Aesake, who was the chief's son and more of a friend to Jonasi than the other boys of the village, had tried to explain. He'd put his hands over Jonasi's ears, thenhis mouth. He'd pointed to the mountains, shaken his head with a small smile, and patted Jonasi on the shoulder.
Was it because Jonasi didn't know the meaning of the mouth movements?
He hadn't watched the hunters leave the village. Instead he had gone back to the bure when he lain curled up on his sleeping mat, his mind full of pictures of pain and revenge.
But out here on the reef, the pain was easing. There was no place on the sea for bad feelings of any kind. He knew that whatever is pain was, the sea could always heal it. His paddle guided the raft with hardly a ripple as he studied the shapes that passed beneath him.
He was moving past the village and near the next bay where the fresh water from the river cut a deep path through the coral. He could see ahead the dark blue of the channel and to his right, the brilliant green of the mangroves that crowded the river mouth. Above the mangroves, herons flapped lazily, looking for food.
