anyone’s work but her own made it impossible to discuss it with her.

With the inspection completed, Yo took over the driving of the trolley and they returned to the western end. She shut down everything, closed and secured the huge shroud, then drove back to her studio. As soon as they arrived she took him to bed again, and a night and a day passed.

One morning, some time later, Yo drove to the mountain alone, refusing to allow Oy to accompany her. She was gone all day. When she returned late that evening she was exhausted and dirty but in an exhilarated mood. She answered none of his questions. She showered alone, then insisted that Oy should take her into the Old Town for a meal.

Afterwards, they walked from the restaurant through the narrow streets to the port.

There were two ferries moored at the quay, with the usual noise and confusion of winches and cranes, the loading and unloading of cargo, the boarding of passengers and cars, and a stream of loudspeaker announcements about sailing times and import restrictions. They walked away from this hubbub and the floodlit apron, down one of the long jetties and into darkness. They stared across the sea towards the dark bulk of the closest neighbouring island. They could see tiny lights across its heights. Yo had said little all evening, and still she said nothing. She stared down at the waves as they broke against the rocks at the bottom of the jetty wall. Several minutes passed.

‘The wind’s getting up,’ Oy said.

‘So now you do weather forecasts?’ she replied.

‘I’ve just about had enough of this. I’ve got better things to do than hang around all day, waiting for you. I’m going to move on soon.’

‘No you’re not. I need you.’

‘I’m not just your sex plaything.’

‘Oh, but you are. Best I’ve had so far.’ She pressed herself against him, rubbing a breast against his arm.

He moved back from her. ‘I’ve my own work to do.’

‘All right. But not yet. I want you here for this.’

A big wave suddenly struck the rocks, throwing up a spray. The drops flew against them stingingly, borne on the warm wind. It was refreshing and stimulating in the hot night — it made Oy think of the way Yo liked to make love.

‘I read about the wind yesterday,’ Yo said. ‘This is the Nariva at last. It’s been expected for several days. Listen — can you hear anything?’ She was turning her head from side to side, as if seeking a sound. There was just the constant racket of engines from the harbour, the echoing of the loudspeaker voice, some shouting from the ferry marshals directing the traffic, the whining of a winch, the surge of the sea waves. ‘It’s too noisy here!’

She marched back along the jetty towards the town, with Oy following. The tide was rising and they were drenched by several more flows of windswept spray before they turned on to the apron of the main floodlit wharf, between the cranes, the lines of waiting traffic, the traffic marshals in their yellow jackets and shiny helmets, guiding the drivers and waving their torches.

Once they had reached the street where she lived, on the edge of the Old Town, the presence of the wind could barely be felt. They were sheltered by other buildings, but there were trees on one of the hills above and these were swaying darkly in the night. Yo was muttering furiously, striding ahead of Oy. Whenever he caught up with her she would shrug a shoulder angrily against him and increase her pace.

In the apartment, which was stickily hot after the long day, she went around and opened all the windows wide, bending her head beside each one, listening outside. Finally, she threw off all her clothes.

‘Come to bed!’ she said.

‘What were you listening for?’ said Oy.

‘Keep quiet!’ She crossed to him, sank to her knees and quickly undid his pants.

An hour later, lying naked side by side on the bed, listening to the peaceful sounds of the night-time town through the open windows, they became aware of a deep vibration, transmitted through the building.

‘That’s it at last!’ Yo said, sitting up and moving quickly to the window. ‘Listen!’

He went to stand beside her. The Nariva wind was blowing more strongly now, gusting across the town and along the streets, skidding litter around, but the vibration was rising through the ground. At first he could not discern any sound that was part of it, but soon he heard a deep, low rumbling, a constant note, a distant siren. The town remained dark and shuttered against the windy night. The droning note wavered with the gusting of the wind as it came down from the direction of the mountain, sometimes fading away but mostly gaining in strength.

After a few minutes of gradual crescendo, the note held at a steady volume, a loud, deep booming, basso profundo.

‘Ah,’ said Yo.

‘Congratulations,’ said Oy. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Now that’s why you are here,’ she said, holding herself against his arm.

‘Just so you could show off to me?’

‘Who better to show off to than you? Could you have done this?’

‘I might have done it more quickly. But I fill things in. I would never have even started.’

He had rarely seen her smile before.

The immense bass note throbbed unendingly across the town. Somewhere in a street adjacent to theirs a car alarm, nudged into life by the vibration, began to screech. Another followed soon after. A policier car, or some other kind of emergency vehicle, rushed unseen by them through the town with its own siren suppressed but with its