it in a good-natured way.
The path was steeper and rougher than I had expected. The air was cooler than in the city, but I worked up a sweat as we climbed. The woods on either side of the path weren’t high, but they were dense, with thick vines winding around each other and sometimes across the path. Atop one hill we came across a small Buddhist temple, red columns holding up a green-tiled, ski-jump roof, but it was untended, its paint peeling in the sea air.
We saw no one, though a couple of times I thought I heard someone, and we’d stop and hold still. Every now and then we’d break through to a view of a curving bay or beach way below us, on one side of the narrow island or the other. We saw no sunbathers. I supposed on a weekend there would be hordes.
At one point we stumbled on an abandoned house so decrepit that it could have been an ancient ruin, but for a rusty fan dangling from the ceiling and a lidless rice cooker forgotten in a corner. We sat on the cool cement floor for a few minutes and shared a protein bar.
“I think we’re almost there,” I said.
Ti-Anna didn’t reply. I guessed she was deciding what she would say to Radio Man.
We were actually closer than I realized, and the house—as Horace had predicted—was impossible to miss. We braked and slid our way down a steep path and around one more switchback to the most beautiful cove yet—though one with nothing but rocks, no beach. On the far spit of land stood a tidy yellow house—two rooms, by the looks of it—with a bright red roof and a sliding glass door facing the water.
We picked our way from rock to rock around the little bay and then followed a sandy path to the door. Most visitors must come by boat, I thought. If he has visitors.
Ti-Anna took a deep breath, tucked her hair behind her ear and knocked on the sliding door.
Nothing happened. She knocked again. Nothing. Knock. Nothing. Knock.
Eventually, a curtain slid back a few inches, and a face appeared, atop a muscular body in a T-shirt, sweatpants and bare feet. The man stared down for what seemed like a long time. Then he unlocked the door and slid it open a few inches.
Ti-Anna bowed slightly and began talking in Chinese. The man listened. She talked some more. He didn’t say anything. She talked some more. Finally, he answered. And closed the door. Locked it. Yanked the curtain shut.
“What did he say?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she knocked again. And again. And again. Until the same thing: curtain, lock, door. He cocked his head. She said something. He said something. And closed the door. Lock. Curtain.
This time Ti-Anna turned around and sat on the cement ledge in front of the door.
“He said he won’t talk with us.”
Funny—I had guessed that much.
“And you said?”
“I said we were going to sleep on the rocks tonight, and come back and knock on his door in the morning. And that we’ll do the same thing the next night, and the next morning. And every night, and every morning, until he does talk with us.”
My first thought was, I’m going to be really, really hungry.
My second was, he doesn’t know who he’s messing with.
On the other hand, he looked as stubborn as she was. I wondered what my brother would think if I died on Lamma Island and he never got his backpack back.
I didn’t say any of those things. I sat next to Ti-Anna, facing the lonely cove, and unwrapped a Snickers bar and gave her half. She took it without saying thank you. I ate it without saying I told you so.
Chapter 20
To say that what followed was the most uncomfortable night of my life doesn’t say much. I’m not really the camping type, and all of my nights, to be honest, had been comfortable enough. But I think it’s safe to say that even the hardiest camper wouldn’t have been happy.
Fortunately, Ti-Anna didn’t insist on sleeping on the rocks. I don’t know how that idea had popped into her head. None of the rocks were big enough to stretch out on—and who
The path was steeper and rougher than I had expected. The air was cooler than in the city, but I worked up a sweat as we climbed. The woods on either side of the path weren’t high, but they were dense, with thick vines winding around each other and sometimes across the path. Atop one hill we came across a small Buddhist temple, red columns holding up a green-tiled, ski-jump roof, but it was untended, its paint peeling in the sea air.
We saw no one, though a couple of times I thought I heard someone, and we’d stop and hold still. Every now and then we’d break through to a view of a curving bay or beach way below us, on one side of the narrow island or the other. We saw no sunbathers. I supposed on a weekend there would be hordes.
At one point we stumbled on an abandoned house so decrepit that it could have been an ancient ruin, but for a rusty fan dangling from the ceiling and a lidless rice cooker forgotten in a corner. We sat on the cool cement floor for a few minutes and shared a protein bar.
“I think we’re almost there,” I said.
Ti-Anna didn’t reply. I guessed she was deciding what she would say to Radio Man.
We were actually closer than I realized, and the house—as Horace had predicted—was impossible to miss. We braked and slid our way down a steep path and around one more switchback to the most beautiful cove yet—though one with nothing but rocks, no beach. On the far spit of land stood a tidy yellow house—two rooms, by the looks of it—with a bright red roof and a sliding glass door facing the water.
We picked our way from rock to rock around the little bay and then followed a sandy path to the door. Most visitors must come by boat, I thought. If he has visitors.
Ti-Anna took a deep breath, tucked her hair behind her ear and knocked on the sliding door.
Nothing happened. She knocked again. Nothing. Knock. Nothing. Knock.
Eventually, a curtain slid back a few inches, and a face appeared, atop a muscular body in a T-shirt, sweatpants and bare feet. The man stared down for what seemed like a long time. Then he unlocked the door and slid it open a few inches.
Ti-Anna bowed slightly and began talking in Chinese. The man listened. She talked some more. He didn’t say anything. She talked some more. Finally, he answered. And closed the door. Locked it. Yanked the curtain shut.
“What did he say?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she knocked again. And again. And again. Until the same thing: curtain, lock, door. He cocked his head. She said something. He said something. And closed the door. Lock. Curtain.
This time Ti-Anna turned around and sat on the cement ledge in front of the door.
“He said he won’t talk with us.”
Funny—I had guessed that much.
“And you said?”
“I said we were going to sleep on the rocks tonight, and come back and knock on his door in the morning. And that we’ll do the same thing the next night, and the next morning. And every night, and every morning, until he does talk with us.”
My first thought was, I’m going to be really, really hungry.
My second was, he doesn’t know who he’s messing with.
On the other hand, he looked as stubborn as she was. I wondered what my brother would think if I died on Lamma Island and he never got his backpack back.
I didn’t say any of those things. I sat next to Ti-Anna, facing the lonely cove, and unwrapped a Snickers bar and gave her half. She took it without saying thank you. I ate it without saying I told you so.
Chapter 20
To say that what followed was the most uncomfortable night of my life doesn’t say much. I’m not really the camping type, and all of my nights, to be honest, had been comfortable enough. But I think it’s safe to say that even the hardiest camper wouldn’t have been happy.
Fortunately, Ti-Anna didn’t insist on sleeping on the rocks. I don’t know how that idea had popped into her head. None of the rocks were big enough to stretch out on—and who
Similar Books
