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bath. The water was
crystalline, the towels brand-new, thick as fur.
    When I returned, she was lying on top of the covers,
naked, her hands behind her head, auburn hair spread on the
pillow, nipples brown and stiff. I watched her belly rise
and fall. Her smile. The oversized upper incisors I’d
fallen for, years ago.
    The windows were still wide open.
    “Don’t worry,” she said, softly. “I checked and no one
can see in—we’re too high up.”
    “God, you’re beautiful.”
    “I love you,” she said. “This is going to be
wonderful.”

Chapter
    3
    A rasping noise woke me. Scratching at one of the
screens.
    I sat up fast, saw it.
    A small lizard, rubbing its foreclaws against the mesh.
    I got out of bed and had a closer look.
    It stayed there. Light brown body speckled with black.
Skinny head and unmoving eyes.
    It stared at me. I waved. Unimpressed, it scraped some
more, finally scampered away.
    Five P.M. I’d been out for two hours. Robin was still
curled under the sheets.
    Slipping into my pants, I tiptoed to the sitting room.
Spike greeted me by panting and rolling over. I massaged his
gut, refilled his water bowl, poured myself a tonic water on
ice, and sat by the largest window. The sun was a big, red
cherry, the ocean starting to silver.
    I felt lucky to be alive, but disconnected—so far from
everything familiar.
    Rummaging in my briefcase I found Moreland’s letter.
Heavy white paper with a regal watermark. At the top in
embossed black:
    Aruk House, Aruk Island.

    Dear Dr. Delaware,
    I am a physician who lives on the island of Aruk in the
northern region of Micronesia. Nicknamed “Knife Island”
because of its oblong shape, Aruk is officially part of the
Mariana Commonwealth and a self-governing U.S. territory, but
relatively obscure and not listed in any guidebooks. I have
lived here since 1961 and have found it a wonderful and
fascinating place.
    I chanced to come across an article you published in
The
Journal of Child Development and Clinical Practice
on
group trauma. Progressing
to all your other published works, I found that you display a
fine combination of scholarliness and common-sense thinking.
    I say all this by way of making an interesting
proposition.
    Over the last three decades, in addition to conducting
research in natural history and nutrition, I have accumulated
an enormous amount of clinical data from my practice, some of
it unique. Because the bulk of my time has been spent
treating patients, I have not taken the time to properly
organize this information.
    As I grow older and closer to retirement, I realize that
unless these data are brought to publication, a wealth of
knowledge may be lost. Initially, my thought was to obtain
the help of an anthropologist, but I decided that someone
with clinical experience, preferably in a mental health
field, would be better suited to the task. Your writing
skills and orientation make me feel that you might be a
compatible collaborator.
    I’m sure, Dr. Delaware, that this will seem odd, coming
out of the blue, but I have given much thought to my offer.
Though the pace of life on Aruk is probably a good deal
slower than what you are used to, that in and of itself may
have appeal for you. Would you be interested in helping
me? By my estimate, the preliminary organization
should take two, perhaps three months, at which point we
could sit down and figure out if we’ve got a book, a
monograph, or several journal articles. I would concentrate
on the biological aspects, and I’d rely upon you for the
psychological input. What I envision is a fifty-fifty
collaboration with joint authorship.
    I’m prepared to offer compensation of six thousand
dollars per month, for four months, in addition to business-class
transportation from the mainland and full room and
board. There are no hotels on Aruk, but my own home is quite
commodious and I’m sure you would find it pleasant. If you
are married, I could accommodate your wife’s transportation,
though I